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COLLECTED EDITION.
VOLUME VI.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY,
THE CHEONICLES OP CLOVERNUOK.
J
A MAN MADE OF MONEY,
AND
THE CHEOMCLES OF CLOYERI^OOK.
Br
DOUGLAS JERHOLD.
LONDON
BEADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET.
1853.
LONDON ;
BUADBURT AND EVANS, PBINTKRS, WHITEFRIABS.
T4 ma.
\SS3
I HAVE little to say by way of Preface to the contents of this
volume. If they do not make their own way to the good graces
of the reader, no note of introduction or recommendation at my
hand can serve them. The IMan Made of Money must even
take his chance : to be set aside as a mere phantasm of the
imagination ; a Jack-o'-lanthom of the fancy ; or, haply, as a
thing of some social substance and werk-day meaning in this
our best possible world of Bank paper. Hence, Mr. Jericho
may be either a wan shadow or a vital presence.
The Chronicles of Clovernook will also be deemed as mere
Chronicles of Goose-quill ; or accepted as a fragmentary record
of a region no less real than the earth that is trod upon, because
only visited on wings. The Hermit may carry his twenty stone
of flesh, and as much of spirituality as the reader will allow him
to uplift the down-dragging burthen. For of this is the load
and the lightening of life.
RsQENr's Park, June 28, 1853.
^^ii'^Hivt
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTEK I.
" Mr. Jericho, when can you let me have some money ? "
This curious question was coldly put by a gentlewoman in
morning undress to a man in gown and slippers. The reader,
who is always permitted to wear the old cloak of the old stage
mystery — the cloak that maketh invisible — must at once perceive
the tender relation that lives and flourishes between the interesting
person who puts this famihar interrogative, and the being who
sufiers it. They are man and wife. The marriage certificate is
legible in every line of Mrs. Jericho's face. She asks for money
with a placid sense of right ; it may be, strengthened by the
assurance that her debtor cannot escape her. For it is a social
truth the reader may not have overlooked, that if a man be under
his own roof, he must be at home to his own wife.
" I ask again. Mi*. Jericho, when can you let me have some
money ? "
Mr. Jericho made no answer. He could not precisely name
the time ; and he knew that whatever promise he made, its per-
formance would be sternly exacted of him by the female then
demanding. Whereupon, Mr. Jericho laid down his pen, and
resignedly upturned his eyeballs to the ceiling.
" When — can — you — let — me — have — some — money 1 "
There is a terrible sort of torture, the manner of which is
to let fall cold water drop by drop upon the shaven head of
the sufierer. We think Mrs. Jericho had never heard of this
cruelty ; and we are almost prepared to be bound for her, that
she would have sufi"ered herself to be cut into little diamond
pieces ere, knowing the mode of torment, she would in any way
have imitated it. And upon her incorporate self too — her
beloved husband ! Impossible. Nevertheless love, in its very
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
idleness — like a giddy and rejoicing kitten — will sometimes
wound when most playful. The tiny, tender claws will now and
then transgress the fur.
Mrs. Jericho, without at all meaning it, distilled the question,
letting it fall, cold syllable by cold syllable, upon the naked
ear of her husband. Mr. Jericho bounced up in his chair ; and
then, like a spent ball, dropt dumbly down again. He had for
a few moments raised himself above the earthy and material
query of Mrs. Jericho, and with his eyes fixed upon the ceiling,
was contemplating an antipodean fly that, holding on with*^he
rest of his legs, was passing two of them over his head and collar-
bone, as flies are accustomed curiously to do. Mr. Jericho —
so rapid is thought, especially when followed by a creditor —
Mr. Jericho had already taken refuge in the republic of flies — for
that flies, unlike bees, are not monarchical, is plain to any man
who contemplates their equality and familiarity in his sugar-
basin and other places — and was beginning to envy the condition
of that domestic insect that had the run of his house, the use of
his very finest furniture, gratis, — when he, the nominal master,
the apparent possessor thereof, had truly no lawful hold there-
upon.
What shall we say of a man of a decent and compact figure, a
man of middle height ; who nevertheless wishing to stand two
inches taller in the world than fairly beseems hira, consents to
be stretched by the rack in the hope of walking the higher for
the jDuUing ? — Now Mr. Jericho was this foolish man. He
wanted to stand higher in the world than his simple means
allowed him ; and he had submitted himself to the rack of debt,
to be handsomely drawn out. To get appearance upon debt is,
no doubt, every bit as comfortable as to get height upon the
rack. The figure may be expanded ; but how the muscle oi
the heart, how all the joints are made to crack for it.
Mrs. Jericho — when last she spoke — dropt her question in the
coldest and most measured manner. Mr. Jericho, recalled from
the land of flies, with curved lips, looked silently, sternly at the
life-tenant of his bosom. And now the syllables fall hotly,
heavily, as drops of molten lead.
" When can I have some money ? " and Mrs. Jericho's figure
naturally rose with the question.
Mr. Jericho jumped from his seat the better to measure
himself with his wife's attitude. His first purpose was to swear ;
the oath was ready ; but some good anatomical genius twitched
a muscle, the jaw of Jericho closed, and the unuttered aspick
died upon his tongue. He would not swear ; he would not
enter upon that coward's privilege ; he felt the soreness of great
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
provocation ; felt that the smallest and least offensive oath would
do him sudden and mysterious good. Nevertheless, he swallowed
the emotion, striking his breast to keep the passion down. He
would be cold as cream.
Mrs. Jericho, however, having the right of arithmetic upon
her side, repeated her question ; asking it with a terrible
calmness, at the same time, as though to make the query
stinging, waving her right hand before her husband's face with
a significant and snaky motion. " When can I have some
money ? "
" Woman ! " cried Jericho, vehemently ; as though at once
and for ever he had emptied his heart of the sex ; and, rushing
from the room, he felt himself in the flattering vivacity of the
moment a single man. The transient feeling fell from him as
he ran up stairs ; and ere he had begun to shave, all his respon-
sibilities returned with full weight upon him. " I'm sure, after
all, I do my best to love the woman," thought Jericho, as he
lathered his chin, " and yet she will ask for money."
Mrs. Jericho, baffled but not subdued, half-confessed to her-
self that there never was such a man ; and then, beginning a
little household song — familiar to families as winter robin — she
thought she would go out. She wanted to make a little purchase.
She had tried it before ; there was nothing like shopping for
lowness of spirits ; and — yes, she remembered — she wanted
many things. She would go forth ; and — as Jericho was in his
airs — she would lay out money on both sides of the street.
And Mr. Jericho, as he shaved, quietly built up the scheme
of a day's pleasure for himself and three special friends. As
his wife was in one of her aggravating tempers, he thought it
an opportunity — sinful to let pass — to have a little quiet dinner
somewhere : he could hardly decide upon the place ; but a quiet
banquet, at which the human heart would expand in good
fellowship, and where the wine was far above a doubt.
Shojiping and a dinner ! Thus was the common purse to
bleed in secret, and at both ends.
Mr. Jericho drest himself with unusual care. He was a man
not without his whimsies ; and believed that a good dinner was
eaten with better enjoyment when taken in full dress. " I hold
it impossible " — he would say — " quite impossible, for a man to
really relish turtle in gown and slippers. No ; when turtle was
created, it was intended to be eaten in state ; eaten by men in
robes and golden chains, to a flourish or so of silver trumpets."
Mrs. Jericho was fully aware of this marital superstition. Thug
when with an eye — a wife's eye — at the bed-room door, she saw
her husband slide down stairs as though the bannister was
B 2
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
buttered, she knew from his dress that it was a day out ; and
when the disturbed air wafted back the scent of lavender from
the linen of her lord, mingled with odours from his locks, it will
not surprise the student of human nature when we aver that
the heart of the married woman almost sank within her.
Speedily recovering herself, Mrs. Jericho determined upon her
best and brightest gown ; her richest shawl ; her most captivating
bonnet. These things endued, she took her purse, and as the
bank -paper crumbled in her resolute palm, catching a departing
look at the glass, it was plain to herself that she smiled mischief.
Mrs. Jericho had the profoundest opinion of the powers of her
husband : she believed him capable of any amount of money.
Nevertheless, the man would reject the flattery sometimes with
argument, sometimes with indignation. Again and again the
husband assured his wife, he must — and no help for it — die a
beggar ; but the woman armed her heart with incredulity — she
laughed, and would not believe it. Indeed, it seemed her one
purpose to show and to preach an inextinguishable belief in the
pocket of her husband. Everywhere she made converts. Trades-
men bowed down to her and believed her. On all sides, dealers —
cautious, knowing men, made circumspect by wives and children
— humbled themselves at the door of her pony phaeton, taking
orders. Mrs. Jericho did so possess them with a faith in
Jericho, that had she required the doorway to be laid with velvet
or cachemire, there would have been no scruple of hesitation in
the dealer ; the footcloth would have been surely opened out,
and put down. Moreover, Mrs. Jericho was aided by her two
daughters whom, on her second marriage, she had handsomely
presented to Mi-. Jericho ; further enhancing the gift with a son ;
a young gentleman declared by the partiality of friends to be
born for billiards.
Mr. Jericho was forty when he married ; therefore that, in one
day, he should find himself the father of three children, was
taking the best means to make up for the negligence of former
years.
Mrs. Captain Pennibacker was made a widow at two-and-
twenty by an East Indian bullet ; but it was not until she had
laboured for eight years to become calm about Pennibacker, that
she fluttered towards Jericho. And thus, at one blow, she made
him her second husband, and the second father of Pennibacker'a
son and daughters. Off'ering such treasures to Mr. Solomon
Jericho, she naturally thought he could not make too much of
them. And for a season Mr. Jericho showed a pi'oper sense of his
good fortune ; yet, though his wife would never fail to assure
him that he possessed a priceless treasure in herself and children,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
as time wore on, the ungrateful man would now and then look
doubtfully at the family jewels.
Somehow, the Pennibackers failed to see in Mr. Jericho a flesh
and blood father-in-law. From their earliest introduction to
him, they considered him as they would consider a rich plum
cake ; to be sliced, openly or by stealth, among them. As they
grew up, Mr. Jericho merely held in their opinion the situation
of the person who paid the bills. It was, we say, the household
superstition that Jericho had an unknown amount of wealth.
Hence, he met with little thanks for what he gave; for the'
recurring thought would stiU condemn him for Virhat he kept
back. He possessed a sea of money ; and yet he was mean
enough to filter his gold by drops. In a word, he never gave
anything that he, the donor, did not appear to the son or
daughter receiving, the paltriest of human creatures.
And let the truth be said. Mr. Jericho was persecuted by
the natural growth of his own falsehood. If at home he sat
upon thorns, from his own tongue had dropt the seed that
produced the punishment. In early times he had sown, broad-
cast, notions of his aboiinding wealth ; and the pleasant lies,
as lies will do, had come up prickles. They grew thick in his
daily path. Scarcely could he set foot forth without treading
upon them.
The widow Pennibacker, it will at once be understood, had
married Jericho wholly and solely for the sake of her children.
It was, at the cost of any personal sacrifice, a duty she owed her
infants to provide them with a wealthy father. She herself —
and we seek, we ask no other testimony than her own declara-
tion — she would have been only too happy to join the dear
deceased. But she had a duty to fulfil — a stern duty that held
her to the earth. And she shrank not from its performance.
No ; suppressing her higher feelings, she gave her hand to
Solomon Jericho, and chastised herself to think with calmness
upon Pennibacker in his Indian tomb. She oflFered up — it was
her frequent expression to all her bosom friends — she ofl'ered up
the feelings of the widow to the duties of the mother. For what
a man was Pennibacker ! Especially in his grave. But such
indulgent thought softens even asperity towards the departed.
A natural and wholesome tenderness. The gi-ave is the true
purifier, and in the charity of the living, takes away the blots
and stains from the dead.
When widow Pennibacker was first inti-oduced to Mr. Jericho,
he was whisperingly, confidentially, recommended to her indul-
gent notice as — a City Gentleman. Hence, Jericho appeared to
the imagination of the widow, with an indescribable glory oi
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
money about him. She Wcis a woman of naturally a lively fancy ;
a quality haply cultivated by her sojourn m the East, where
rajahs framed in gold and jewels upon elephants were common
pictures : hence, Jericho of the City of London was instan-
taneously rendered by the widow a man of prodigious wealth.
She gave the freest, the most imaginative translation of the words
— City Gentleman. Though not handsome, he was instantly
considered to be most precious. Had she looked upon the Idol
Ape, Tinum Bug, whose every feature is an imperial jewel set in
the thickest skull of gold, and then cast a glance at Jericho,
she would, we fally believe it, have chosen the City Gentleman
in preference to the idol ; so far, in the dizzied judgment of an
impulsive, imaginative woman, did Solomon Jericho outshine
Tinum Bug.
And much, it must be granted, is to be allowed to Mrs.
Pennibacker as a woman and a mother. A City Gentleman !
What a vision ! what exhalations rise from the ink that, like
magic drops fallen from Circe's finger tips, create the radiant
animal upon the white sheet before us ! What a picture to the
imagination, the — City Gentleman ! Calm, plain, self-assured
in the might of his wealth. All the bullion of the Bank ot
England makes back-ground details ; the India-house dawns in
the distance ; and a hundred pennants from masts in India Docks
tremble in the far-off sky.
Great odds those, against the simplicity of woman ! The
Bank, the India-house, and a htmdred ships ! Mrs. Pennibacker,
had huge strength of character ; but she succumbed to the
unknown power of visionary wealth ; to the mysterious
attributes of the City Gentleman. No man could less look the
part, yet Jericho bowed to the widow, a perfect enchanter.
Again, Jericho was charmed, elevated by the graciousness of
the lady. Like an overlooked strawberry, he had remained until
in his own modesty he began to think himself hardly worth the
gathering. Therefore, when Mrs. Pennibacker vouchsafed to
stoop to him, he was astonished at her condescension, and melted
by his own gratitude. For Mrs. Pennibacker was a majestic
woman. She had brought back nothing of the softness of the
East. She was not — she never had been — an oriental toy for
the grown child, man. It would have been hard to couple her
with thoughts of love-birds, and antelopes, and gazelles. No ;
she rather took her place with those legendary Indian queens
who hide their softness under golden bucklers ; whose bows
are strung with tiger-gut ; and whose feminine arrows, though
parrot-feathered, are fanged with mortal steel. In the pictm-e
of an ancient panther-hunt, you would have looked to see such
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
a figure as the figure of Mrs. Penuibaeker, thrusting a spear with
adread smileof self-approbationin the bowels of theobjecting pard.
And then, Jericho himself had in this case imagination too :
indeed, everybody has, when money is the thought, the theme.
The common brain will bubble to a golden wand.
It was whispered, sharply whispered to Jericho, that the widow
had many relations, many hopes in India. Immediately, Jericho
flung about the lady all the treasures of the East. Immediately
she stood in a shower-bath of diamonds ; elephants' teeth lay
heaped about her ; and rice and cotton groiuids, and fields of
opium, many thousands of acres of the prodigal East, stretched
out on all sides of her, and on all sides called her mistress. Yet
for all this, Solomon Jericho was ordinarily a dull, matter of-fact
man. Talk to him of Jacob's ladder, and he would ask the number
of the steps.
All his life had Jericho trod upon firm earth ; but widow
Pennibacker whipped him off his leaden feet, and carried him
away into the fairy ground of Mammon ; and there his eyes
twinkled at imaginary wealth, and his ears burned and stood erect
at the sound of shaken shadowy money-bags.
And so, each trusting to each, Solomon Jericho and Sabilla
Pennibacker wooed and won each other ; and the winning over,
each had to count the gains. It was very strange. Jericho
himself could not bear to think of the folly, the crime of the
omission. Such neglect had never before betrayed him. Why
had he not assured himself of the woman's property, ere he made
the woman his own ? And then, for his cold comfort, he would
remember that he had, on two or three occasions, touched a little
gravely upon the subject, whereupon Mrs. Pennibacker so opened
her large, black, mysterious orbs, that his soul, like a mouse
when startled by Grimalkin's eyes — ran back into its hole.
Again and again — it was a wretched satisfaction for the married
man to think it — the question had been upon his tongue ; when
some smile of haughty loveliness would curve the widow's lips and
— how well he recollected the emotion — he felt himself the meanest
wretch to doubt her.
Mrs. Pennibacker had, on her part, just played about the
property of Jericho ; but, with the trustingness of her sex,
she was more than satisfied when Jericho, with all the simplicity
of real worth, spoke calmly, yet withal hopefully, of the vast
increase of profit arising from his platina mines. The word
" platina " sent Mrs. Pennibacker to her Encyclopaedia, which
however, comforted her exceedingly. She had instinctively
known it all along ; but she now felt assured ! Solomon
Jericho, the holder of mines, possessed wealth inexhaustible.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Being a City Gentleman, of course he sold his platina on the
Stock Exchange.
The wedding was very gorgeous. Very rarely are two people
joined together with so much expense. Nevertheless the
contribution of either party — had the other known it — would
have somewhat shaken Hymen ; if, indeed, it had not wholly
frightened him out of the church. Mrs. Pennibacker, when
introduced to Jericho, was so deep in debt, that often, let folks
try as they would, they could not see her. And Jericho —
doubtless from a short supply of platina — was an object of
extreme solicitude to a large number of dealers. "When, however,
it was understood that the widow was to be married to a rich
man in the City, the lady found the very handsomest outfit for
herself and children made delightfully easy. And Jericho, bearing
in mind the heavy expense of an intoxicating honeymoon, readily
obtained the means, when his circle — and every man has a
circle, though of the smallest — rang with the news that he
was in imminent likelihood of marrying the widow of an Indian
nabob !
And so bridegroom and bride — with a mutual trust even
beyond mutual expectation — walked to the altar, there to be
welded into one. They were married at St. George's Church, —
married in the bosom of a few surrounding friends. The bride's
children were present, and cast a mixed interest of pensiveness
and pleasure on the ceremony. The bride had told her brides-
maid that, " It would cost her a struggle, but the dear children
should be present ; it was right they should. They ought to have
the sacrifice impressed upon their minds in the most solemn way ;
the sacrifice that their poor mother consented to make for them.
Nobody but herself knew what a struggle it was ; but, it was
her duty, and thoiigh her heart was with dear Pennibacker, —
yes, she would go through with it. Mr. Jericho had given
the dear girls the most beautiful lace frocks ; and to Basil a lovely
gold himting-watch ; therefore, they ought and they should,
witness the sacrifice."
And Miss Pennibacker and Miss Agatha Pennibacker, like
little fairies, clothed in muslin and lace from elfin-looms, saw the
sacrifice with a vivacity of heart that almost spirted oat at the
corners of their lips ; and Basil Pennibacker, a gaunt, reedy boy
of twelve, did nothing during the ceremony but take out his
new gold hunting-watch— open it — snap it to — and return it
again, as though he had already had a glimpse of the
preparations for the wedding-breakfast, and with his thoughts
upon all the delicacies of the season, was impatient for the sacrifice
to be completed.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
And the last " amen " — the last blow on the rivet — was struck,
and Solomon Jericho and Sabilla Pennibacker were man and
wife. Whereupon, in a hysteric moment, the bride turning
to her children, took the three in one living bunch m her arms,
and sweeping them over to Jericho, said — " You are theh- father
now."
Turning to the church books of St. George's we find that the
date of this interesting deed of gift makes it about eight years
to the date of the particular emphatic question with which
Mrs. Jericho, as with a flourish of a silver trumpet, opened this
little history.
CHAPTEE II.
It was what we wiU venture to caU a vinous hour of the
morning, when Mr. Jericho returned home after the dinner eaten
abroad in defiance of his own household gods, we fear sadly
despised upon the occasion. For Mr. Jericho, with accessory
boon-feUows, had partaken of a luxurious repast ; little caring
that his own stinted lares wei'e served with, at best, metaphoric
cold mutton. Mr. Jericho had tested the best resources of the
larder and cellar of the Apollo Tavern ; and full of meat and
wine, and his brain singing with fantastic humours, he had
surveyed the river Thames with simpering complacency ; had
seen big-bellied ships, stowed with India and Africa, drop
silently with the tide towards their haven. It was impossible to
enjoy a serener evening or a nobler sight. The setting sun, with
a magnificence quite worthy of the west- end, coloured all things
gold and ruby ; the black hulls of ships glowed darkly and richly ;
and their sails were, for the time, from Tyrian looms. The
gorgeousness of the hour enriched every common object with
glorious beauty. Everv cold, mean common-place of the common
day seemed sufi"used in one wide harmonious splendour. And the
brain of Jericho, meditating the scene, was expanded and melted
into it ; and in that prodigal wealth of colour, the illusion a little
assisted by the swallowed colours within him, Jericho felt
himself a part and parcel of the absorbing richness. The wine iu
his heart, a Bacchus' jack-o'-lantern, reflected the rosy, golden
light that came upon him.
This sweet illusion lasted its pleasant time, fading a little when
the bill was rung for. Nevertheless, Jericho, by the force of the
10 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
scene and the wine, felt himself in much easier circumstances
than the hard tyranny of truth, when he was in a calm condition
to respect its dictum, was likely to allow. And so, at that
hour when sparrows look down reproachfully from their eaves
at 'the flushed man trying the street-door — at that jjenitential
hour, with the hues of the past romantic evening becoming
very cold within him — Mr. Jericho stood beneath his own
oppressive roof
Mrs. Jericho was gone to bed.
Mr. Jericho breathed a little lighter. Such a load was taken
ofi" him, that he mounted the staircase tenderly, as though he
trod upon flowers : as though every woollen blossom in the carpet
from the stair to the bed itself was living heart's-ease ; which it
was not.
Being somewhat ashamed of Mr. Jericho who, as it has been
shown, left his wife to the solitude of her dinner-table, whilst he,
luxurious spendthrift, could dine with company abroad, — we
should be very happy if we could, without any more ado,
put him to bed at once, and indignantly tucking him up, and
with perhaps an allowed allusion to the sort of head that awaited
him in the morning, let the good-for-nothing fellow snore till the
curtain-rings danced again, allowing him only to wake up in
time for the next chapter. But this we cannot do. The stern,
iron moral it is our wish to impress upon the world — yielding
as it always is to such impressions — comjDels us to steady Mr.
Jericho to his bed-side ; and even when there, not for awhile to
leave him.
In the reproachful quietude of his dressing-room, Jericho
prepared himself for his couch. Tenderly did his fingers dwell
upon and wander about buttons. He caught a sight of himself
in the looking-glass, and to dodge his conscience — set himself to
feign to whistle : and then it struck him it must be very
very late, his beard had grown so much. And the day in a
moment seemed to have opened its broad, staring eye ; and the
sparrows cried more saucily ; and the reproachful voice of the
pigeons perched upon the chimney-top, came down in muffled
murmur upon Solomon's ear ; and with a very little more he
would have felt himself a villain.
The culprit placed his hand upon the handle of the bed-room
door. Had he been a burglar with a felonious intention upon
Mrs. Jericho's repeater, instead of the man responsible for the
rent and taxes of the house in which he at that moment stood in
his shirt and shuddered, — had he, we say, at that point of time
been an unlawful thief in posse, in lieu of a lawful husband in
esse, his knees — unless he had been a very young and sensitive
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 11
rogue indeed — could not have so knocked together. With his
face crumpled into a thousand lines, he opened the door. What
a blessing ; the hinges did not that time creek, and before they
always did ! Assured by the omen, Jericho took a little bit of
heart. The night-light was winking its last. There was not
a sound. The bed-cui'tains hung like cui'tained marble. Jericho
paused, turning up his ear. Still not a sound. SabiUa did not
ordinarily sleep so light. The stillness was peculiar^curious —
very odd.
" And if my Lucy should be dead I "
At the moment Solomon Jericho, though he did not know
it, was quite as much the author of that liae as WUliam
Wordsworth. Still silent 1 Hush ! A gnat drones its tiny
trump between the curtains. Ubi flos, ibi apis. Suddenly
Jericho is assured ; and with two long, soft strides, is at his own
side of the bed. Sabilla is evidently in a sound, deep, sweet
sleep. Untucking the bed, and making himself the thinnest
slice of a man, Jericho slides between the sheets. And there he
lies, feloniously still ; and he thinks to himself — being asleep,
she cannot tell how late I came to bed. At all events, it is open
to a dispute ; and that is something.
" Mr. Jericho, when can you let me have some money ? "
With open eyes, and clearly ringing every word upon the
morning air, did Mrs. Jericho repeat this primal question.
And what said Jericho 1 With a sudden qualm at the heart,
and with thick, stammering tongue, he answered — " Why, my
dear, I thought you were sound asleep."
" I should be very happy if, lilce some people, I could sleep,
Mr. Jericho. I should be very glad indeed if, like some people,
I could leave the house aud take my pleasui-e, and run into every
sort of extravagance. But no ! I must remain at home. But
I tell you this, Mi\ Jericho, I have made my mind up. Lying
here, and being bitten by the gnats as I have been " —
" I'm sure, I'm very — very sorry" —
" Not you, iudeed. No — no. You don't care how I'm bitten ;
or, for that matter, who bites me. But that is not what I was
going to say. WTiat I was going to observe is this — Neither you
nor any man in this world shall make a cat's-paw of me."
" I never thought of it. Never entered my head," said Jericho,
screwing his skull into the pillow.
" Nothing but a cat's-paw, and I'm not come to that. I was
deceived at the altar," said Mi-s. Jericho : " grossly, shamefully
played upon ; and I have been deceived ever since."
" For the matter of that," cried Jericho, a little doggedly, " I
was deceived too. Of course, everybody said you'd money ; and
12 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
SO I was deceived — grossly deceived," cried Jericho, melting a
little with a sense of his injury. " I don't want to return to the
subject, Mrs. Jericho. But of course I thought you rich."
" Mercenary wretch ! If the girls were only stirring, I'd get
up," was the threat. " I'm sure it's time."
" Just as you like, Mrs. Jericho : only be good enough to let
me go to sleep. Bed," said Jericho, making himself vigorously
up for rest, " bed isn't the place to talk in."
" I don't wish to talk," replied Mrs. Jericho, " I don't wish to
exchange a word with such a creature as you are. All I want
to know is this — When can you let me have some money V
" Money ! " gasped Jericho.
" Money ! " repeated Mrs. Jericho, with inexorable resolution.
" Mrs. Jericho," said the husband, bolting himself upright in
bed, and looking aside, down upon the face of his unmoved
wife — " will you permit me to sleep, now I've come to my own
bed ? I think it particularly hard when a man has been out all
the day as I have been, toiling for his wife and family — I say I
think it particularly hard " —
" I don't want to prevent your sleeping, Mr. Jericho. Sleep
as long as the sleeping beauty, and I'm sure I sliould be the last
person to attempt to wake you. All I want to ask of you is
what I asked this morning. Nothing more. When shall I have
some money ? "
" Zounds, woman ! " — cried Jericho.
" Don't call me woman — man ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jericho.
" Major Pennibacker " —
" He was only a captain," hiccupped Jericho.
"Major Pennibacker," reiterated his widow, "a soldier and a
gentleman, never called me woman yet. Glorious creature !
His sword would rattle in its scabbard if he knew how I was
treated."
" Is this the time," cried Jericho, a little fiercely, " the time
to talk of swords and scabbards, with the sun shining in at the
windows ? Why can't you let me go to sleep, and talk at the
proper hours ? After a man has been toiling and slaving for his
wife and family " —
" No doubt. And I wonder how many wives — and how many
families — that's it ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, with a strange, cutting
significance, that instantly levelled her husband ; for Solomon
desperately stretched himself in the bed ; and lugging the
nightcap over his ears, turned round, determined upon plucking
up sleep, like poppies, by the roots.
" I'm not to be deceived by your indignation, Mr. Jericho.
I know everything, or else where could your money go to ?
1
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 13 I
However, as I said, I will no longer be made a cat's-paw of.
For eight years have I been married to you, under what I may
call false pretences. People called you the Golden Jericho, or
is it likely that I could have forgotten the heroic man who — I
feel it — has a slight put upon him in his warrior's grave, by your
being in the nightcap you wear at this moment ? However, he
forgives me. At least, I trust " — and Mi-s. Jericho spoke with a
spasm—" 1 trust he does. It was all for the sake of his precious
orphans that I am in the bed I am. Yes, Pennibacker "— and
his widow cast up her eyes, as though addressing her first
husband, looking down benignly upon her from the tester —
'' Yes, dear Pennibacker, you know for what I sacrificed the
best of wives, and the most disconsolate of widows, I could
have wished, like the Hindoo, to be burnt upon the pyre ; I was
equal to it ; I could have rejoiced in it. But I re-married,
unwillingly re -married, to sacrifice myself for our children.
Yes, Pennibacker " —
" Damn Pennibacker ! " cried Jericho.
" Mr. Jericho," said Pennibacker's widow, with her deepest
voice, and with thunder brooding at her brows—" I^Ir. Jericho,
will you dare to desecrate the ashes of the dead 1 Demon !
Will you 1 "
" Well then," said Jericho, a little appalled— for an impartial
circle had called Mrs. Jericho the Siddons of private life, she
could so freeze her friends with her fine manner — " Well then,
let me go to sleep. It's very hard, IVIrs. Jericho ; very hard,
that you will always be throwing your husband's ashes in my
face."
" No levity, sir ; no levity," said Mrs. Jericho, very ponderously.
" Though imhappily I am your wife, I cannot forget that I am
Major Pennibacker's widow." And then Mrs. Jericho drew a
sepulchral sigh ; and then she hopefully added — "but he forgives
me. However, as I believe I have observed once before, Mi-
Jericho, I will no longer be made a cat's-paw of"
" Of course not. Why should you 1 " said Jericho. " I'm
sure, for my part, I want a wife with as little of the cat as
possible." And then Jericho shrank in the bed, as though he
had ventured too much.
Possibly Mrs. Jericho was too imperious to note the coarse
affront ; for she merely repeated — " Very well, Mr. Jericho : aU
I want to know is this— I ask to know no more. When — when
will you let me have some money 1 "
As though the bed had been strowu with powdered pumice,
Jericho shifted and writhed.
" I don't wish to annoy you, Mr. Jericho," said the woman.
14 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
with dread composure. " But you compel me, gracious knows,
much against my nature, to ask when — when will you let me
have some money ? "
Jericho shook and groaned.
" It is much more afflicting to my nature, much greater
suffering to me to ask, than it can be for you to hear. Major
Pennibacker never had a pocket to himself. He, dear fellow,
always came to me. Ha ! how few men can appreciate the true
dignity of married life. As I always used to say, one heart
and one pocket. However, as it's quite time for me to get up ;
and as I suppose you intend to go to sleep — and as people will
be here, and I must give them an answer of some sort, — permit
me, Mr. Jericho, to ask you — I'm sure it's painful enough to
my feelings, and I feel degraded by the question — nevertheless,
I must and will ask you, — when will you let me have some
money 1 "
Jericho — as though a dagger had been suddenly struck up
through the bed — ^bounced bolt upright. There was a super-
natural horror in his look : even his own wife, familiar as she
was with his violence, almost squealed. However, silently
eyeing him through the small murderous loop-holes of her lace
border, Mrs. Jericho saw her pale-faced husband snatch off his
cap, holding it away at arm's length ; then, breathing hard and
casting back his head, he cried in tones so deep and so unnaturally
grating, that the poor woman, like a night-flower, shrank within
herself at the first sound, —
" E iaisi) to l^cafacn E Soas tnatic nf inoncg ! "
Mrs. Jericho, considerably relieved that it was no worse,
added in a low, deep, earnest voice — "I wish to Heaven you
were."
Foolish and wicked wishes do not fly upwards, but there is no
doubt of it, descend below ; where, though they are but bodiless
syllables, they are often fashioned by the imps into pins and
needles, and straightway returned to the world to torment their
begetter.
And Solomon Jericho, with a silly, sinful wish at his heart —
a wish further emphasised by the thoughtless amen of his wife
— subsided into muddled sleep ; snoring heavily, contemptuously,
at the loneliness of his spouse. She, poor woman, lay awhile,
silently struggling with her indignation. At length, however,
her feelings growing too strong for her, she rose the better to
wrestle with them.
And Jericho was left alone — alone in bed ? Not alone. He
had desperately fitted his night-cap to his head, and resolute
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 15
upon sleep, had punched his head deep, deep into his pillow.
INIi'S. Jericho would have doubted her eyes had she seen the
creatures in her house ; but standing upon a ridge of her
husband's night-cap, and looking wisely down upon her husband's
dreaming face, were two fleas. An elder and a younger flea.
Their ancestors had come from the far East, and carried the
best royal blood within them. It would be no difficult matter to
trace them up to the court of king Croesus, whither they were
first brought in the cloak of Esop. Let it suffice, that from
this Lydian stock descended the two fleas, at the time of our
story, perched — like ruminating goats upon a ledge of rock —
upon the night-cap of Jericho. Their progenitors had not come
in, like many others, with the Conquest ; but were brought to
England in the train of a Persian Ambassador. After a
wandering life, the race remained for some forty years
comfortably settled in a lodging-house at Margate, bringing up
a multitudinous family. From this stock came our two fleas,
travelling, cosily enough, to London. How from the Apollo
Tavern, w^here they first put up on their arrival in the metropolis,
they made their way to the home of Jericho, passes our knowledge
to declare. Very sure we are, that Mrs. Jericho believed she
had no such creatures in her house.
Well, the two fleas having jumped upon the brow of Jericho,
we shall, without any scruple, make use of them. They stand
above the brain of the sleeper, and — being descended from the
fleas of Esop — shall, for the nonce, be made to narrate to the
reader the vision of the dreaming victim.
" Miserable race ! "—said the father flea, with its beautiful
bright eye shining pitifully upon Jericho — '^ Miserable, craving
race ! You hear, my son ; man, in his greed, never knows when
he has wherewithal. He gorges to gluttony, he drinks to
di-unkenness ; and you heard this wretched fool, who prayed to
heaven, to turn him — heart, brain, and all — into a lump of
money. Happily, it is otherwise with fleas. We take our
wholesome, our sufficient draught, and there an end. With a
mountain of enjoyment under our feet, we limit ourselves to
that golden quantity — enough."
"Therefore, O my sire, let us not, for our temperance, be
gluttonous of self-praise. Seeing that fleas are the crowning
work of the world ; seeing that as sheep, and bullocks, and fish,
and fowl are made for man, and man for us ; let us be charitable
towards our labouring servant, — poor biped! our cook and
butler."
" My son, true it is, man feeds for us, drinks for us. Man is
the labouring chemist for the fleas ; for them he turns the richest
e
ir> A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
meats and spiciest drinks to flea wine. Nevertheless, and I say
it with much pain, man is not what he was. He adulterates our
tipple most wickedly."
" I felt it with the last lodgers," said the younger flea. " They
drank vile spirits : their blood was turpentine, with, I fear me, a
dash of vitriol. How they lived at all, I know not. I always
had the headache in the morning. Here, however" — and the
juvenile looked steadfastly down upon the plain of flesh, the
wide champaign beneath him, — " here, we have promise of better
fare."
" The soil is woundily hot ; hard, and dry, and hot as a vol-
cano ; and — mercy me ! " cried the elder, " how it throbs and
heaves. Hark!" — and the flea inclined its right ear — "the
fellow's brain sings like a kettle. Now is he going oQ" into a
galloping dream. Our ancestors — some of whom, my son, as
I have often told you, lived the bosom friends of conjurors and
soothsayers — were, as many of their descendants are at the pre-
sent day, to be met with amongst fortune-tellers and gypsies —
our ancestors had the gift of following a dream in all its zig-zag
mistiness. And the wisdom of our ancestors " — and here the
flea raised itself upon its legs, and looked with a serene pride
about it — " the wisdom of our ancestors has come down in its
fullness upon myself; to be left, my dear child, whole and
unimpaired, and I may add, unimproved to you."
" What a sight is this ! " cried the young flea, staring at
Jericho's face. " What an earthquake must be tumbling and
rumbling in the fellow's heart ; and how his teeth clang together !
Is that thunder ? No. But did you ever hear such snoring ?"
" In a minute, my son, and he'll be in the thick of it. Attend ;
and I'll follow him through the maze, showing you all the odd
things that shower up and down in his brain, just as the golden
air-bubbles of yesterday sparkled in his wine-glass. But first,
my child, let us drink." Saying this, the elder flea, raising itself
pretty well upright, and with its strong claws taking a firm hold
of the flesh beneath, for better purchase, struck its lance home,
and opening its shoulders, drew up with its sucker such a hearty
draught of drink, that Jericho, the unconscious cup-bearer, gave
a sudden twist, so deep and hearty was the pull of the drinker.
" Very good ; very good, indeed," said the flea. " There's a fine
delicate bouquet in it."
" Hm ! " cried the younger flea ; " for my part, I think
'twould bear a little more body. But, my sire, as I've heard
you say, there's no judging truly from the first cup. Here goes
again. Why, how the fellow kicks ! "
" Such, my son," said the elder flea, " is man ; such his waste-
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 17
fulness upon himself, such his injustice to what — coekiug his
nose towards the stars — he calls the lower animals. At least,
two bottles of wine, a gill or more of brandy, to say nothing of
a draught or two of malt, are burning in his arteries, and in hot
mist rising to his brain. Now, what work, what watching, what
risk of limb and life — what multi23lication of toil — to produce
the various beverage he has guzzled ! What digging and
ploughing of the land ; what vine-dressing ; what sailing upon
the stormy seas ; what glass-blowing ; what bottling, before the
liquor, like a melted jewel, shone in his eye, and trickled down
his throat ! Yet here he lies, and with no conscious labour of
his own, is at once the wine-press and distiller for the fleas.
And when we seek to take our temperate draught — smallest
drops ; merest seed-rubies, — how the miser kicks and flounders !
and when he has sense enough, what wicked words at times he
pitches at us ! But such " — said the elder flea, preparing itself
for another stoup — " such is man." And again the flea pierced
the wine-skin, and sucked up another draught, and again Jei'icho
plunged, and twisted.
"The bin improves," said the younger flea, drinking very
hard. "And yet, I'm sure there's burgundy in it. Now, never
but twice before have I tasted burgundy ; and then I sufiered
for it ; just as if the grapes were grown on a soil of sulphur.
Nevertheless, 'tis a rare cellar this, after the turpentine and
vitriol of our last lodgings ; so, hang the headache, and let's
have t'other bumper."
"Not another drop," cried the elder flea. "Let the poor
wretch beneath us teach us moderation. Consider his face.
How dead and stupified it looks ! How it shone above the
table last night ; and what a piece of dirty dough it looks at
this moment ! What light was in the lamp, and now what
dulness and smoke ! "
" And yet," said the younger flea, " the dough begins again to
work. Surely, he's on with his dream now."
" Now, he's fairly off'. A while ago, and the brain was only
fluttering — like a bird trying its wings — but now — yes, now it's
off". Ha ! ha ! A very droll dream, even so far as it goes ; " and
the old flea looked very wise.
" Tell it, father ; tell it. You never told me a dream before :
surely," said the young one, " I'm old enougli to learn now."
"Listen, my son, and be instructed. The sleeping man is at
this moment following his heart. The thing has been plucked
out of his bosom by a laughing little creature, with painted
wings : a strange creature, half-elfin half-angel. The elf, or
angel, or whatever it is, hugs the heart in its plump arms, and
18 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
its eyes twinkle with mischief, and its cheeks are pitted with
dimples, and its lips pout as over-full of the fun that will rise to
them ; and still away the child carries the heart."
" And the man ? Where 's the man that owns it ? Still
following 1 '' asked the young flea.
" Still following, and in a pretty pucker about his property.
But, my son, be silent ; and do not interrupt me. The elf, still
flying with the heart, is now in the open country. A peaceful
quiet spot. Beautiful meadows, starred with daisies. Ha ! they
remind me of a scene of early youth. That green velvet quilt,
sprinkled with little silver flowers — the quilt of the sweet Princess
of Satinskin — that sweet, beautiful quilt in the palace of" —
" Never mind the palace," said the young flea. " You are now
in the open country ; keep to the meadow."
And the elder flea, rebuked, proceeded. " There's cattle and
sheep in the meadows ; and the boy, in sport, flies and flutters
above them. And now he jumps from lamb's back to lamb's
back, and the man still following, with all his eyes watching his
heart, that the little elf in the wildest fun tosses up like a ball
in the air, catching it again, and again tossing it up, and " —
" I should guess something odd," said the young flea ; "for how
the fellow here kicks ! and how his face is broken into movinsr
hills and valleys ! How he moans, too, about his heart. Poor
devil ! "
" And now, the little imp trips across a bridge, that leads to a
large wooden building — still in the open country. He runs iuto
the building, the fellow following him, as though now he was
sure of getting his heart back again. Not a bit. The youngster
throws the heart to a strange-looking woman ; a sort of Egyptian
fortune-teller, and she, with a sharp glittering knife, begins to
cut the heart into little pieces."
" Oh, ho ! Look at his face," cried the young flea. " And if
he doesn't shift and twist like a worm on a hook ! "
" The woman cuts the heart into small pieces, and the owner
of the heart — how his knees twitch ujj and down, and how his
head rolls upon the pillow at every touch of the knife ! — at length
sits down in a sort of curious despair to see what will become of
his heart. And now, he looks about him : yes, he knows he is
in a paper-mill ; and strangely enough appears to him a kind of
living history of the rise and progress of paper. He sees the
flags of Egypt growing in a ditchy nook — and red Egyptians
pulling and peeling it. And here flourishes a fleld of bamboo,
and here a Chinaman, with his side-long, almond eyes, cuts and
shreds the skin from the bark. And the dreamer, seeing his
heart in bits tossed into a trough, is suddenly smitten with the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 19
sense that his heart, the great machine and blood-pump of his
life, is to be made into paper. He tries to protest against the
injury. He tries to roar out ; but not a word will come. He
sits straining and gasping, and dumb withal, as a caught fish.
And now he sees the bits of his heart curiously sorted by these
hags of women ; gloomy and wild as sybils ; for, my son, I know
what sort of folk sybils are from the wisdom of my ancestors,
our great forefathers having been closely entertained by them."
" Go on, father : I'm impatient to know what they make of the
heart," cried the younger flea.
" The women, with sharp hooks, pick out the little knots and
hard bits from the heart, and then souse the sorted stuff into
boiling water : and then they cut the bits with a turning thing
toothed vnth knives ; cut it and shred it ; and now what was a
fine, firm, full-weight heart, labouring in and through life, in the
bosom of this wretched tipsiness below us, is soft and liquid as
a dish of batter. Nevertheless, bating a chalky paleness in the
fellow's face, he seems to do as well without his heart as
with it." ., ,
" But it can't last, father ; it can't last. He must have somethino-
of a heart to live," said the young flea.
" Be patient a minute, and you shall learn. Now, one of the
hags scoops the batter edgewise into a little frame and shakes it
and — presto ! — all is done : the heart of the dreamer is worked
up into I know not how many sheets — but there seems a lumping
lot — a lumping lot of the finest and whitest paper."
" Poor devil, I say again. He can't live vsdth that ; he can't go
through life with a heart of paper."
"Don't interrupt me. Whilst you spoke, everything changed.
At this moment, the imp that vanished when he threw the heart
to the hags, now carries it in a square bundle upon his head ;
laughing and skipping along London streets ; and the man with-
out a heart still following his tormenter. My son, the imp and
the man are now going up Ludgate-hill " —
" Do you know the place ? " asked the younger flea.
" Perfectly well ; many years ago — for what a vulgar error it
is to think fleas short-lived — many years ago, I walked on a Lord
Mayor's day."
" Walked ! " cried the young flea.
" Walked ; that is, was carried in the miniver far of an alder-
man of the Fishmongers' Company ; and upon my life, a very
noble sight it was. Yes, my child, I think I ought to remember
that show, for it was on that very day, in that very miniver I
first met your poor mother. Ha ! that was a happy day — and
we saw all the fun from the beginning to the end ; for we
c 2
;'0 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
contrived to get upon the alderman, and sitting close and keeping
quiet — for that's an art fleas have to leam, if they would see, and
not in the end be seen — sitting close in the nape of the alderman's
neck, we were present at the banquet. I shall never forget the
beautiful sight we had, when the alderman got upon his legs to
make a sioeech. "Well, we wei'e carried home and put to bed with
the alderman, and from that time " —
" Never mind the alderman," cried the pert young flea, " but
set on from Ludgate-hiU."
" While I've talked, the imp and the man have gone round
St. Paul's, and are now crossing into Cheapside. Shall I ever
forget how, when we came to Cheapside, the giants — well, I
won't think of that now. The imp with the load of paper
on his head runs by Bow-Church, and the dreamer here
stretches after him. My sou, both imp and man," said the flea
solemnly, " both imp and man have now entered the Bank of
England ! "
" The Bank of England ! " repeated the young flea, impressed
by the sudden seriousness of its parent.
There was a short pause. The elder flea, a little dry in the
mouth with so much talking, again inserted its piercer in the
skin beneath it, and drew up another glass of flea-wine. And in
this the son dutifully imitated the father.
" The imp," continued the elder flea, much refreshed by the
draught, " the imp has entered the Bank prLnting-olfice. The
man without the heart, the poor wretch wriggling and moaning
l^nder our feet, resignedly drops upon a stool. He sits wi-inging
his hands for his lost heart ; and now his veins tingle, for he hears
the creaking of presses. Theu' motion seems, strangely enough,
his motion. And now, the imp that had vanished, comes back
again, bringing in his arms the poor man's heart."
" It can't be of any use to him, now," said the younger
flea.
" Of the best use, my child, as he thinks it. The imp jumps
upon the man's knee, and the heart — it has lost its red colour, and
its flesh-like look, and as though all the blood had been discharged
from it, is white as a rag, save that the veins show through it all
black — yes, black as ink ; the heart nicely fitted by the imp,
beats again in its place inside the sleeper. Yoti see ! how he
smiles — and how his whole body heaves with the chuckle — as he
again feels the old acquaintance. And now he can't make too
much of the imp ; he throws his arms about him, and paws his
little cheeks in drunken fondness. You hear ! You hear, how
the laugh gurgles in the fool's throat, and aU because he's got his
heart back again."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 21
"And now, as tlie dream's over, father — what say you to
another drhik ? " asked the young flea.
" In a minute, for 'tisn't over yet. No. The place is changed,
and the sleeper is carried to see what appears to him Gold's
Grand Review in the Bank cellars."
" What do you mean by Gold's Eeview 1 " demanded the
junior.
" The imp and the dreamer are in the Bank Cellars. Here, my
son, in mighty bars — in bars that can break even the backs of
emperors — is gold. The imp takes a new sovereign piece from
its bosom, and holds it above its head. Like a small golden sun,
it illumines the place. Whereupon, all the bars of gold become
pigmy shapes, and all in action. Here we have a whole army —
all in gold — marching, wheeling, forming into lines and squares.
Here we have little golden shipwrights hammering at golden
craft : here, cooks of gold sweating at golden dainties ; here, in
the cellar, all the works and labours, the commands and services
of the world, are shown by the imp in action — drawn into life, for
a brief spa^ from what was a moment before bars of inert metal-
It is my son, as if all the world outside of the walls of the Bank,
was imitated by the world's masters down in the Bank cellars.
I can see the Lord Mayor and Court of Aldermen in little men
of gold not bigger than an Alderman's thumb : and here they act
in the metal itself what the metal makes acted in the flesh
outside."
" And for what purpose 1 I don't see the use of it," said the
young flea.
" As a farewell show to our dreamer here. And he is mightily
pleased with it, for he rubs his hands, and then rubs his heart
as though he found all happiness there."
" And has he found it, think you ? " asked the youngster.
" Hm ! That will be seen," said the old one.
22 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTEK III.
It was mid-day when Mrs. Jericho next entered her bed-room.
She came in, humming a little piece of a song. Wliereupon, the
culprit between the sheets took courage to observe — " I don't
think I ever passed so ■m.'etched a night."
" Considering the night was over when you came home,
Mr. Jericho, you of course are the best judge. How should I
know anything about it 1 " Such was the home-thrust relentlessly
given by Mrs. Jericho. She would not be mollified.
" I went, my dear," — began Jericho.
The outraged wife would not be insulted. Suddenly twisting
round, as though stung by the hypocritic tenderness, Mrs.
Jericho desired the man to keep his fine words for people out
of doors. Her eyes were at length oijened ; she had a long
time — too long — been fondly blind ; but at last she knew all ;
she was satisfied, and — she again repeated it — she would not be
insulted.
Jericho was not to be diverted into a quarrel. Pacific man !
He would struggle to keep the peace. Hence, in tones felo-
niously intended to soften and cajole, he returned to what he
called the terrors of the past night.
" If I were to live a thousand years, my love " —
" Love ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jericho, and this time she turned
full upon the offender. For a minute, she stood withering him
from between the bed-curtains. And Jericho, not wholly lost to
shame, dragged his uight-cap over his brow, and shrinking, rolled
himself iipon the other side. With his heavy eye upon the
paiTots and parroquets perched and flying upon the bed-room
paper that adorned the wall — for Mrs. Jericho, as she told her
bosom friends, would have that paper at any price ; the bu'ds,
and the palms, and the savannahs, as she said, so reminding
her of past happiness with Pemiibacker, — Jericho manfully
continued :
" Yes, a thousand years, I shouldn't forget last night."
" Very likely not," said Mrs. Jericho. " I've no doubt you
deserve to remember it. I shouldn't wonder."
" You don't knoV, my dear Sabilla " — Mrs. Jericho trod the
room anew, impatient of such daring familiarity, — " you don't
know what I've suffered. Such an extraordinary dream ! I
feel it now. It has almost killed me with bile. But it's the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 23
usual case with me. An uncomfortable dream always does.
Killed with bile."
(The wretched hypocrite ! With such baited cunning, he angled
in the depths of woman's tenderness for unmerited sympathy.
But we tnist the reader will feel a grim pleasure at his disap-
pointment ; he caught nothing.)
" The dream, my love, the dream has quite scorched me up.
I'm a man — as I believe you'll give me credit for, dear Sabilla
— a man with a mind above such things ; otherwise, I should
think something dreadful, very dreadful, was going to happen.
Could you give me some soda-water 1 "
" I am very sure, IMi*.- Jericho, there is not a single drop of
soda-water in the house."
Hereupon the sufierer ventured to make a suggestion.
" Couldn't you send for some ? "
" Certainly not," replied Mrs. Jericho, with instant decision.
" If I cannot reclaim you to propriety, at least let me have the
satisfaction, for the sake of your children, Pennib — Mr. Jericho,
for their sake, let me, if possible, hide from an inquisitive world
the vices of their father. Let me, at least, have such barren
consolation." Jericho was silent. In consequence thereof,
Mrs. Jericho, with gushing fluency, continued — " I have no wish,
sir, to busy the idle world -ndth my private wrongs ; none
whatever."
" I don't see, my — my dear " — said Jericho, from under the
clothes — " I don't see why you should."
" And yet you ask me to send the servants for soda-water at
this time of day. But what do you care how the domestics
talk ! — how your conduct as a husband and a father is made the
gossip of the neighbourhood ! I can just fancy, at this hour,
Edwin asking for soda-water ; and how very cleverly you'd be
brought upon the counter. Of course, servants will talk. No
wages will stop 'em. And — no, Mr. Jericho, no " — and his wife
spoke as though sternly re-assured in her purpose — "you may
stab my heart if you will ; but at least you shall not — that is, if
I can help it — you shall not call about the vulgar and unfeeling
world to gaze upon the bleeding woimd." And Mrs. Jericho sat
down.
" I wouldn't do such a thing, and you know I wouldn't,
Sabilla, dear, you know I wouldn't." Mrs. Jericho made no
spoken reply ; but her foot, tapping the carpet, was eloquent of
unbelief and wrong.
There was no answering this, therefore Jericho adroitly sought
to turn the current of discourse. For several minutes he hunted
for a thought, his wife's foot still accompanying him on the
24 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
search. At last he deemed himself successful, and, with the
vivacity of good fortune, said —
" Can I have a cuji of tea ? "
Mrs. Jericho rose like a sultana, and with a cold dignity, and
in deep seai'ching tones, that made Jericho wince in the sheets,
said — " Of course, Mr. Jericho ; you are master in your own
house. Of course, you can have a cup of tea." And, with this
assurance, Mrs. Jericho slowly swept from her profaned bed-
room.
" Well, and what does the old felon say ? The scaly old
griffin ! What's he got to answer for himself ? "
A young gentleman close upon one of the privileges of
legal manhood — the privilege of going to prison for his own
debts — put this sudden question to Mrs. Jericho, on her instant
return to the drawing-room from the interview described
above.
" Come, what is it ? Will he give me the money ? In a
word," asked the hurried youth, " will he go into the melting-pot
like a man and a father 1 "
"My dear Basil, you mustn't ask me," replied Mrs. Jericho to
her emphatic first-born.
" Oh, mustn't I, though ? " cried Basil. " It's as little as I can
do. Ha ! you don't know the lot of people that's asking me.
Bless you ! they ask a hundred times to my once. Well, will
old Jericho tip the loyalty 1 Did you give him my sentiment,
mother, eh 1 Money — money's like the air you breathe ; if you
have it not, you die. Have you brought me the beggarly
allowance ? If I don't blush a hole in my cheek to take it ! It's
disgusting. A hundred a-year ! Not enough to keep a blind
man in dogs."
" My dear Basil, where do you imbibe such extraordinary
parallels 1 " asked Mrs. Jericho ; and, with her eyes feeding
upon the knowing, impudent face of the young man, she
affectionately adjusted his cravat. " What a careless child you
are — I'm sure you don't take care of yourself"
" First make it worth my while, mother. Care ! What's the
use of buttoning an empty pocket 1 But about this worst half
of yours ; this supernumerary father of mine. Only wished I'd
ha' guessed what he's turned out. Little as I was, I'd ha' forbid
the banns — I would — if I'd jumped upon a three-legged stool to
do it."
INIrs. Jericho drew a deep, deep sigh, and tenderly pressed the
hero in her arms.
" Don't sigh, ma'am/' said the youth, " don't sigh ; for times
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 25
are bad, and bobbin's getting dearer." Mrs. Jericho tapped the
young gentleman on his cheek. " To business, as the sun said
when he rose late — to business, my dear madam. What does
that ruffian-in-law answer to my just proposal 1 "
" Basil, really, my dear Basil, I cannot listen : whatever Mr.
Jericho's faults may be, if I can endure them — if I can be silent
— at least I may expect my children " —
" Not at all, mj'' dear lady, not at all. Your children never
said a word to the bargain. They only looked on while you
were sold. They have all the freedom of English subjects, and
may abuse your husband ad lihitum. I do nothing rashly, dear
madam ; I've inquired " into the law, and I know it. My
allegiance, my dear lady, is due to my own buried father ; and
as T am told he was a gentleman " —
" Basil, don't — pray don't ! You bi'ing him up before me.
Ha ! Basil, your father was a man."
" No doubt of it, my dear lady ; no doubt of it, my revered
mother ; " and the young gentleman, with really a touch of
grace, beftt, his head, and raised his mother's hand to his lijjs.
" Would shoot the fellow, my dear lady, who doubted it. Well,
why did you hook-and-eye yourself to the individual up stairs ?
Why were you jnduced to drop upon the golden name of
Pennibacker the tin extinguisher of Jericho 1 As Hamlet
somewhere says, why did you leave that Primrose Hill of clover,
to go to gi'ass on Wormwood Scrubs ■? "
" I entreat you, Basil — I supplicate, my dearest boy, that you
desist ! You"—
" All right, my dear lady, all right, and got the receipt. "What
I meant to say was this. You sacrificed yourself for the good of
your family 1 " And Basil Pennibackei', with wrinkled forehead,
looked inquiringly about, gesticulating as though chewing his
emotion. " Didn't you % "
" I did, Basil, I did ; but don't grieve for that — I can be
resigned ; I have been resigned."
"Like a tame lamb," said Basil, bursting into metaphor, "like
a tame lamb you wreathed your brow with orange flowers, and in
the very handsomest manner gave yourself away. Can I forget it?
Ought I to forget it 1 Ought my sisters to forget it 1 Never. You
married our destroyer-in-law — pardon my feelings, my dear
madam ; as your dutiful son I must call him so : you married
our cannibal-in-law,tomake the fortunes of your innocent oiijhans?
Did you not 1 "
" I did, Basil," said Mrs. Jericho, and she shuddered. " Your
father knows I did."
" In which case, madam, as one of those orphans, it is my first
26 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
duty to take care that your intentions are honourably earned
out. Now, madam, can I see Mr. Jericho ? "
" My dear child," said Mrs. Jericho, " he is not yet up."
" And nearly one o'clock — what an insult " — and Basil pointed
towai'ds the sun — " what a marked insult to that respectable
luminaiy. Never mind. We'll hold a little bed of justice in
this matter. For I do assure you, my dear lady, I tremble for
myself ; I do indeed. I never was so disloyal in all my life ; —
never."
Let not Mr. Basil Pennibacker suffer in the opinion of the
faithful subject. That young gentleman — it was his whim, his
characteristic mode of speech — adopted the word disloyalty as
his synonym of poverty.
" My good sir," — we give in the way of illustration a speech of
Basil's to an earnest tailor — " my good sir, you know I always
desire to respect the constituted authorities. I always like to
have their images about me. But, my good sir, I have not
seen the face of the monarch, sir, no not on the smallest
piece of silver, for a natural twelvemonth, sir. I never felt
myself such a traitor, sir. Look here " — and Basil twitched out
his empty purse — " look here ; not a pennyweight of loyalty in
it, sir. 'Pon my life, sir, I've quite forgotten the quarterings of
my native land. I'm a quadruj^ed, sir, and not a gentleman,
if I know whether Britannia holds a trident or a dung-fork.
I'm disgusted with life, sir ; for I've no loyalty — ^not an ounce of
loyalty."
Thus, Mrs. Jericho — familiar with the figurative style of her
son — was in no way alarmed, when he declared he felt himself
the greatest traitor on earth ; he had been so long lost to loyalty.
" I should be very sorry, my dear madam," he added, " for the
credit of tlie family, very sorry to be left alone with the crown,
a blue bag in my hand, and the door open. I tremble, madam,
at the picture. For I know it, my dear madam — I feel it, my
affectionate parent — you would not like to see the head of your
only and ei-ring son upon Tower Hill. I'm sure, my dear lady,
you could not survive that moment. Therefore, to prevent
serious consequences, when am I to have an advance of loyalty ?"
" My dear Basil, you are so impetuous. I have not yet had an
opportunity " —
"Had an opportunity! Make one, my dear lady. But I see
how it is ; you shrink before the tyrant. The ruffian that
you have ennobled by consenting to wear his name, refuses to
make the advance. Did you tell him that with three years'
allowance down, I'd throw off five per cent, for the ready
loyalty 1 And he refuses ! AVhy, my dear lady, it's next to
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 27
embezzlement. Upon my life, I wish to treat tlae individual
with respect ; nevertheless, it does flash across my mind that it's
nowhere written that a man may not thrash his own father-in-
law."
" Basil, I ■will not hear this. I tell you, I will not. AYhatever
may be the faults of Mr. Jericho — and who should know them
better than myself 1 — I cannot sanction such sentiments. At a
proper season " —
"My dear maternal lady, money isn't like green peas, coming
in -with a season ; the proper season for money's when money's
wanted. A season with me, my dear madam, that lasts all the
year round, I can assure you," and again Basil kissed the hand
of his anxious parent.
" The truth is, Basil, I do believe that JNIr. Jericho is very
much pressed — very much. And you know he is indulgent to
you ; and so, you must not be hard upon him : indeed, my love,
you must not. I am very much afraid," — and Mrs. Jericho
looked at the yoiith with new aflPection — " very much afraid that
you're an extravagant child."
" 'Pou my life, my dear madam, when I see what other young
fellows do, I feel myself a mean man ; sometimes despise myself.
You don't know how I struggle to keep down the miser in me.
I've a dreadful idea sometimes, of wh;\t my end will be."
" My dear Basil ! " cried the mother, in tender alarm.
" Sometimes, dear lady, I look into the middle of next century,
and see myself a wretched being. Long beard, nails like fish-
hooks, one shirt a-year, and dinners of periwinkles. Unless I
exert all my strength of mind, I shall go off in mildew — die a
miser. 'He denied himself the common necessaries of life' —
that's what I sometimes fear will be my history — ' and thus, it is
believed, hastened his wretched and untimely end.' "
" Basil ! How can you ! "
" That's my fate, I fear. ' On his room being searched, bank-
notes to a large amount were found in an old tinder-box, and a
hundred and fifty guineas of the time of Geoi'ge the Second,
secreted in a German flute ! ' Sometimes, when I'm melancholy
and disloyal, I think that's my fate ; but I'll struggle against the
feeling," said Basil with filial emphasis ; " I will struggle, my
dear lady."
Whereupon Mrs. Jericho, haply comforted by his moral
heroism, assured her boy that she would not let Mr. Jericho rest
until he gave a definitive answer to his son-in-law's modei'ate
proposition.
" That is all I want to know, my dear lady. Whether I'm to
stop short at sudden ruin, or to go on. I'm disgusted with life
28 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
at present, but I'm open to any arrangement that shall make me
change my ojiinion. Hallo ! Aggy, why you're come out of a
rainbow ! "
This sudden salutation was addressed to Miss Agatha Penni-
backer who, fine and gauze-like as a dragonfly, floated into the
room, and settled upon a sofa. " I have told you twenty times,"
said the young lady with face severely set, " I will not be called
Aggy. It's hideous."
" Then wliy don't you change it ? I say, mother, when are you
going to consign these girls to India ? Market's full here. Bless
you, such a glut of wedding-rings, I'm told they hang mackerel
on 'em." And Basil laughed saucily at Agatha ; and Agatha
pouted contemptuously.
" My dear Basil, I thought I heard your voice. "Where have
you been, you naughty child ? I'm sure your poor sisters " — it
was Monica Pennibacker who spoke as she entered — " your poor
sisters might as well be without a brother."
" That's their opinion Nic," and the youth was about to chuck
Monica's chin, when Monica drew herself like a pouter pigeon
above the familiarity.
" When you can address your elder sister as you ought, Basil " —
" Come, if you're going to act domestic tragedy I shall leave
the house, and not take a check to come back," said Basil.
" "What's the matter with you both 1 "Why, you're as stiff as
if you slept in sheet iron and boarded on whalebone. "What's
the matter ? Just wish you'd some of my troubles. Only
yesterday, I lost Scrub my terrier ; a love of a thing that would
kill rats as fast as he could see 'em.. Turn out a hundred rats,
and in a twinkling he'd make 'em feel as if the eyes of Europe
were on 'em. And that dog's dead. Yet look at me," and Basil
passed his fingers through his hair, and with much fortitude,
wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. " Scrub's departed, yet I
consent to breathe."
" Scrub ! Bringing terriers before ladies," said Monica ; " do
not be so vulgar."
" Indeed Basil," chirupped young Agatha, " you get so low
your sisters must disown you."
" Poor little kittens," cried Basil, and he dropped astride a
chair, and shook his head at the young ladies, and sighed. —
" "Well, 'pon my life, I do wish you were out of this world ! "
" Basil ! " exclaimed the sisters, with a slight hysteric scream.
" Basil ! " said Mrs. Jericho, in deep repi'oving thimder,
" You're too good for this earth ; you are, indeed, girls.
Take it in the lump, and see what a lot of it's beneath your
notice. "What a little of it's really respectable. If it wasn't
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 29
unmanly, I could weep to think that my superhue sisters lived
in the same wicked vulgar world that makes black-puddings and
sells cat's meat."
" My dear Basil," said Mrs. Jericho, in a tone of tender
remonstrance, " do not be so extravagant. And you hurt your
sisters; you do, indeed. A man" — and Mrs. Jericho took
breath for a great utterance — " a man never so beautifully shows
his own strength, as when he respects our softness."
" No, indeed ; " said the young ladies, speaking and shakmg
their heads in sympathy. " No ! "
" I've a whole bank of respect in me, ma'am " — and Basil
spread his fingers over his breast — " but I don't pay a
penn'orth of it to forged drafts. Now, softness is one thing ;
and — my dear parent I am quite prepared to prove what I say —
and gammon is another."
" If you allude to me, sir," — said Monica, who had evidently
made up her mind for an apophthegm — " permit me once and for
all to observe, that I don't know what you mean."
" That's exactly my feelings on the subject, Monica dear,"
cried Agatha.
" Now, children, I cannot endure this. It distresses me.
These little quaiTels lacerate me. You know, as I have often
said, girls, I gave up everj-thing for my children. Had I con-
sulted my own feelings, I should have glided a solitary thing
to— to your father. Therefore " — here Mrs. Jericho di-ew forth
her pocket-handkerchief; and both the girls, with a precision
quite military, imitated the movement — " therefore, kiss one
another and be friends."
" With all my heart, and all my mouth," said Basil. " Come
along, girls "—and he folded his arms — " come along ; I won't
bite."
" What a creature you are ! " cried Monica, wiping her eyes,
as her mother moved her towards BasU,
" I dare say," said the young Agatha, lifting herself upon her
toes, to Basil, " I dare say, now, you don't kiss Bessy Carraways
in that manner."
" Bessy Carraways," said Basil, and the blood ran all over his
face, his mother silently smiling at the emotion — " Bessy Carra-
way is a — a — " Basil stammered, then laughed — " a flower."
" No doubt, dear Basil," said Monica. " So are all young
ladies of Bessy's age ; all flowers."
" But I mean," said Basil, " the natural thing. You see, my
beloved sisters, there are two sorts of flowers. Now, Bessy
isn't too fine, or too good for this woi-ld. No ; she's a flesh
and blood flower, growing upon the earth, and not thinking it
30 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
too dirty for her ; a flower that gives out the sweetness of her
own natural self, and doesn't think it too good for other people :
and why, because she thinks no more about it, than a rose or a
lily, or any other blossom that's delicious and doesn't know it."
" Upon my word, Basil," cried Mrs. Jericho, with joyous
emphasis, "you are quiet a poet."
" Should be very sorry, ma'am, for the respectability of the
family," said Basil.
" Oh, quite a bard," exclaimed Monica, with a sarcasm so
very fine, it was uufelt by its object. " Now, you have given
ns one sort of female flower, what — dear boy — what is the
other ? "
" Certainly, Nic," and Basil took his sister's band between
his own. " The other flower doesn't root in the world at all :
earth's too vulgar for it, dearest maid. It's a flower so fine,
it's grown out of silk or velvet, and stands upon a wire stalk.
Whatever scent it has, it isn't its own : it doesn't come out of
itself, sweet girl, but out of the fashion. Very fine flowers ;
very bright, and very sweet, and very wax-like, — but still, my
darling virgin, they are flowers, sown in silk, cultivated by the
scissors, and i:)erehed upon stifihess. Not at aU the sort of
flower for my button-hole, I can tell you."
" Dear no ! Of course not," cried the wicked Agatha,
clapping her hands. " Bessy is, of course, your heart 's-ease."
" My dear little puss," said Basil, " I like Bessy, as I said,
because she doesn't think herself too good for other people : for
all that, I'm not good enough for her. No, my little tortoise-
shell, I shall always study humility, it's safest — shall always
think myself not good enough for any woman in the world.
When I die, this is the epitaph I shall have grown over me : —
' He was so humble of spirit, he never lifted his thoughts to
marriage. Reader, go and do likeivise.'' "
" My dear, strange Basil ! " said Mrs. Jericho, with an
incredulous laugh.
" Shall endeavour to leave five pounds a-year, to have that
epitaph grown over me in mustard and cress. Five pounds
a-year, ma'am, to the sexton, to keep my memory green."
" I wonder what Miss Carraways would say if she heard you.
But I know better," said Monica. "I think, Agatha, we had
better bespeak our posts as bridesmaids."
" Wouldn't suffer it, my darling girls," said Basil. " If ever I
was to marry — not that I ever shall ; no, no — I shall walk
through the v/orld with the mustard and cress steadily in my
eye — you shouldn't come near my wife. No, no ; you're too
good, too fine, too embroidered, for the plain work of matrimony.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 31
Bless your little filagree hearts, before you marry you ought to
perform quarantine in cotton, and serve seven years to pies and
puddings."
" Now, my dear, dear Basil " —
But Edwin, entering with a letter, destroyed Mrs. Jericho's
sentence in its early syllables.
"How curious!" cried Mrs. Jericho. "A letter from Mrs.
Carraways. I know her dear hand from all my friends : there
is such a flow of the lady about it. Ha ! the party. ' Ifr. and
Mrs. Carraways request the honour of — ' yes ; we are all invited.
This is to be the great fete of the season. Jogtrot Lodge will
be burningly brilliant. The lichest people will be there, and I
have heard," and Mrs. Jericho lowered her voice, " I have heard,
some of the nobility."
"No doubt," said Basil; "just a lord or two, to keep 'em
sweet."
" Eeally, Basil, you oixght to go and live in a cave, upon wild
elderberries ; you ought," said Monica ; and then she turned to
her parent, with a look of touching helplessness. " But, my
dear mamma ; hoiv are we to go 1 "
" Yes, mamma," said the forlorn Agatha, " how are we to
go?"
Mrs. Jericho was looking about her for an answer, when
Basil observed — " I see : got no gowns. Ask a woman to a
tea-party in the Garden of Eden, and she'd be sure to draw up
her eyelids, and scream — ' I can't go without a gown.' "
" I think, Basil " — said Miss Monica, a little majestically, —
" you had better confine yourself to terriers, and things that,
perhaps, you understand. What do you know about gowns 1 "
" Very true, my eider-duck, very true. And, mother, as I am
to show at the Lodge, I mvist really have a supply of loyalty :
for I quite sympathise with the girls ; feel it quite impossible,
my honoured lady, to appear at the same table twice in the
same toothpick."
Mrs. Jericho, tapping her palm with the missive from Jogtrot
Lodge, was descending deep into meditation. Who shall say
what visions rose before her 1 It had always been her ambition
that her girls should — in her own nervous words — "make a blow
in marriage." And she felt — felt fis a mother — that, perhaps,
the time was come. The girls should go armed at all points foi
conquest. " It shall be so," said Mrs. Jericho, self-communing ;
and then she serenely smiled upon all her children.
" Proud to take your word for it, my revered lady," said Basil.
" So as I've got to look at another dog at Chambers, — though
Scrub's a first-love I shall never get over ; yes, that dog's a
32 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
bruised place here, I can tell you," — and the mourner pointed
his fore-linger to his heart — " I'll be back in a couple of hours.
I suppose, girls, you'll go to this fete, like the rest of 'em, in your
war-paint 1 " (The young ladies could not tell what he meant.)
" Therefore, for the honour of the family, I must start a new
toothpick. So, the loyalty I must have, my dear madam — the
loyalty, my honoured parent, or in two hours I'm cutting my
name with a shilling pen-knife in the Tower of London. Good
morning," and Basil, with his best grace, saluted the hand of his
mother, filliped a kiss to both the girls, and strode from the
room.
" Well, he is a handsome fellow," said Monica.
"Handsome ! he's beautiful," cried Agatha.
" Beautiful ! " — exclaimed the mother, sighing — "he's his own
father, when I first met him. Yes ; every look, and every tone
a Pennibacker."
" Mr. Jericho's in his room, ma'am," said Edwin the page.
" Oh ! " said Mrs. Jericho.
CHAPTEE IV.
Mr. Jericho sat in his study ; and still his dream sat astride
his spirit. Much of tlie first distinctness of the vision had faded
in the morning light ; nevertheless, he could piece out sufficient
from its mistiness to make him dull and dumpish. He was not
a superstitious man — certainly not. He would despise himseK
to be troubled by a dream ; and then he shifted in his seat, and
took up the newspaper, and laid it down again. And then he
thought all dreams were to be read backwards : and thus, his
vision of the Bank Cellars was to be mockingly realised by the
Queen's Bench. And then he looked about him and took heart.
Pooh ! dreams were playthings for conjurors and gyj^sies ; quite
beneath the thought of a reasonable, a respectable man. He had
often dreamt he had been hanged, and what had come of it ?
Nothing ; good or bad. Mr. Jericho again took up the news-
paper, and was endeavouring to interest himself in the afiairs of
his holiness the Pope, when the door opened. He winced, for he
knew the feminine turn of the handle ; he winced, we say, but
nevertheless manfully, with the paper before his eyes tried to
keep his soul apart — far away at the Court of Pome. He heard
the well-known rustling of the well-known skirts, and shivered
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 33
just a little at the sound. Three or four of the softest footsteps
told distinctly on the silence ; and then — he knew it, though he
saw it not^ — ]\Ii-s. Jericho in her morning muslin, subsided upon
the opposite chair like a summer wave.
Mr. Jericho, almost without knowing it, had shifted himself to
the Tyrol, and was trying to wonder at the next move of the
Emperor of Austria, when Mrs. Jericho slightly coughed. Upon
this, Jericho, a little agitated, found himself among the list of
bankrupts ; then he took flight to the House of Commons ;
■where he became intensely absorbed by the Sugar Question, in
which he would have been happy to be busied all the morning,
when the wife of his bosom observed, —
"Mr. Jericho "—
"My dear, just now it is impossible," said Jericho, shifting.
" What is impossible, Mr. Jericho ? " asked the lady, with
cold wonder.
" Why, just now — I — T cannot let you have any money," said
Jericho ; and he wiped his brow.
" Did I ask for money, Mr. Jericho 1 " inquired the wife,
wounded by the imputation.
" Eh ! Why — hm ! Didn't you 1 " cried Jericho, somewhat
incredulous.
" Will you oblige me, Mr. Jericho, by looking at that 1 " and
'Mrs. Jericho handed in the Carraways' letter.
" Oh ! Ha ! " cried Jericho — " an invitation to their grand
party. Very kind of 'em. People who ought to be cultivated.
Considering the money they have, they don't hold their head
quite high enough, to be sure ; nevertheless, very good people ;
very rich people. We shall go, my dear, of course."
Mrs. Jericho folded her hands together, dropt them gently into
her lap, then turned her very placid face full in the face of her
husband, and slowly, and very anxiously put to him these words
— " And hoiv are we to go. Mi*. Jericho 1 "
" How, my dear ! " cried Jericho, in the darkest ignorance. —
" How would you go ? "
" As your family, Mr. Jericho ; as your wife and daughters" —
said the lady, " we ought to go drest."
"Why, yes, my dear" — said Jericho — "'twould look vt,ry
particular, if you didn't. He ! he ! "
" I admire wit, true wit, Mr. Jericho," said the lady, with a
pitying smile ; " but no real gentleman ever descends to humour.
Major Pennibacker never — but that is not the question. In a word
Mr. Jericho, your wife and daughters have no clothes to o-q in.
Therefore, as you have decided to accept the invitation, may I ask
when can you let me have some money 1 "
D
?4 A MAN MADE OF MONEY,
Jericho dropt the paper, pushed himself from the table, and
groaned.
" Oh, veiy well, very well," — said Mrs. Jericho, with cutting
vivacity — " I can write a refusal : of course ; we are ill, or are
going out of town, or have a better engagement ; anything
will do."
" Now, my dear creature, will you be reasonable 1 " cried
Jericho, intreatingly. " What do you want ? "
Mrs. Jericho replied with admirable brevity. " "Want !
Eveiything."
" Impossible," said Jericho.
"If we cannot go like your wife and daughters, we had
better — far better for your credit — stay at home. Well, I did
not think it would come to this" — said Mrs. Jericho, a little
affected — "I did not think when I consented to marry you,
that you would suffer my dear girls to want the necessaries of
life."
"Why, you don't call fine extravagant clothes the necessaries of
life ? " cried Jericho.
" Yes, I do, sir ; for such a party as that of Carraways ; and
for girls that are marriageable. Why all the world — that
is, the richest people in the world — will be at the fete. And
are the poor things, the dear girls, to remain always at home —
kept in the dark, like jewels in boxes — for nobody to see them ?
Why, Mr. Jericho, you're a king Herod to the dear children,
and nothing better. Indeed to kill them outright, would be more
merciful."
" My dear creature" — Mrs. Jericho snatched an angry look at
the word — " my dear Sabilla, what would you have me do 1 I'm
sure I don't want to keep the girls at home, I 'm sure" — Jericho
spoke with increasing earnestness — " I 'm sure I should be
delighted to see them married. Why, you must confess, my dear ;
you must own, my love, that it was only a fortnight ago, I gave
you fifty pounds, for " —
" And what 's fifty pounds among three women 1 " asked
]\frs. Jericho.
Jericho, with early habits of arithmetic, quickly replied —
" Sixteen pounds, thirteen and fourpence a piece."
" I have told you, Mr. Jericho, that I admire wit — but no low
humour. As much wit as you please, sir, but no buffoonery.
Very well " — and Mrs. Jericho rose — " I '11 write and decline the
engagement."
" You know best, my dear, of course. I '11 leave it all to
you ;" and Jericho resumed the paper. A brief pause : and then
be added — " I 'm sure I only wish I was made of wealth ; but I
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 35
can't make money, you know ; I wish I could. The expenses of
this family " —
" No, no, Mr. Jericho ; not of this family," and Mrs. Jericho
hissed on the pronoun : " not this."
" My good woman," cried Jericho, falling back in his seat with
a hopeless stare, " what do you mean ? "
" You know very well what 1 mean ; and — no, no, Mr,
Jericho — I am not to be deceived by such hypocrisy. I have
tried to smother the dark thought as it rose ; I have struggled
to crush the scorpion suspicion that preys upon my peace ; I have
wrestled with myself to hide my sorrow from the world, that my
wound " —
"Wound!" cried Jericho, striking the table; "in heaven's
name, woman, what wound ?"
"That my wound might bleed inwardly " — continued the wife
— "but it is impossible for me to consent to be quite a fool : no,
indeed ; you ask too much. Not quite a fool, Mr. Jericho."
Let us at once explain. Let us possess the reader with the
dark thought that, fitfully, would shadow the clear day of Mrs.
Jericho's life ; let us at once produce upon the page the scorpion
complained of.
Mrs. Jericho was so convinced that her household expenses
were of such petty amount ; was so assured that the family, in
its various outlay, cost the head of the house next to nothing, —
that when IMr. Jericho pleaded lack of means, the scorpion afore-
said, with the malice of its kind, would insinuate the cruellest,
the falsest suspicion of the truth and constancy of the husband.
Not, however, that Mrs. Jericho believed it : let us do her so
much justice. Hence, when — to the first horror of Jericho — she
hazarded an opinion that " there must be another wife and family
out of doors, or where could the money go to ? " — when to
Jericho's contempt, astonishment, and wrath, his honoured wife
implied so withering an accusation, the good woman herself had
really no belief in the treason. It was the very waywardness of
afiection : it was love-in-idleness frolicking now with a thorn, and
now a nettle. This, however, M'as in earlier days. As time wore
on, Mrs. Jericho would press the thorn, would flourish the nettle,
with greater force and purpose, and possibly for this reason ; she
had found the instruments of unexpected value. Jericho, to
escape them, would make the required concession, would consent
to the expense demanded. Briefly, Mrs. Jericho had only to call
up the shadowy wife and family out-of-doors, to compel Jericho
to concede to any request for the living spouse and children
beneath his roof So useful, so valuable were these shadows found
by Mrs. Jericho, that it is not to be wondered at that the good
D 2
36 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
woman, without even confessing it to herself should, as time
wore on, believe them to be something more than shades ; and
yet not real things ; on the other hand, not altogether ideal mist.
Having explained this much, the reader will take the taunts of
Mrs. Jericho at their real worth ; will value them as so much
thistle-down that, blown about by idle air, nevertheless contains
in its floating lightness the seed of thistles.
Mrs. Jericho remained the undisputed possessor of the last
word. With a despairing twitch, Jericho had again seized the
newspaper. " Well, then" — said the wife — " it is no use my wasting
my time ; I will write to the Carraways that we shan't come."
" You will do just as you please, I am sure, my dear. You always
do," said Jericho.
" Not I indeed ; oh dear no. But, I dare say, your wife out of
doors does as she likes ; I have no doubt of that. I am sure
again and again have I wished I had been a Hindoo wife ; then
I had sacrificed myself upon the pyre and been happy — but I am
rightly served." Jericho, resolutely, held fast by the newspaper,
determining to forego his allowed share of the conversation in
favour of his wife : she should have all the talk ; he would not
deprive her of a single syllable. " And Mr. Jericho, you have
decided 1 We are not to go to Jogtrot Lodge 1 We are to miss
— what I consider, thinking of my poor dear girls — miss one of
the greatest opportunities of the season 1 And this because you
spend out of doors what should go to your own family ! I dare
say, if I could only see — and I will, if I live, that I am determined
upon — if I could only see how other people are drest ; if I could
only know the jewellery that's lavished upon them ; if I could
only know what they cost, it would be pretty plain why we are
debarred the common decencies of life. Once, I was foolish, weak
enough to believe that your wife and family — I mean the wife
and family under this roof — had all your money, and all your
thoughts ; but I have lived to find the bitter contrary." Still
Jericho held manfully by the newspaper ; and with his blood burn-
ing and bubbling in his ears, would not make reply — not one word.
" And you are i-esolved that the dear girls shall not go ? You
have made your mind up to blight their future prospects ? You
are detei-mined to keep us all here like nuns, that other people — I
said other people, Mr. Jericho — should run riot in what lawfully
belongs to your own family ? And your excuse is — you havn't
the means ! But I know better."
And here Jericho, with a wan look, laid down the newspaper ;
then ventured to glance appealingly in the face of Mrs. Jei-icho,
and sighed.
Mrs. Jericho was not to be moved. She was there to fulfil a
o
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 37
great purpose. She had, or thought she had, some solemn
warning in her breast that the approaching festival at Jogtrot
Lodge portended greatness to one, haply to both her daughters :
and the children shoo Id make a seemly preparation for their
destiny. They should be drest and adorned for the best luck
that could befal them. With whatever state it might please
fortune- to smile upon them, they should be worthy of her most
affectionate notice. This determination every moment grew
stronger in the heart of the mother, who dropt her cold regards
upon the newspaper, and then slowly raised it in her hand. A
cruel, cutting smile of irony shai-pened her lips. " Oh yes," she
said, " I see what has engaged you in this paper. It's very plain."
" What's plain 1 " asked Jericho.
" Oh, the advertisement here. 'Pon my word, I think the
press of the country has come to something, when it brings
morning vipers into the bosom of a family."
" Morning vipers ! What is the woman after 1 "
" The liberty of the press ! The libertinism, IVIr. Jei'icho,
that's the word. Now, do you suppose that I can be so
darkened not to see that this advertisement is addressed to
you ? " and Mrs. Jericho pointed her finger like a dagger to the
top of a column.
" Is the woman mad 1 " asked Jericho.
" No, sir ; and it's the wonder of all my friends — all who know
your conduct — that I am not. For this — this is enough to make
me mad," and Mrs Jericho read from the top column these
mysterious words : —
"D AEBARA ***** js anxious to hear from J. The last
Bank-note was received. Darling S. is quite well ; but prattles
continually about J.
" And seated befoi-e me you can read this ! Why, of course,
that's where your money goes," and Mrs. Jericho, to be pre-
pared, twitched forth her pocket-handkerchief.
Jericho groaned and shook his head ; silent, helpless, hopeless.
The wife interpreted everything with astonishing readiness.
" Of course," she said, as though pleased with the discovery,
" Barbara writes to J. And who can J. be, but Jericho 1 And
their darling S. who prattles so, is Solomon ; — of course, there
can be no doubt of it. Mrs. Barbara Stars and your own
' Solomon.' It's now all clear ; and now I'm sure of it ; now I
know where your money goes."
It was very strange. At this moment a smile suddenly broke
over Jericho's face, and he looked straight at his wife. Mrs,
Jericho quickly drew up at the pleasant aspect of her lord.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY,
There was something so queer, so odd in the man. Quite a new
look of satisfaction gleamed from his eyes, and his mouth had
such a smile of compliance ! What could ail him !
" Jericho," cried the wife, suddenly familiar.
" My dear — my love," answered Jericho, the words dropping
melted from his heart.
" What — why — that is — I mean, what do you smile at 1 What
makes you look so very, very odd 1 "
" Eeally, my love," said Jericho, with deepening tenderness,
"I can't tell ; but upon my word I don't know how it is. I
should think there was a great lump of luck going to fall upon
us. I somehow, I — never felt in such a pleasant humour in all
my days. Upon my life, it is strange ! But everything about
me seems to have a new glow — a strange look of freshness in it.
As true as I'm alive, Sabilla, you don't look above five-and-
twenty. Never saw you look so young in all my life."
" There's nothing so very — so particularly strange in that,
Mr. Jericho. But what is the matter with you ? Anything in
the paper that" —
" Not at all ; nothing — not a word. Ha ! ha ! well it is very
odd ; but I somehow feel as if I could take everybody in the
world — that is, every respectable person, of course — take 'em all
in my arms and embrace 'em."
" I trust, Mr. Jericho," said the wife — " I trust you have not
been eating opium 1 I have seen horrible examples in the East,
and — no, you have not been eating opium, Jericho 1 "
" Pooh ! Opium ! No drug in the world could make a man
feel so happy as I am now," and Jericho snapt his fingers, and
cut a caper. " Why, it's a bit of paradise."
" He doesn't look mad," thought Mrs. Jericho, a little anxious.
"I feel as if I had got new blood, new flesh, new bones, new
brain ! Wonderful ! " Jericho trod up and down the room,
and snapt his fingers ; now suddenly stopt at Mrs. Jericho, and
— startled woman ! she herself could hardly believe it — and put
his hand tenderly beneath her chin, and inflicted upon her lips
a vigorous kiss.
" Jericho ! Well, this is stranger than everything," said the
astonished wife.
" You cannot think, Sabilla, how happy I do feel," and
Jericho threw himself in his chair, and rubbed his hands, and
still looked joyously about him. " Something's going to happen."
" Perhaps a new vein in the mines ? " suggested Mrs. Jericho.
" Perhaps," said Jericho, a little dubiously.
" And now, my dear, about this party to Jogtrot Hall 1 Are
we to go 'i "
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 39
" Go ! Of coui'se," said Jericho. "Let the dear girls go. I
should be a monster to refuse them. Besides, it's only right
they should go. And Basil, too. A noble youth ; a little too
fond of rats and dogs, — but a noble young fellow. Some day, no
doubt, he'll be an honour to the bench. Fal lal de ral, lal, lal,"
and Jericho's full spirit overflowed in song.
" It will not take a great deal of money, after all," said
Mrs. Jericho.
" How much ? " asked her husband, with a blithe carelessness.
" I think a hundred pounds — because I want the girls on such
an occasion to make a blow — I do almost think, yes, I am nearly
sure that a hundred pounds, for we must have a few trinkets,
will do pretty well."
" A hundred pounds, after all, isn't miich," said Jericho, airily.
"Not with a great, a vital object in view," responded his wife.
"And. as the world goes," said Jericho, "people who would be
somebody must make an appearance."
"It is the compulsion of our artificial state of life : I wish it
were otherwise. But as it is so, my dear, — you'll let me have
the money 1 "
At this question a strangely pleasurable thrill passed through
the breast of Jericho : his heart glowed and expanded as it had
never done before ; and he felt his hand drawn — as though some
fairy pulled at either finger end^to his bosom. His bare hand
pressed his heart, that, at the pressure, gave a sudden and
delicious flutter.
" You will let me have the money 1 " repeated Mrs. Jericho.
Jericho answered not a word, but withdrew his hand from
his breast : between his finger and his thumb he held, in silver
purity, a virgin Bank of England note !
" What a dear, good creature you are, Jericho ;" — said his
wife — " to surprise me in this manner ! To bring a note for the
exact amount with you ! Just a hundred ! Well, you are a
love," and hastily pressing him round the neck, Mrs. Jericho ran
from the room, as though embarrassed by the freedom.
And Jericho sat, with his heart beating the faster. Again,
he placed his hand to his breast ; again drew forth another
Bank note. He jumped to his feet ; tore away his dress, and
running to a mirror, saw therein reflected, not human flesh ; but
over the region of his heart a loose skin of Bank paper, veined
with mai-ks of ink. He touched it ; and still in his hand there
lay another note !
His thoughtless wish had been wrought into reality. Solomon
Jericho was, in very truth, a Man made of Money !
40 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTER V.
Jogtrot Hall was the one central grandeur, the boast and the
comfort of Marigolds ; a village, it may be, overlooked, unknown
to the town reader, although so near to London, that on soft, calm
nights, with the light wind setting from the east, it is said the
late villager has heard the bell of St. Paul's humming of the huge
city in the deep quietude of starlit fields. As yet, the iron
arms of the rail had not clipped Marigolds close to London. As
yet, it lay some two hoiirs' distant — reckoning the time by coach-
horses. Therefore, it was a day of wondrous promise to the
villagers, when Squire Carraways threw open the Hall to his
London friends. All Marigolds glowed with satisfaction, for the
Hall was as the heart of the village ; its influence felt, acknow-
ledged at the farthest extremity. In fact. Squire Carraways was
the feudal sovereign (he had, without knowing it, so crowned
himself,) of the people of Marigolds. He lorded it over every
fireside ; with the like power, if not with the like means, of the
good old blade-and-buckler generations.
Conceive Jogtrot Hall to be the awful castle of the domain ;
though, to say the truth, there was not a frown to be got from it,
see .it as you would. For the architects, in their various tasks,
imdertaken from time to time, had made the Hall a sort of
brick-and-mortar joke ; a violation and a burlesque of all
building. The Hall was a huge jumble ; here adorned with large
beauty spots of lichen ; there with ivy ; here with jasmine and
roses ; and, to be short, with a very numerous family of flowering
parasites, sticking and clinging, and creeping everywhere about
it. The Hall setmed to have been built bit by bit as its owners
got the wherewithal : as though, only when fortune had made a
good venture, the owner permitted himself to send out for
j additional bricks and mortar. The Hall covered, or to speak
j better, sprawled over half an acre of ground. And as it lay
I tumbled on the greensward, dressed with all coloured plants and
; flowers ; as its fifty windows stared, and peeped, and looked archly
i at you, it puzzled you which room to choose wherein to set your
j easy chair, and, with the fitting accessaries, therein to take a long,
I deep pull of ble-ssed leisure.
1 And the lord of the Hall — Gilbert Carraways, merchant — had
a high and dignified sense of his station. He had, perhaps, his
own notions of feudality ; but such as they were, he vindicated
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 41
and worked them out with a truly Saxon energy. In the first
place, he hated a beggar : he had, it would almost seem, an inborn
horror of a destitute man : therefore, he never permitted any
misery soever — we mean the misery of want — to find harbourage
in Marigolds. If, in his walks, he met with a strange starving
vagrant, crawling his way to hungry death, he would
immediately take up the offender, and giving strictest orders that
the vagabond should be well looked after, that is fed — and with
amended covering, and a shilling in his pocket, be sent forth
rebuked upon his journey. As for the vassals, or villagers, the
Lord of the Hall knew every man, woman, and child ; and at
cei-tain times, would call them to strict account. He would
so carry it even in their homes, that he knew — as winter came —
how many blankets were in every cottage, what logs of wood, and
what store of coals. He would moreover busy himself with the
meanest circumstances of the meanest mortality ; for example,
in such mishaps as the death of a cow, a horse, nay, even
pigs, when the property of a labouring villager. He would
thereupon resolve himself into a jury of inquiry ; and satisfied
with the evidence, would replace the cow, give another horse,
send a pig or two from his own store. Moreover, this lord in the
deep vaults of his Hall had captives buried from the light for ten
and twenty years : and these at Christmas and at holiday
times he would set free for the especial merriment of the folk of
Marigolds.
Jogtrot Hall was partly surrounded by an advance guard of
magnificent elms : huge, sturdy timber, with the wrinkles of
some two hundred years in their bark : but green and flourishing,
and alive and noisy with a colony of rooks, the descendants of a
long flight of undisturbed ancestry. Between the elms, and lifted
on a gentle rise of ground. Jogtrot Hall looked down with smiling,
hospitable face. Thei-e was no rampant lion over the gates ; no
eagle, ready to swoop upon the new comer. You approached
the door through a double hedge of holly, winding up the slope ;
a double line of green-liveried guards bristling and berried.
Two peacocks cut in yew — the bird crest of former occupants
— were perched at the upper end on either side. Their condition,
in the midst of flourishing beauty, gave warning of its fleetness.
They were fast withering. One bird was dying from the head ;
the other from the tail ; they looked forlorn and blighted ; an
eyesore amidst health and freshness. Nevertheless, Carraways
would not suffer them to be cut down. " In the first place," he
would say, " it would be a mean act towards those who had lived
there before him : to the original owners of the peacocks. And
8econdly,in the sunniest seasons the dying birds preached a sermon,
42 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
nothing the less solemn because to a rustling, fine-dressed
congregation of leaves and flowers."
Now, whatever discourse the peacocks may have held to the
master of the domain, we have no belief that the dying preachers
will obtain a moment's attention fi-om the crowd of visitors now
on their way from London, to eat and drink, and dance and
sing, and to act love and to make enmity, to embrace one
another and to pick one another to pieces, for half-a-day's
happiness at Jogtrot Hall. Family parties, gatherings of friends
and acquaintances, came with every week to the house ; but this
was a day special — a day set apart for the reception of a
multitude. Never, since Carraways had come down to the
village, had Marigolds been so roused. The day was, we say, a
general festival. All the folks were in their best : and the school-
master and schoolmistress — both functionaries paid from the
privy purse of Jogtrot Hall— gave their boys and girls a holiday,
that, in their cleanest attu'e, and with big nosegays stuck in
their bosoms and held in their hands, they might, as small
retainers of the Lord of the Hall, do honour to him and pleasure
to themselves.
For three hours at least the children and the younger villagers
had been prepared, arranged in seemly rows, to confront the
fine, the awful folks from London. " They 're coming now,
Jenny," said a young fellow, "take care of yourself;" and
familiarly pressing the arm of a fair, slim country girl, who stood
in the doorway of White, the schoolmaster — a place where she
had the best claim to be, for in truth she was the schoolmaster's
daughter — the earnest adviser, Eobert Topps by name, ran at
his best speed back to the Hall. And now, on one side of the
road, the boys' school, with old "White at their head, and his
daughter at the threshold, with her fair pink face a little
flustered by expectation, and perhaps by the counsel of Bob
Topps, — on one side, the boys' school, with flowers and green
boughs, is on tiptoe with the first cheer; and immediately
opposite, the girls' school of Marigolds, under the firm and
temperate direction of Mrs. Blanket, schoolmistress, duly
prepared with a flourish of handkerchiefs ; one or two of the
more impulsive threatening to shout and flourish very much out
of season.
At this turn of the road, reader, — this one whereby the
carriages must sweep to the Hall, receiving as they pass, the fire
of either scholarhood — we have an excellent view of the guests.
How the ladies — spick and span from the mint of fashion — bring,
in their caps, and bonnets, and hoods, and gowns, the most
delightful wonders to the folks of Marigolds ! It is London
A MAN AIADE OF MONEY. 43
splendovir, in all its mystery, brought to their doorways. If hats
and caps were new stars, they would not be stared at with hah
so much wonderment. And now — there is a very narrow
turning further up the road — the carriages go so slowly, that
the young scholars, boys as well as girls, feel abashed to cheer in
the fixed presence of the fine people. It is only when the line
loosens, and the carriages roll quicklier on, that the childi-en
take new courage and shout and pipe their welcome.
"We do not propose to introdu-ce every guest to the reader, —
merely two or three of the folks ; and for this reason. As the
reader will never again meet with the great body of the
gathering, we shall suffer whole clouds of lace and muslin to drive
on, like the lovely clouds over our head, with passing admiration,
but with no hope of further knowledge of their lustre. The few
persons whom we propose to make known will form part of the
acquaintance of the traveller through this book, should he gird
his loins to journey to the end.
That lady ripening in the sun beneath a pink parasol, is the
Hon. Miss <Jandituft. You will be kind enough to look very
attentively, yet withal deferentially, at that lady ; and for this
reason : it is to her enlarged knowledge of the true elements of
society — as she has been known to call them — that you are
indebted for the condescending attendance of the distinguished
people who will this day eat, drink, and make merry at Jogtrot
Hail. It was the good fortune of Miss Carraways to meet
Miss Candituft abroad, travelling with her brother, the Hon.
Cesar Candituft, whose baggage — with a large sum of money —
had been secretly cut from his vehicle by the guilty hands of a
demoralised banditti ! The Carraways were then making a
tour ; they were very servicable to the Canditufts, and a friend-
ship began between the two young women that grew fast and
close as ivy. Miss Candituft is called a fine woman ; has been so
called for some years. Her face, you perceive, is large and
classical ; very pale, and very full, of intellect. There is only
one reason why she is not married — the men are afraid of her.
We think it only right to give this fact the widest publicity, to
proclaim it with the most significant emphasis ; it is so frequent
a calamity, and yet so unsuspected by the principal sufierers.
They know not— they who have eaten so much of the tree
of knowledge, swallowing fruit, yjips, leaves, twigs, bark and
all — they know not how terrible they make themselves to a
bachelor man. He may be six feet high, with shoulders broad as
a table, and yet — we have known it — before such a woman his
heart has melted into water. He has held his hand to her, with
all the old feeling that he held forth his palm to the school
44 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
ferula. Let Minerva take this axiom to her cool crystal breast
• — If she would conclescend to marry, she must conseut to leave
her owl at home. Now, Miss Candituft would always carry tho
pet to parties with her ; and, we have given the result. The men
— poor birds ! — were alarmed, and fluttered away from her.
Nevertheless, she had a fine look : a very white skin, a large
— a little icy, perhaps — full, blue eye ; a close, controlled mouth ;
a well-cut, very high-bred nose ; and large long twists of amber-
coloui'ed ringlets, dancing in her hip, like burnished snakes. For
all this, men walked about her as though her very beauties were
combustible — destructive. And knowing their fears, at length
she never spared them.
The Hon. Cesar Candituft sits beside his sister. Could we get
behin<l those scenes that every man carries in his brain — (acting,
with his tongue and eyes, just so much of the play as seems fit
to him) — it is not improbable that we should behold the gentle-
man levelling this hedge — widening this road — pulling down that
scrubby row of cottages,-^and making many other improvements,
by anticipation, in his property of Marigolds. His property,
when he shall marry Bessy Carraways ; and her father — finally
put aside from the mildew of the city — shall sleep in the village
church beneath a substantial covering of very handsome marble.
With the hopes, nay the certainty of marrying old CaiTaways'
heiress, it was not Mr. Candituft's fault if these very natural
thoughts would present themselves. Certainly not. Who can
control thought ? Who can dismiss it, like an insolent servant ?
Who, too, can prophesy, what thought the dial-finger on the next
minute will bring him 1 We are thus earnest in common-place,
that we may attempt to excuse Cesar Candituft ; of all men — all
men say it of him — the most kind, — the most obliging ; nay, the
most forgiving. Let Candituft have an enemy seeking him with
a drawn sword ; and Candituft, with no more than a rose in his
hand, will strike away the blade ; and in a quarter of an hour
make the wicked fellow ashamed of himself, that he could feel a
moment's anger against so good, so calm, so generous a creature
as Candituft. Good, noble, sagacious Candituft ! They who
know him best, call him the Mau-Tamer.
That old tall man, with a very big head on a thin stalk of
neck, is Colonel Bones. He goes everywhere. He looks vulgar
and grubby ; yet is he accounted as costly clay among a certain
number of very worthy Christians ; as precious as is Jerusalem
earth to exiled Hebrews. He gives himself out as prodigiou.sly
poor ; but people, in these times, are not to be gulled. The
world — (that is, the kernel of the world — for the world i.s as a
cocoa-nut \ there is the vulgar outside fibre, to be made into
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
door-mats and ropes ; the hard shell, good for beer- cups ; and
the white, delicate kernel, the real worth, food for the gods) — the
world knows the secret of Colonel Bones. Ingenuous old soul !
He believes the world will take him at his word ; will receive
him as the panper he declares himself Sly Colonel ! The
world knows better. The world, in its winding sagacity, has
worked out the truth ; and, therefore, yfith a good-tempered
smile, gives a very pleasant reason for all the oddities of the
good, dear, old Colonel. He will not afford himself the luxury
of a carriage ; therefore, a carriage is always sent for him. He
will not take care of himself at his own table ; and therefore he
must always dine with one of his best friends. Why, it was
only last winter that, having bound himself by previous promise
to grant the request of a petitioner, he consented to become god-
father, with the enforced proviso that he should not give his
godson a single ounce of plate. Up to this moment the child —
Bones Mizzlemist, eldest son of ISiizzlemist of Doctors' Commons
— is without a mug. Colonel Bones — he served somewhere in
some regiment at some date in the militia — Colonel Bones insists
upon playing the pauper on an annuity of fifty pounds, and the
world lets the poor old fellow have his feeble whim, his little
joke. Very right ; au old man, and to be humoured.
That slight young man, with the handsome face of blank
meaning (a fine lamp with no light in it), is Sir Arthur
Hodmadod. He is scarcely cool in his baronetcy, having only
succeeded to the title in the spring. He bows to Miss Candituft
a little timidly ; for even yet he does not feel himself altogether
safe. He looks at her as though he still beheld in her the
dread possibility of Lady Hodmadod. However, he takes heart,
and rides up to the carriage. — Only hear him.
" That's a nice thing there ;" and Hodmadod points towards
Jenny White, the schoolmaster's daughter.
" Where 1 " asks Miss Candituft, opening her eyes to take in
everybody.
" There ; that thing with the — what is it ? — the silver bee ;
isn't it a bee 1 buttoning the black riband at her throat."
" Yes, it is a bee," says Miss Candituft, using her glass ;
and then staring at the baronet. " It is a bee. Ha, Sir
Arthur ! What an aquiline eye you have ! Not even a bee
escapes you ! Well, it is a bee."
" Really, a beautiful thing. So white, and pink, and smooth ;
so like Dresden china, you might put the wench upon a mantel-
piece. Eh ? " and Hodmadod looks for the lady's opinion.
Miss Candituft stares at Sir Arthur ; she did not expect to
be appealed to upon so domestic an arrangement. And then,
46 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
without winking, and witli a fixed wondering face, Miss
Candituft says, " I don't know."
" Charming thing ! " And the uneasy Hodmadod turns in his
saddle to look at Jenny. " A child of nature ! "
"You think so?" asks Miss Candituft, with a searching
emphasis, that somehow goes through the baronet.
Hodmadod finds himself put upon his proofs ; and in bis
own logical manner, hastily sets his meaning in its clearest,
strongest light. " Quite a child of nature. That is, you know,
when I say a child of nature, why I mean, of course, a — a
perfect kitten."
" Of course ; that is evident," says Miss Candituft, with her
large, cold eyes in the brain of the baronet. Defenceless
man ! He feels his exposed condition — and touching his hat,
speeds past the carriage. Well, we do not yet think him safe.
Miss Candituft pursues him with such a look that, even now,
we would not insure him from the life-long consequences of her
resolution. However, let him flutter his hour while he naay.
We shall see.
On either side boys and girls set up so loud, so shrill a welcome,
it is plain they have caught sight of some bit of bravery — some
splendour that hitherto is the chief glory of the show. Quick and
perceptive is the wit of childhood ; and — they know it — the little
ones have not spent their best cheer without good judgment. For
look at that magnificent equipage. Four glorious horses, wearing
the most superb caparison, with — it would seem — a full sense of
its costliness, for everywhere it is set and bossed with precious
silver — four horses, dancing — as though, like immortal steeds,
they pawed the empyrean, not the Queen's highway — draw a sky-
blue phaeton. There is another shout, as the vehicle turns the
corner ; and horses, and postilions, and carriage and company,
are revealed at full. The horses seem to toss their heads, as with
a sense of beauty, coquetting with the public approbation ; and
the postilions, in their gold-coloured satin jackets, have an assured
and knowing look, and very proud of their horse-flesh, pat the
beasts, as though blood was immortal, and there was not a dog
in the world. And who are the company who sit in the phaeton,
drinking in, as at every pore of the skin, the looks of wonder and
admiration that from all sides are cast upon them ? It is difficult
— we feel the task — very difficult to obtain belief for the asser-
tion ; nevertheless, as faithful chroniclers, we must at any peril
make it. The ladies are Mrs. Jericho and her two daughters,
Miss Monica and Miss Agatha Penuibacker ; the gentleman is
Mr. Solomon Jericho.
No, sir ; we are not abashed at your look of incredulity ; we
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 47
expected ifc. We had no thought that, at the word, you would
take our avowal for the truth ; the folks are, every one of them,
so changed ; so refined, and yet withal so enlarged. Mrs. Jericho
was always a woman of commanding presence ; she could not,
even when she most desired to unbend, she could not without
very much ado, subside into the familiarity of gentleness. But
now, she looks as though she had been passing a visit with Queen
Juno, and had brought home the last large manners from
Olympus. Albeit she only shares the phaeton with three others,
she seems as though she filled, nay overflowed it ; manner,
manner does so much. The nasty children scream, and the
horrid bumpkins shout ; yet it is gratifying, very pleasant,
indeed, that the phaeton (her taste,) and the postboys' jackets
(her taste,) are not lost upon the creatures. Nevertheless, Mrs.
Jericho will not bow ; no, not wink an eyelid in recognition of
the applause ; she will receive the homage as the fealty born to.
And the young ladies are worthy of then- majestic mother.
They are wondi-ously changed. They have, with all the elas-
ticity of the female character, so sympathised with fortune in her
sudden good-nature, that already she seems to them a life-long
acquaintance.
Solomon Jericho is only fourteen days older since he and the
reader were last together. Fourteen days only have been
filtered into the sea of the past since Selomon Jericho — with a
strange musical tingling of every nerve of his body ; with a
lively, melodious flourish to Plutus — entered upon the mysterious
cares of wealth. "Whenever it pleased Solomon, he could lay his
hand upon his heart, and find a hundred poimds of ready money
there. Yes : we say it. "When Solomon wanted real happiness,
he had only to place his hand upon his heart, and he touched the
ready felicity. He was mightily stirred by the first knowledge
of the secret. The reader may haply remember, that ere Jericho
— ^to his vast astonishment — drew forth the first note ; ere the
property of his bosom, like a dried autumn leaf, came oflf into his
palm, he was raised to a state of ecstasy. He felt, without
knowing the cause, all the blessedness of the triumph that makes
man, by force of a golden sceptre, one of the kings of the world.
Earth, with all its delights, was suddenly made to him little other
than one huge market, whereat he might purchase whatever took
las choice. Without knowing it, he celebrated his coming of age ;
the unexpected birth-day of a full-grown heir. Now tliis emotion
passed almost as soon as Jericho was assured of possession. He
himself could not have believed in the easiness of his self-
accommodation to the boundlessness of money. Nevertheless,
next morning he woke to fortune, as though she had always
48 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
shared his pillow. Even Mrs. Jericho was astonished at the
equanimity witli which her husband received the gifts of luck, as
vouchsafed to him from discovered veins of platina ; for no, not
even to the partner of his bosom, had Jericho revealed his
bosom's wealth. Little, indeed, did Mrs. Jericho know the
value of the heart that beat — did it really beat 1 — beside her.
It was, in truth, the one great secret of his breast that
Jericho held undiscovered from the nominal mistress of that
region.
Fourteen days only has Solomon Jericho been new-made;
that is, made of money ; and wondrous in the new-made man is
the new change ! Once was he an easy, slipshod sort of fellow,
with a high relish for a joke ; or when the joke itself was not to
be had, with anything that at a short notice could be supplied in
its place. Freqviently was it the painful duty of his wife to
rebuke him for his humour ; humour being, Mrs. Jericho would
ever insist, beneath a gentleman. Now only fourteen days, and
what an improvement ! " Money has its duties, Mr. Jericho,"
the wife observed ; " duties that are above a joke." And to her
great satisfaction, she acknov/ledged that Jericho in his new
dull dignity solemnly carried out her own conviction. She was
almost delighted with the man ; he was such an improvement
upon himself. She confessed it to him. — "He had greatly
improved : now he never laughed ; he never joked ; he never
talked of people below his own station ; he had given up
buffoonery, and philanthropy, and vulgar notions of aU kinds ;
and, really she must say it, he showed himself worthy of the
good fortune that had fallen upon him. Moreover, she always
knew — she always felt — a presentiment of what the mines would
produce ; hence she had borne the privations of former years
without a word, without a tear. She had always loved him ;
and it had often caused her a struggle to disguise her affection ;
nevertheless, she had not thought she could love him as she did ;
and for this reason — she could not deny it — she had not believed
in the moral dignity his wealth had developed in him. She
would say it — she was proud of him ! "
" Lovely weather, madam," says Basil Pennibacker, prancing
up to the phaeton. " But, my dear lady, may I be permitted to
ask your unprejudiced opinion of the dust ? "
"A slight drawback ; very slight, my love," says Mrs. Jericho,
hei'oically. " But what a heavenly sky ! "
" Over-head unexceptionable ; the other extremity detestable.
And with such distress as there is, old Carraways might have
hired all the workhouse cheap, to weep in the highway. Such
very queer dust, too ! " and Basil smacks his lips. " Not at all
o
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 49
the Eotten Eow flavour. Full of sand ! Agatha, duck, keep
your mouth shut ; or you'll be turned into an hour-glass."
" There, now, Basil, set your spurs to your gallant steed, like
a good boy, and run away," says Monica.
" A wonderful animal, sir," observes Basil confidentially to
Mr. Jericho. " Hallo ! not well, sir ? "
" "Well ? Admirable ! Never so well," says Jericho, in a cold
voice, and with a dim smile.
" Ton my life, you look so wire-drawn and so thin ! Blessed
if you don't look as if you'd been locked out last night, and
dragged to bed through the keyhole."
" Basil ! My child ! " cries IVIrs. Jericho ; and Jericho smiles,
but dimmer than before.
" Extraordinary animal, sir," says Basil, thinking it best to
return to the hoi-se. " Only three hundred. I'm satisfied, and
shall buy him. Only three hundred. Cheap, my honourable
sir — cheap for a water-cart. Look at him, sir. None of your
horses, put together with skewers for a day out, to tumble to the
dogs as soon as they get home : shall, certainly, lay down the
loyalty for him. Take care of yourself, my good sir ; men like
you can't be spared. Good bye, we shall meet on the daisies."
" Bye, bye," says Agatha. " Don't forget Bessy."
" Upon my life, you girls look too nice, — you do, indeed ; — too
nice," says Basil, holding in his horse.
" Oh ! " cry the young ladies, laughing and shaking their
heads. " Oh ! "
" You do, indeed. Too nice to marry, and not nice enough to
eat ; " and Basil gives his horse his head, and bounds forward,
followed by a groom, mounted worthy of the new master ho
attends. Mrs. Jericho smiles proudly, and looks at her husband ;
who industriously tries, and at length succeeds, to smile in
return.
And now the great crowd of guests is set down at the Hall ;
and now we invite the reader to enter the house, to stray
among the grounds, and to enjoy the large hospitality that from
every nook and comer of the place cries — "Eat, drink, and be
merry."
50 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTER VI.
The Hon. Mr. Candituft had a genius for society. In the
marks of a man's face, he could, he thought, generally interpret
the marks of a man's bank-book. With an unbounded benevo-
lence for aU the world, he nevertheless — though he would not
avow the instinct — best liked the acquaintance of that portion
of society that, raised far above the cares of money, could do
the fullest justice to the moral and spiritual, and, he would add,
the tasteful and elegant man. He looked upon all mankind as
brethre"n ; but, still, preferred the elder brethren of the richest
branches. And why 1 Possibly because it was the condition of
humanity to forego so much of its original bloom and goodness
in the vulgar pursuit of the vulgar means of life. Not that he
did not honour even the horny hand of sordid labour. To be
sure ; and has been known, on more than one festive occasion,
to take the said hand in his own naked palm, at the same time
passing a high eulogium on the original profession of Adam.
Still, it must be owned, that of the two conditions of Adam, he
much preferred the landlord of Eden to the labourer outside.
" Introduce you, my dear sir 1 To be sure — not that there's
any need of introduction at Jogtrot Hall ; think it a family
party, sir ; a family party." Such was the cordial outspeaking
of the host, Gilbert Carraways, esquire ; a fine, simple, hearty,
old gentleman ; with a bright grey eye ; and white, thin, silky
hair. Time had used him like an old friend, kindly, considei--
ately. At three score, Squire Carraways — for such was his
dignity throughout Marigolds — caixied his years, as a lusty
reaper carries a sheaf; with ruddy face and unbent back. "I
say to you again, my good friend," cried the host to Candituft,
" think it a family party."
" My dear sir," said the Hon. Cesar Candituft, catching the
hand of his host, and looking almost pathetically into his face,
" my dear sir, would that we all had your benevolence ! Would
that all the world could be brought to think all the world a
family party ! Look at that man, sir ; that very brown man,
sir," — and Candituft pointed to an Indian juggler, who, hired
for the day, was crossing the grounds to begin the show, —
" look at that deep-dyed individual, sir ; why, I can consider
him my brother."
" Very kind of you," said Carraways ; who, hooking his
A MAX MADE OF MONEY. 51
thumbs into his waistcoat pockets, looked a little slyly at the
philanthropist. '' You never come into the City ? Hm !
you'd be dreadfully shocked to see so many of your relations
with brooms."
" Of course," said Candituft, as the best thing he could say.
"But, my dear sir — here he is — introduce rae."
At this moment, Jericho, between his wife and eldest
daughter, marched slowly up.
"Mr. Jericho, Mr. Candituft — the Hon. Mr. Candituft,"
said Carraways : and, turning from the newly-known brethren,
the host took Mrs. Jericho and Monica under his charge.
" You'll find us somewhere, Jericho," said the wife. " We
must join dear Mrs. Carraways."
" And sweet Bessy," cried the emphatic Monica.
"Eeally, Mrs, Jericho, I should like to see your husband
look somewhat stouter. Isn't he a— a little thin 1 " asked
Carraways.
" Oh, dear, no ! not at all," answered Mrs. Jericho, quite
eagerly. " By no means."
" Papa, you know, was always thin," said Miss Pennibacker,
so very confidently, that Carraways felt he ought to be mis-
taken. It was clear — Jericho was always thin.
" Well, well, it's my blunder ; yet, I thought, perhaps the
shock of sudden property By the way, I'm glad to hear such
wonders of the mines."
" Very kind of you, dear Mr. Carraways. But " — added Mrs.
Jericho, philosophically and sonorously — "after all, what is
money 1 Money cannot bestow happiness."
" Why, perhaps not," said the merchant host ; " nevertheless,
it often supplies a good imitation of the article. Come, come, you
mustn't abuse money, Mrs. Jericho. That's the rightful privilege
of people who can't get it."
" Dear Mrs. Carraways ! Well, this is lovely ! Quite oriental !
Superb ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, with deepening emphasis greeting
the lady of the place. " I vow, it takes one quite back to the
Persian poets."
" Very good company, no doubt," said Carraways, laughing :
" but, after all, I rather prefer this to any gardens on foolscap.
Better company, too " — and the old gentleman bent gallantly to
Mrs. Jericho and Monica — " much better company than the best
of people, made of the best of ink. My dear," said Carraways to
his wife, " where 's Bessy ? "
" Oh yes ! Wliere is dear Bessy 1 " cried Monica, with
tremulous anxiety. Mrs. Carraways nodded towards a party of
dancers, where was Bessy Carraways — a girl, whose best beauty
E 2
.1
52 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
was the open goodness of lier face — dancing -with Sir Arthur
Hodniadod : Miss Candituft apart smiling — as the Spartan young
gentleman smiled with the fox that fed upon him — and
following Bessy with speaking eyes, and shaking her golden
tresses, and beating her silver foot in blithe accompaniment of
the measure.
" How beautiful is Bessy to-day ! " said Miss Candituft, joining
Bessy's father and mother.
" Quite delicious," cried Miss Pennibacker to Bessy's mother ;
and Miss Candituft swerved her fair neck, and opened her cold
eyes at Monica, as though resenting any admiration of so
interesting a subject as a trespass upon her own monopoly
of love. And then she said, with new fervour — " She carries all
hearts with her."
" She is .so beautiful," again interposed Monica. — Again Miss
Candituft stared.
" Why, as for that, she's very good — and verylike her mother,"
said Carraways, and then he laughed at his wife, and added
— " and so we won't talk so much about the beauty. However,
perhaps I 'm grown too old to judge ;" and the father looked
towards his child, and his face glowed with jDride and pleasure as
she nodded to him,and wove in and out the dance young, healthful,
and happy as a nymph.
" Ugh ! IVIr. Carraways, — this is too good ; too fine ; too grand
for poor folks. It's cruel of you — sheer barbarity, sir, hard-
hearted pride of pui'se, nothing better. Cruel, sir ; cruel,"
gasped Colonel Bones, ofiering his hand to the hostess, then to
the host, and then making a courteous sweeping bow to the
ladies ; for Bones was gallant to the last.
"What, then. Colonel " — cried Miss Candituft — "you don't
enjoy this Elysium ? You don't like to tread upon asphodel 1 "
" An insult to poverty. Miss Candituft — an insult ;" and
Colonel Bones smiled a hard smile, and his dark, deep sunk eyes
twinkled from behind his ragged eyebrows. " Too bad of our
host to drag a beggar like me here : really too bad. Tyrannous,
tyrannous to scourge poverty with golden rods. Hm 1 " And
the Colonel looked around.
" I dare say you can bear it, Colonel," answered Miss Candituft,
staring at him, and reading in the human antiquity the hidden
mystery of wealth. Before the eyes of the far-seeing spinster the
heart of Colonel Bones lay all revealed ; open, discovered, like the
valley of diamonds. " You can bear it ;" and saying this, the
smiling lady drew the very best flower from her bouquet, and
threaded it in the Colonel's button-hole.
" Ugh ! " said Colonel Bones, with a grim smile looking
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 53
down upon the operation. " Ugh ! Winter, winter adorned by
spring. Oh dear ! Why will you take such pains to spoil a
beggar ? Eh ? Hm 1 " ended the Colonel, with his usual
spasm of interrogation.
At this moment Candituft and Jericho advanced to the party.
Colonel Bones, with a sudden jerk, was moving off, when Candi-
tuft stept forward with open hand.
" Ugh ! No, sir ; I can't do it — I won't do it. The fact is,
sir, — though this is not the place to name it — the fact is, it was
I, Colonel Bones, who on Saturday last black-balled you at the
Cut-and-come." Thus spoke Bones, and somewhat defpngly.
"My good Colonel," said Candituft very meekly, "I know it,
what then ? It was a mistake."
" No mistake at all, sir ; not a bit : I'd do it again to-morrow.
Wouldn't I? Hm?"
" Because, my dear Colonel, you don't know me. Ignorance
causes all the family quarrels of the brotherhood of man. I
lament your error ; but I have no malice. And what is human
life, — what is moral dignity, if it can't live down these small
mistakes ? The brotherhood of man, my dear sir."
" Eh ? What 1 There you are ; at it again, Candituft ! The
brotherhood of man ! When you come out to enjoy yourself,
why the devil can't you leave all your poor relations at home ? "
" Ha ! Commissioner, glad to see you. Why, you look as
flourishing and as bountiful as one of your own bread-trees.- It's
food and lodging to behold you." This was the ready, flattering
reply of Candituft to a short, thick, very black, and very red man,
who had the look of having been dried like pepper, hard and
hot, in a fieiy climate ; though there were people who, when
Commissioner Thrush talked of his travels in Siam, stared very
doubtingly upon the boastful rover. Be such doubts just or
unjust, the Commissioner made a very good use of the king of
Siam ; putting off upon the royal whim, or royal wisdom, his
own jest. Thus, when Commissioner Thrush wanted to shoot
at impertinence or folly, he would very modestly shoot with the
king of Siam's proper long-bow.
"Why, my dear good Thrush, will you so speak of human
nature ? " asked the indomitable Candituft. " Why will you
take such pains to hide that noble heart of yours ? That heart
enlarged by travel — softened by experience — purified by "
"Well, it's wonderful," said the Commissioner, scrutinising
the cheek of the Man-Tamer — " wonderful how you can do it.
But you talk of heai'ts and homes, and keep your face like a
figure-head. It's a good thing, Candituft, you ar'n't in Slam.
They'd put you in petticoats ; they would, sir ; for life — wltliout
A MAN MADE OF IMONEY.
hope of pardon, sir, for the terra of your natural life. In petti-
coats."
" Ugh ! " cried Colonel Bones with a sneering grin, " shouldn't
a bit wonder. What for ? Hm ? "
" You see. Colonel, it is the custom of the king of Siam — or
was, when I knew him, for let me be particular — it was his
Majesty's custom, when any of his ministers, or judges, or
generals, or people of that sort of kidney, persisted in doing or
talking of matters they didn't understand — not that I insinuate
anything of the soi't against our friend Candituft — by no means ;
don't mistake me — it was the king's custom, I say, to make his
ministers, for the rest of their days, wear nothing else but the
cast-off clothes of the oldest women in his dominions. When I
left Siam, which is now — how time flies ! — ^a good while ago,
there were three prime ministers, one chancellor of the exche-
quer, a chief justice, and two field marshals, all in old women's
petticoats, sir. And for life ! What do you think of that 1 "
" For my part," said Carraways, " I must think the old ladies
much scandalised by the practice. But, Jericho, I want you" —
" Why, it isn't Jericho ! " cried Thrush, rushing up to our Man
of Money, and laying hold of his coat with both hands — " It can't
be Jericho ! Only a dividend of him. As I'm alive, you don't
look a shilling in the pound of yourself."
" Looks, sir — looks," — said Jericho, with a dignity that did
his wife's heart good — " are the cheats of the simple. If, how-
ever, I do look thin, -be assured I've my own private reasons
for it. May I have the pleasure, madam 1 " — and Jericho oifered
his arm to Miss Candituft, her brother having introduced
Jericho, and being with his sister introduced to Jericho's wife
and daughter in honourable return. Jericho made for a distant
crowd, gathered about the juggler. " Very odd, madam, that
people can't keep their foolish opinions under their own hats,"
said Jericho : and Miss Candituft — forewarned by a significant
look, an emphatic whisper from her brother— jumped instantly
to the like conclusion. Indeed Miss Candituft had very quickly
gathered the Jericho family to her bunch of treasured friends :
adding them readily as new flowers to chosen blossoms.
" Well, Mr. Jericho is certainly not so stout as he was," said
Mrs. Carraways to Jericho's wife, " but then I think he looks a
great deal better. He was a little too stout," suggested the good-
natured hostess.
" Decidedly too stout," said Mrs. Jericho. " He wanted
activity of mind and body. I have prevailed upon him of late
to ta,ke exercise and he is a great deal better. But, really, it
would seem as if there was a general conspiracy to frighten the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 55
poor man out of the world. Absolutely a wicked design to throw
me into the despair of widowhood." And then, as tearing her-
self with a wrench from the idea, Mrs. Jericho blandly suggested
— " Let us follow the world, and go to the juggler."
Candituft, Colonel Bones, and Commissioner Thrush slowly
trod the greensward. " Why," said Thrush, " money seems to
have taken all the colour out of him. He was a jolly fellow, red
and ripe as a peach ; and now — I wonder if he's made his will.
Depend upon it, he won't live long."
" Don't say that ! Dear fellow — I mean, poor creature !
Dreadful times for such people to die, when by living " — and
Candituft with finger at his cheek, shook his head — " they could
do so much good to the family of man. Really, Mr. Jericho
ought to have the best advice."
" Ugh ! If he's so very rich, Candituft, you'll bestow advice
gratis," grinned Bones. " You'll feel his pulse, — I'm sure of that.
Now a beggar like me — a pensioner upon a crust — can't hope for
such a doctor. Hm ? "
" Ha, Colonel ! You know you may say anything. You
know you may use jowr friends as you please ; you can't offend
'em. They know your heart," — said Candituft — '-and what
matters the rest ? "
" I say. Colonel, you'll remember Candituft in your will for all
this ? " said Thrush.
"My will! Ugh!" cried Colonel Bones. "When I die, I
shall leave — I shall leave — the world."
" Talking of wills," said Thrush, returning to his self-laid trap,
" talking of wills, there was an odd thing happened in Siam."
" No doubt. Odd if there hadn't," cried Candituft, smiling
with confidence on the unmoved Bones.
" You'll like to hear it, Candituft. Very odd. There was an
old muckthrift died, and left to the dear friend that had best
flattered him a curious bequest. You'll never guess it — it was
a jar of treacle, mixed with caterpillars."
" Disgusting ! " cried Candituft.
" Good ! devilish good ! " laughed Colonel Bones.
" And so it became a saying in Siam. Whenever," said
Thrush, with a leer at the Man -Tamer — "whenever a man
coaxed and flattered another for his own ends, folks would say —
' He's laying on the treacle, and may come in for the caterpillax'S.'
And this, I assure you was in Siam."
" Charming ! excellent ! quite a delicious apologue ! " said
Candituft, with a smile that declared him invulnerable. " You
are a happy fellow. Thrush. When you are most bitter, you are
most wholesome. It's impossible not to relish you. After a talk
56 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
with you, I feel my morals braced, toned I may say, for a mouth.
Capital fellow ! " And Candituft laid his outsj^read hand aflfec-
tionately on Thrush's shoulder.
" Hallo ! Basil, boy, how d'ye do 1 " said Thrush to young
Pennibacker, who, looking anxiously about him, ran upon the
party. " 'Pon my word, you haven't done growing yet. Why,
how you've shot up this last month ! "
" No doubt, my dear sir ; climb like a honeysuckle. But the
truth is, we talk, of the degeneracy of the age. I've found out
the cause, sir ; it's straps. They hold down the free-born Briton,
sir ; they dwarf a giant race, sii*. Every man, if he likes, has his
discovery ; straps are mine."
" Admirable ! " cried Candituft, with convulsive laughter ; for
Basil had already been shown to the Man-Tamer as the son-in-
law of the gorgeous Jericho. " Most ingenious ; and yet most
simple discovex'y ! Ha ! ha ! "
" That's it, sir," said Basil, taking quick measure of Candituft
— " that's it. We look abroad for causes, when the thing is under
our foot. What has lowered the standard of the British army ?
— straps. Why, in these days, sir, have we no high drama, sir —
no high art ? Straps, sir ; straps. Men are tied to their boots,
and can't reach it. Why have we no political greatness, sir ?
Why does an unprincipled minister every night of his parlia-
mentary existence violate the spotless constitution ? "
" Ugh ! Hear ! Hear ! Hm 1 " cried Colonel Bones, and he
rubbed his big, raw hands.
" Why have we no public spirit left, sir ? Why do we not
rise against tyranny, and taxation, and free trade, and the Pope 1
The disgrace and the answer, gentlemen, are in one crushing
syllable — straps ! "
" Hear ! hear ! hear ! Loud cheers ! " cried Candituft. At
this moment, Bessy, under the protection of Miss Candituft,
was crossing the lawn, when Basil, without further word, imme-
diately broke from his audience. Candituft, however, with some
sudden and violent commendation of Basil's vivacious talent,
instantly followed.
"My dear lady," said Basil, sweeping off his hat, and redden-
ing and stammering somewhat — " may I now beg the goodness of
your promise 1 These little work-people of yours "
" Keally, Mr. Pennibacker, you'll not care about them," said
Bessy, in a voice made sweeter by her simple, affectionate looks.
' But if you really wish to see them "
" Yes, yes ; that's right, Bessy. It's a sight that may do the
young men of our day good," said old Carraways, coming up
with a host of visitors, Mrs. Jericho and Monica being of the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
number. " It will be a change, too, from the juggler. By the
way — that poor brother of yours, Mr. Candituft "
" Brother, Mr. Carraways ! " cried Candituft ; and then he
recollected the human relationship, and warmly smiled, and said
— " Oh yes ! very true ; to be sure."
•' He earns his daily mutton hard enough. I never knew
such tricks. Ha ! ha ! Stock Exchange is nothing to it," said
Carraways ; and he led the way between high laurel hedges —
winding and winding — until he came into a small garden. Here
the company heard clamorous shouts of laughter. The quiet,
well-bred mirth of the party seemed to have migrated hither to
break loose into the largest enjoyment. A few paces, and a
happy scene revealed itself. The garden was skirted by a hay-
field. A heavy second crop had blessed the land. Some thii'ty
or forty of the youngest and sprightliest of the visitors were
making hay ; and — one or two or thi-ee in a violent spirit of
romps — were i^itchiug the hay at one another. " Ha ! ha ! ha !
I like thid," cried Carraways. " Well, I do think that young
folks never look so happy or so handsome as when they're
making hay. What say you, Mrs. Jericho 1 "
" I was ever of that sentiment," said Mrs, Jericho, with one
of h«r fullest smiles. " 'Tis so pastoral — so innocent ; so far
away from the fastidious conventionalities of life." And then
I^Irs. Jericho dai-kly frowned, and suddenly squeezing her
daughter Monica by the arm, and whispering anxiously between
her maternal teeth, cried — "That never can be your sister,
Agatha ! " But it was ; and the flushed delinquent — with a
shai-p, chirping laugh — was at the moment throwing a wisp of
hay at Sir Arthur Hodmadod, who had evidently made up his
mind to receive it as the largest of blessings,
" It is Agatha," said Monica, sharing more than her mother's
trouble at the exposure ; for she much wondered that her
younger sister could take such freedom with a baronet.
"Don't mind Sii' Arthur," said Miss Candituft in her own
sympathetic way, to the anxious parent. " Nobody minds him.
He hasn't the genius to be even dangerous," 'Mrs. Jericho
stared, and then smiled and jerked her head, at once acknow-
ledging and despising the information.
In a minute the disturbed merry-makers, as suddenly grave
as they might be, joined the party, Carraways laughing and
giving them heartiest praise- for their romps. " That's it !
I love to see people not ashamed to enjoy themselves after theii'
own hearts. For my part, I never see a haycock that I don't
wish to go plump head over heels into it. I think, somehow,
it's an instinct of the natui'al family of man, eh, Mr. Candituft ?"
58 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" No doubt, my dear sir," said Candituft ; " not the least
doubt — a remnant of Eden that still sweetens the fall."
" Agatha, I am ashamed of you," whispered Mrs. Jericho to her
red-faced daughter as she sidled up. The next moment Sir Arthur
Hodmadod, with a gay confident look, proffered to the rebuked
Agatha an arm of the baronetage. The motion was not lost
upon the scrupulous Monica ; who — to comfort her mother —
immediately whispered — " And I'm ashamed of her, too, ma."
" Here we are," cried Carraways, halting at an apiary of the
trimmest and prettiest order. " Here's Bessy's work-people.
And I can tell you, charming it is to see them coming in and
going out ; and delightful to meet 'em in the fields — for upon
my life, I sometimes think they know us— as they go bouncing,
buzzing by."
" I'm sure they know me, papa," said Bessy ; and then she
modestly added — " at least I think so."
" Ugh ! They must know you," said Colonel Bones ; " bees,
bees must be the best judges of flowers. Hm 1 "
" Delicious ! A sweet thought, Colonel," said Candituft.
" Excellent ! "
" It is very pretty," cried Hodmadod, surveying the apiary.
" So nicely thatched, too ; so very snug, I call it " — said the
baronet with authority — " I call it quite a bijou."
" Do you, indeed 1 " asked Agatha, all smiles.
" I do," said Sir Arthur ; " that is, when I say a bijou, I mean
— of course-=-a picture."
" The inference is so plain," said Miss Candituft, and she
looked in that wild moment at the flushed Agatha as though she
could have bitten her bold, red cheek.
" Wonderful creatures, bees ! " cried Hodmadod. " Only to
think that such little things should make all the wax candles ! "
There was a pause, when the modest baronet asked — " They do
make all the wax candles, eh 1 don't they 1 "
" Make everything in wax," said Basil. " "Wonderfully arranged,
sir. The white bees make wax ; and the black bees — ^the nigger
bees — make pitch."
" Very well ; very good ; but no — I can't quite believe that.
Still, it is wonderful. And Miss Carraways, permit me to ask "
— said Hodmadod — " do your labourers here work aU the year
round?"
" Not all the year, Sir Arthur," answered the smiling Bessy.
" Ha ! I see ; the bees have a recess. Ha ! ha ! They're like
us in Parliament," said Hodmadod. " Ha ! ha ! "
" Oh, very like you in Parliament," cried the cool, cutting
Miss Candituft.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 59
" That is, when I say that bees are like menibei-s of Parliament,
I dou't mean " — explained the logical Hodmadod — " I don't
mean that members of Parliament make wax candles, you
know."
" No, no, no," cried Carraways with a laugh ; and the com-
pany, to be relieved, would see a joke, and laughed most heartily ;
Hodmadod still laughing loudest.
" But we are not the only bee-keepers," said Mrs. Carraways.
" We have what we call our honey-feasts. And you should
only see Bessy's silver bees."
" Silver bees ! Well, that is strange. Now I call it curious,"
— cried Hodmadod — " but on the road, I did see a silver bee
settled — when I say settled, of course I mean buckled — on the
throat of a nice little girl. Wasn't she. Miss Candituft 1 "
" A very pretty, fair thing with flaxen hair," remarked Miss
Candituft.
" That's Jenny AVhite. She's the silver bee of this year ;
you see, it's a whim of our Bessy's " — Mrs. Carraways would
talk, regardless of Bessy's looks — " to give jirizes every year to
the folks hereabout whose hives weigh most honey. Besides
these prizes, there's a silver bee to be worn on holidays."
" 'Pon my word," said Hodmadod, " I think I shall take a
cottage here, and enter myself for the stakes. When I say
myself, of course I mean my bees, because I couldn't very well
go into a hly, — eh ] "
" Not in boots," said Basil with a knowing clench.
Here Topps winding his way round the company, with
importance in his looks, made up to his master, " This way,"
cried Carraways, giving his arm to Mrs. Jericho. " I think
I know where we can light upon the merry-thought of a
chicken."
In a very few minutes, the host was seated at the head of
the table under a long, wide tent. On the table were the most
delicious proofs of the earth's goodness j with every kitchen
mystery. And these vanished, and were replaced, and guests
came and went, and came and went ; and so the hours flew,
eating, drinking, laughing, and dancing by ; until the stars came
out, and the music played more noisily, and the merriment grew
louder and louder.
Some twenty or thirty were seated together, Mr, Jericho,
taciturn and dignified, graced the board. Candituft sat next
him ; and with others, among wh(jm were Commissioner Thrush,
and the miserly Colonel Bones, clubbed their share of mirth. An
elderly gentleman, pock-marked, with a pink nose, had been
particularly silent ; admiring, when and where required, with
o
60 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
soberest discretion. And now, for the past half hour, he had
been seized with a passion to drink evei-ybody's health. This
vinous philanthropist was Doctor Mizzlemist of Doctors'
Commons. He had at last discovered the great duty of
hfe ; and was resolved to perform it. For the third time he
rose to give " the health of Solomon Jericho, Esquire, an
honour to his country." For the third time, the Doctor dwelt
upon the hidden virtues of his excellent toast, emphasizing
them with a dessert fork, which never failed in its downward
descent to make three marks upon the table. Fin:illy, wrought
into enthusiasm by a contemplation of his subject. Doctor
Mizzlemist delivered himself with such energy, that at the
same time he struck the fork between the bones of Jericho's
right hand, pinning it where it lay. The plantfed weapon
trembled in the mahogany. Mr. Jericho's head was at the
moment turned aside. A shout from the company proclaimed
some calamity. Mr. Jericho slowly turning, saw the fork still
quivermg in his flesh. He calmly withdrew the weapon from
the wood, laid it down, passed his palm over his bloodless hand,
and with a smile said — '" It's nothing."
" What wonderful forbearance ! " " What extraordinary
firmness ! " thought the company, and still they look«d strangely,
curiously at the serene, the philosophic Jericho.
The fireworks died in darkness — the lamps twinkled fainter
and fainter — and at some hour in the morning the last vehicle
rolled from the gate of Jogtrot Lodge. — Perhaps, some four
hours before the postman delivered his letters at the house of
Carraways in the City.
CHAPTEK VII.
" Sis inches less round the body, as I'm a sinner ! Sii. inches
less, Mr. Jericlio, and I last took your measure only six weeks
ago." Thus spoke Breeks, the tailor, holding his strip of parch-
ment to the eye of the attenuated Jericho. " I never did know
such a shrink."
" I'm glad of it," said Jericho with dignity. "I -v^as fast
losing my figure, Breeks."
" Oh dear, no ! " said Breeks. " A little stout, to be sure :
but noways out of character. Some people's only made to be
stout, and nothing else. And now in six weeks six inches !
A MAX MADE OF MONEY. 61
"Why, in a twelvemonth, do you know what that'll come to ?
Eh?"
" You will measure me without observation, Mr. Breeks," said
Jericho, " or not measure me at all."
The faintest, briefest " Oh ! " rounded the mouth of Breeks,
and with tenderest touch he proceeded in his task. It is at least
one of the humanising beauties of credit that it begets fiimiliarity.
Debt despises the distance of ceremony. Now Breeks had for
many years made for Jericho ; and Jericho was never above the
tailor's joke. There might be a reason for this. Breeks was
never in a hurry to push. His bUls were like oak-leaves ; new
ones always grew imder the old.
Breeks took his measures in silence. He knew that Jericho
was become rich, and therefore felt that he, the rich man's tailor,
must become dull and respectful. Beady money was, after all,
better than a ready laugh. " Shall I allow anything, sir, for " —
and Breeks held the body of Jericho as in a parchment bridle —
" anything for stoutness 1 It may come, sir, when you least
expect it 1 "
" A little, just a little, Breeks. Though I don't think I'm a
bit thinner than — than many people ? "
" Not a bit, sir : and then, sir, where natur' leaves us we
can always lay hold upon art. Flesh " — said Breeks, waving
his arm — " flesh may fall away, but paddin's contin'ally
with us."
" Just so ! and therefore, Breeks, you may give a little puff —
just the smallest roimdness " —
" I know, sir ; just an ounce or two more flesh in the waist-
coat. It shall be done, sir. I wish you a humble good morning,
sir," and Breeks bowed in excess of homage.
"Breeks," — a thought had come upon Jericho, — "Breeks,
are you married 1 " Breeks stared : for how many times,
years gone by, had Mrs. Breeks herself opened the door to
Mr. Jericho !
Breeks delicately resented this forgetfulness of the man of
money. With a low bow, the tailor replied — " I am not yet a
widower, Mr. Jericho."
" Ha ! To be sure. Hm " — mused Jericho, — " then it's
out of the question ; otherwise, Breeks, I might have served
you."
" Mrs. Breeks, Mr. Jericho," — replied the tailor, — " is too
dootiful a wife to stand in the light of her husband. Whatever
it is, may I be so bold as to say, mention it 1 "
" Not now — no matter — another time. Go," said Jericho ;
and the tailor, with an awe of the sudden dignity of money —
62 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
au awe he would not confess to — shrank from the dressmg-
room.
" Here's a change ! After all, there's no such paddin' for
human natur' as Bank-notes ! " Now this is what Breaks
declared to himself outside the door ; and again and again
repeated as he stept onward from Jericho's house. Indeed, so
intent was he upon the felicitous thought that — with a strange
self-delusion — he avowed to his wife, delighted by her husband's
wit and courage, that he flung the words — hard and hot like a
thunderbolt — " in Jericho's face." And the elevated tailor almost
thought as much. Nevertheless, for Jericho's face, truth meekly
supplies Jericho's knocker.
The waistcoat that six weeks ago had wrapt Jericho, lay on
the ground. How wide and large it looked ! An expanded cere-
cloth of perished flesh ! How much of him — of him, Jericho —
was once in that waistcoat that was now — where ? It could not
be possible that the bank in his bosom was supplied at the cost
of his fleshly substance 1 He was not paying himself away trans-
muted into paper ? Pooh ! Nonsense ! He never felt better ;
never felt so hard and firm. Nevertheless, he looked upon the
waistcoat as upon an opened book, written with mortal meanings.
And then again he felt assured his fleshy store did not supply his
money, and then — he determined to measure his waist, and in
exactest balance — unknown to all men — to weigh himself every
morning. The first part of the discipline he would immediately
commence. Whereupon, with a silken lace he encompassed his
chest, snipping close where both ends joined. Scarcely had he
finished the operation, when light, yet peremptory fingers, tapped
at the door. " May I come in, love 1 " It was the voice of
Mrs. Jericho.
" Certainly," said Jericho ; " what do you want, Sabilla, my
dear 1 "
Let us endeavour to explain this mutual familiarity. The
truth is, in a very soft moment Jericho had murmured to his
wife this honey-sweet intelligence — He knew no bounds to his
wealth ! Whereupon, with a responsive burst of sympathy,
Mrs. Jericho declared that, in such case, she saw no end to his
greatness. We have said that Mrs. Jericho was a woman of
great imagination. Instantaneously she beheld herself upon the
topmost peak of the Mountains of Millions ; whose altitude is
just ten thousand thousand times higher than the Mountains of
the Moon. So high that the biggest pearls in the very oldest
coronets appeared to Mrs. Jericho no bigger than mustard-seed.
With boundless riches she instantly felt boundless ambition.
Mrs. Jericho had ever made her best curtsey to the power of
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 63
"wealth : but Avitli tlie unexpected Plutus as her guest, she was
suddenly rapt, sublimated. The Lady Macbeth of a money-box.
" Solomon," — never until his day of riches had even his own
wife called him Solomon — " make haste : you are wanted.
Somethink very particular — a great proposal — vital to us — all we
could wish."
" Who is it, my dear 1 "What's it about 1 " asked Jericho with
dull composure.
" I have already told you," — said ]Mrs. Jericho in a deep organ
note — " that you may fill the world. You shaU fill it." Jericho
rubbed his chin ; then — he could not help it — looked askance
upon the all-wide, cast-ofi" waistcoat, " Make haste, and meet me
in the drawing-room." Saying this, JMi's. Jericho, in all her
natural pomp, departed.
Whilst Jericho finishes his toilette, making really the most of
himself, let us proceed to the drawing-room. Miss Agatha
Pennibacker never looked prettier : she is neatly, gracefully
attired in jnorning muslin web ; and stands for the moment
looking down with full eyes upon the cup of a flower, into which,
with pouting lips, she idly blows. And who could think that
that little flower should reflect such a rosy flush upon the face of
Agatha 1 Perhajis, however, it is not all the flower : it may be,
that the presence of Sir Arthur Hodmadod, who stands some
way apart, half twirling a chair in the hollow of one hand, and
with a smile showing all his fine teeth to the simple Agatha, —
perhaps, the baronet has at least a share of the blush with the
scarlet anemone.
" I am delighted to hear, my dear madam, that you sufi"ered
no fatigue — took no cold," very tenderly observes the baronet —
" beauty is a jewel — when I say a jewel, of course I mean a flower
— that sometimes sufiiers from the night."
" But, Sir Arthur — it was so fine, you recollect ! Do you not
remember the brilliancy of the moon that, you observed, looked
like a new nun that had just taken the veil ; and surely — can
you forget " — asks the emphatic Agatha — " the beautiful com-
pliment you paid to the stars ? "
"I assure you, now, that's just like me — I do," replies the
modest man. " Haven't a notion."
"Oh, you said — I recollect it so well," says the earnest
creature, raising her liquid eyes — "you said that the stars were
the diamonds of the poor."
" That's very like me : but I am so liable to forget. Still, I
should have sworn to the thought anywhere."
Thus may man commit unconscious perjury. For, be it at
once known that it was Candituft who, in his large benevolence.
64 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
gave the stars to the poor man for his jewels : a sort of liberality
Candituft was very prone to, for it in no way impoverished
himself.
"You are aware, dear madam," said Sir Arthur, a little
abruptly, " that in the days of chivalry, it was the custom for
ladies to be leeches. You know, when I say leeches, I don't of
course mean the nasty things in ponds, but surgeons. Then
every lady-love dressed her own knight. Of course, I mean his
wound."
" To be sure ; I've read it all very often. Yes" — and Agatha
looked suddenly devoted — " in those dear olden times women
fulfilled their mission, and were leeches. We shall never see
those days again ! "
" Suppose we try," said Hodmadod, handing a chair to
Agatha, dropping into one himself, and drawing close to the
fluttered young lady, whose timid eye now and then turned to
the door. "What do you think of that hand, dearest Miss
Agatha "" and Sir Arthur gracefully presented his open palm.
" Oh ! gracious ! " cried the young lady, flinging away the
anemone, clasping her hands, and looking piteous sorrow.
Wherefore 1 The hand had been blistered ; and a little wound
— Miss Agatha might have covered it with a guinea, if she had
had the coin and the thought about her — lay in the palm.
" Your candid opinion, sweet girl ? In its present wounded
state — when I say wounded, of course I mean it's quite as good
as ever — I couldn't ofi'er the hand to a lady ? "
" Dear me ! " cried Agatha, " what a question ! How should
I know 1 But how did it happen 1 "
" Why, you see, not used to the sort of thing, it was the
hay-fork ; when I say a hay-fork, I think I may venture to
observe " — and here the handsome baronet looked in the glow-
ing face of Agatha, and smiled with all his might — " the dart of
Cupid."
" Dear me ! " and Agatha looked at the hurt, with evidently
no thought of the figurative weapon that had caused it — " dear
me ! it must give you dreadful pain."
" Dreadful ! that is, of course, gi-eat pleasure. Now, dear
young lady, I want you to be my leech."
" La ! Sir Arthur ; we don't live in such times, you know ; "
and Agatha was delighted.
" As I am determined to ofi'er this hand with all my heart
in it — when I say all my heart, I mean my title — to a young lady
whom you know, and, I believe, very much respect — as upon
that resolution I am a perfect rock — when I say a rock, I mean
I am hard upon being happy — why then "
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 65
" I see exactly what you mean, Sir Arthur," said Agatha, to
the rescue.
" That's delightful ! That's a true woman who, when a man
has only half a meaning, supplies the other half. It's that that
makes the full circle of the wedding-ring. When I say the
wedding-ring, of course I mean " —
" I know," cried Agatha, quickly.
" "Well, dear Miss Pennibacker, will you undertake the cure,
for the lady you are best acquainted with 1 "
" I'm sure I — I'd do anything in such a case to serve any
lady. But hadn't I better call mamma ? She's a beautiful
surgeon ! Oh, what a leech she'd have been in those sweet old
times. Yes, I'd better call mamma ; " and, like a startled
antelope, the maiden bounded from the room.
Sir Arthur Hodmadod, left to himself, incontinently walked
up to a mirror. It was, at the worst, his old resource. To him
a looking-glass was capital company. It always brought before
him the subject he loved best : a subject he never grew tired of ;
a subject that, contemplate it as he would, like every other truly
great work, revealed some hitherto undiscovered excellence.
Thus, in a very few seconds, Sir Ai'thur was so intently fixed
upon the well-known, yet ever new production before him ; was
so profoundly satisfied with the many merits appealing to his
impartial judgment, that he heard not the door open ; heard not
the soft footsteps of two ladies. — Sir Arthur, in the intensity of his
study, was wholly unconscious of the approach of Miss IMonica
Pennibacker and her very recent, and very fast friend. Miss
Candituft. Monica was about to break in upon the grateful
meditation of the baronet, when Miss Candituft raised her
eloquent forefinger. This gesture was followed by nods and
smiles ; and Monica, with sudden knowledge of their mysterious
import, jerked her head, and laughed in answer ; and without a
word, but with a huge enjoyment of the jest, quitted the ground.
Sir Ai-thur is still at the glass, and Miss Candituft sinks upon
a sofa. The cold, calm face of the lady very nearly approached
the face of the gentleman in the mirror ; nevertheless, so fixed
w^as he upon his subject, that the intrusion failed to rouse liim.
Miss Candituft caught the reflected features of the baronet ; and
though she felt all the force of their vacancy ; though she
thought she despised that handsome mask of man more than
ever ; she felt stir within her remorseless thoughts of vengeance.
In that stern moment she fixed the baronet's fate. He, poor
victim ! with all his soul on tiptoe walking the outline of his
right whisker, he knew not what awaited him. — He knew not
that behind him, sat a weak woman who had determined to
66 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
snatch him from himself ; to carry him away, whether he would
or not ; to hurry him to a venerable edifice ; and then and there
rivet on him a chain for life. And this, it is our faith, is a
sentence often passed in silence on the unsuspecting sufferer ; a
sentence pronoiinced in self-confidence in play-house boxes, in
ball-room corners ; possibly even in cathedral pews. The judge
all outward smiles and tenderness, has thoughts of a life-long
sentence at heart. How beautiful that it should be so ! To our
imagination how much more delicious the simple, balmy flower,
when we know that it smiles so sweetly, and to all api^earance so
unconsciously of the wedding-ring gold, so very deep below.
" Well, I do look well — devilish well to-day," said Sir Arthur
to the baronet in the glass. " I don't think I ever saw myself
look better. Handsome — when I say handsome, I mean quite a
butcher. Miss Candituft ! " cried Sir Arthur, suddenly startled
by the vision.
" I didn't speak ! I didn't say a word — did 1 1 " cried Hod-
madod. " I don't think I spoke. Eh ?"
" Not a word," answered the lady ; " not a syllable ; it was
only ' the mind, the music breathing from the face.' What a
shame it is you should be so handsome. Sir Arthur. Really,
you go in great danger. You'll be carried oif by some band of
desperate women, and afterwards raffled for ; you'll be married
some day in spite of your screams. By the way, Sir Arthur," —
and Caroline fixed the baronet with her cold, full look — " What
brings 7/021. here ? "
" Oh, friendship. That is, when I say friendship, I " —
" Yes ; the old meaning. Well, you always had an admirable
taste. Sir Arthur. I must say that ; an admirable taste, even
before your looking-glass. Dear me ! " — and she suddenly rose
and ci'ossed to the window — " quite a garden hei'e. Well, I
have often wondered what fools flowers were, to grow in London :
I mean — but Sir Arthur, of course, you know what I mean."
And saying this. Miss Candituft stept upon the verandah ; and
for a time, there is no doubt of it, divided her admiration
between flowers and music ; the geraniiims about her, and a
barrel-organ below her.
The next minute, and Agatha returned with even a deeper
flush in her face — with a more vivacious sparkle in her eye — •
with a quicker tremor in her voice. To be made love to by a
baronet ! For the suspicion had, during her long absence,
strengthened into assurance. Great had been her growth of
heart, large her addition of knowledge, in the few minutes
employed to pass to her room, and to bring together every kind
of imaginable anodyne ; every sort of balsamic remedy.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 67
" My dear IVfiss Agatha," cried Hodmadod pretty loudly, that
Miss Candituft might have the fullest benefit of his intouation ;
" my dear lady, I blush for this trouble : when I say, I blush I —
I really don't know what to say."
" Don't name it. Sir Arthur. I couldn't disturb mamma ;
still I — I wish I had, for upon my word and honour, I don't
know what to do. Oh dear ! it is A^ery bad," and again Agatha
glanced at the baronet's abraded hand.
" Dear me ! This is the thing — the very thing," and Hod-
madod took up a card of court-plaister ; a healing substance so
very rare, and requiring such nice wisdom to prescribe it, that of
course the baronet had never thought of the remedy until pro-
duced by the anxious maid before him.
" Well, Sir Arthur, I thought that possibly might do : dear
me ! why didn't you think of it before 1 What you must have
suffered ! " said Agatha with thoughts of pain distressing her
pretty face.
"The fact is, I had the misfortune, that is the delight to
receive the wound " — ^Miss Candituft unconsciously tore a
camellia to bits as she listened — " in the most beautiful society ;
and in that society I said to myself, it shall be healed. When
I say healed " —
" It will be quite well to-morrow," said Agatha very earnestly ;
and now she cast an eye at the wound, measuring its smalluess,
and with a pair of scissors cut the plaister to the diameter of the
hurt. When she had delicately rounded a piece the size of a
shilling ; trimming and trimming it as though it was to her
impossible to make too nice an adjustment ; she gently laid it on
the fingers of the baronet, at the same time, with the prettiest
grace and humility, dropping a curtsey.
Sir Ai'thur Hodmadod looked smilingly at Agatha, and then
at the round black patch lying on his fingers. — "My dear
madam, you must breathe tipon it."
" Oh dear no ! Not at all ! Certainly not," cried Agatha.
Sir Arthur, holding the little patch by the extreme edges of
his finger and thumb-nail, jJresented it to the lips of Agatha.
" Breathe, my dear madam ; when I say breathe, I mean waft
*. « "
a — a —
" I couldn't think of such a thing," cried Agatha, retreating.
" The whole charm — the spell — when I say the charm, I mean
the medicine — is in the breath that warms it. My dear Agatha,"
and Sir Arthur attempted to encircle the timid creature's
waist.
" How very foolish ! " cried Agatha, still shrinking. " How
very foolish ! " And then she made her little moutli into the
F 2
68 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
smallest bud, and blew quickly twice or thrice. " How very
foolish ! "
" Now, I may call the cure almost complete," said Sir Arthur,
and he placed the patch upon the wound. " Upon my life !
Beautiful ! Delicious ! " and he cast his eyes rapturously towards
the ceiling.
" Has it done you so much good, already. Sir Arthur ? I'm
so glad ! Such a simple thing, too."
" My dearest girl, it is the delightful magic of your breath. I
feel it — from this little patch, it goes through and through all
my blood. I'm drinking champagne all over," cried the
impassioned patient.
" La ! Sir Arthur, how can you ? " cried Agatha.
" When I say champagne, I mean nectar's nothing to it. What
a beautiful surgeon ! " and Sir Arthur took Agatha's hand, and
pressed it in his wounded palm, pressing the patch to make the
operation perfect. " Dear me ! " and the gentleman feigned
sudden surprise, "that I should be near forgetting it !"
" Forgetting what, Sir Arthur ?" asked the ingenuous maid.
" The fee, sweet girl ; the fee," and Sir Arthur, quite ere the
young lady was aware of his intention, pressed his lips to her
hand — to the hand that was rapidly snatched away as from the
touch of a nettle. " And now, my dear little leech — when I say
leecli, I mean my blooming cherub — when do you think the hand
will be fit to go to church 1 "
" I should say. Sir Arthur, that the lady herself, whoever she
may be, could best answer such a strange question." Here
Agatha tried to trill a careless note or two.
Sir Arthur very much enjoyed the pretty confusion of Agatha,
and was highly delighted by the torment that, in the courage
new to himself, he had, he was sure of it, inflicted upon Miss
Candituft. It was really capital recreation, excellent sport, at
one and the same time to play with the hearts of two women.
And one such a pretty little simpleton — the other such a high-
topping task-mistress ! The baronet felt jDroud of himself. And
then he thought of his face, his figure ; and took the incident as
a matter of course. How could it be otherwise ?
" You can't predict the time ? " and Sir Arthur gaily returned
to the question.
" Haven't an idea," said Agatha ; " no, not an idea."
" At all events, then, you will see the patient every day ? "
Whereupon the baronet would look as though he had all his
heart in his eyes.
" Why, really, Sir Arthur, upon such a subject I feel — I mean
— you must ask my mamma. Ha ! " — and Agatha snatched her
A MAN MADE OF MONEr. 69
hand away, for the door opened, and Mrs. Jericho, most sump-
tuously caparisoned, flowed into the room — "And here is
mamma," said the confused maiden.
Mrs. Jericho had a mother's eyes, and would not then and
there see the blushes of her daughter. As though Agatha had
not been in the room, Mrs. Jericho, all smiles and presence of
mind, received and returned the compliments of the baronet.
"Agatha, my child," observed Mrs. Jericho in the softest
voice, " I thought the Hon. Mr. Candituft "—
'•' Oh, Cesar is talking to Monica," said Miss Candituft, step-
ping from the balcony, whilst Agatha felt it was impossible that
she could do otherwise than faint to behold her. " Really you
have a charming prospect from this window. I've been quite
fixed by it — quite. Did not expect to see anything like what I
have seen," said Miss Candituft ; and Agatha shuddered. The
next moment Monica joined the party, informing her mamma
that the Hon. Mr. Candituft had been removed into the study
bv Mr. Jericho. Thither let us follow them.
CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. Candituft still grasps the hand of his excellent new
friend. " Upon my honoui-, my dear sir, the sight of you looking
so well lifts a mountain from my mind. I wouldn't have had
the feelings of Dr. Mizzlemist for the honours of the earth."
Mr. Jericho feebly smiles, lifting his shoulders in deprecation of
further sympathy, " Surely this — this is the hand the fork
went through, yet not so much as a scar."
" It was nothing : I'm happily formed, Mr. Candituft ; that
is, my flesh heals directly. It all arises from a wonderful
purity of blood no doubt, but nothing hurts me," said Jericho,
" nothing."
"A common person, Mr. Jericho — now the danger's past
I don't mind saying it — a common man from such a wound
must have had lockjaw." Here Candituft put his hand before
his eyes, to shut out the horror of the picture. Recovering
himself, he proceeded, with a gay, playful look — "And lockjaw,
Mr. Jericho, would not have served your turn in the House of
Commons."
" My good sir," answered .Jericho, with an air of instruction,
" I am not in the House of Commons."
" Not taken the oaths and seat, certainly, but 'tis good as done.
70 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
My dear sir, you are reserved for great things : the whole
brotherhood of man will one day feel disposed to bless you.
And, my dear sir, permit me to congratulate you on your heroic
helpmate, Mrs. Jericho."
" She's a — a fine woman," said Jericho : he could say no less.
"A woman of far-seeing ambition. She already beholds you
on the top of the tree, sir ; on the top of the tree," and Candituft
shook Jericho's hand till he shook him into smiles.
" Why, sir, I am not backward — goodness forbid ! — not back-
ward to acknowledge the responsibility. Money is the support
of the world : the pillar of the social edifice. "Without money,
man is little above the brute."
" A great political truth," cried the astonished Candituft, " a
very great political truth."
" Let us look through the animal world, !Mi-. Candituft. What
makes the elephant powerful 1 — his trunk and tusks. What
makes the lion dangerous 1 — his teeth and claws. And, what
tusks and teeth are to the lower creatures, money is to man.
Is it not so 1 " asked Jericho, confidently.
Candituft suddenly folded his arms, and looking downward, as
though speaking to the carpet, said very vehemently — "It is."
" I think," continued Jericho, " I think it is the great Lord
Bacon who somewhere observes — ' Knowledge, turned into ready
money, is power.' I am of his lordship's oj^inion."
" Of course, 'Mr. Jericho. It was to be expected of you. And
now, my dear, dear sir, to business. Mrs. Jericho informed
me, at Jogtrot Lodge, that you burn to get into Parliament.
You are right. That is your sphere."
" I don't think I could make a speech — don't think I could
say a dozen words," urged the modest Jericho, " unless, I had
the decanters before me."
" We don't look for long speeches from men of wealth, sir.
We've plenty of speakers whose only bank is the English
language ; and tremendously they draw upon it. What we
want — what we can't have too much of — is the substantial,
unmistakeable power of property. When a man rises with a
million of money in his pocket, people think it's his wealth that
talks and not he. Therefore, boggle as he may, he is sure to
say something worth listening to. The world is charitable, sir,
and tolerates the man for the metal."
" Of course ; very right. I don't know," said Jericho, re-
assured, " that I ought to fear Parliament — much."
" Fear ! Your party would embrace you ! You'd be the
pet of the — by the way, what are your politics 1 " asked
Candituft.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" The politics of — of the human heart," answered Jericho, " of
course, nothing less."
" I thought so : our side ! My dear sir, you will find it will
be impossible for us to make too much of you. And now to the
question that has brought me here. The borough of Toadsham
is at your service. You needn't even show yourself; all'you
have to say is — yes ; and take youi* seat. You can't imagine
how your dear, your noble wife has jumped at the notion."
" Well, ' yes ' is soon said," observed Jericho.
" Aivl you'll say it ? I knew you would," and Candituft
shook Jericho by the hand. " Ha, sir ! what a career is open to
you. With your boundless wealth " —
" Pooh ! pooh ; no such thing, Mr. Candituft. T^Tiat could
have put it into your head 1 "
" With your boundless wealth, sir, after serving your country
with yoiu" jmtriotic votes in the Commons, you'll be gathered
to the House of Lords in your green old age. Think of that,
sir. In your very green old age. Eank, title, honours ! Why,
who shall say that the little ermine destined to trim your robe,
is not at this minute playing somewhere in the Ural Mountains 1
Who shall say that the silk-worms that shall spin the silk for
youi' blue riband, are not at this moment in the egg ? "
Jericho thought he felt his heart warm with the fancy.
He flattered himself that the organ absolutely fluttered. He
observed — " What will be the price — the lowest price of
Toadsham ? "
"Not more than ten thousand," answered Candituft, very
bUthely.
" That is a large sum, Mr. Candituft," cried Jericho.
" Well, now, you do surprise me ! I cannot disguise it ; you
do astonish me. I did think you'd wonder at the cheapness.
Ten thousand i^ounds for a seat in Parliament ! After all — with
your enlarged views — what is it but so much money put out to
the interest of your country and yourself 1 You must recollect,
sir, we live in revolutionary times. Now, there is such a cry
for purity of election, as it's called, that the selling price — when
a pennyworth is to be had — must go up. It's in the nature ol
human things, Mr. Jericho. In its time, sir, I give you my
honour, Toadsham has brought double the money. Double the
money, sir," averred Candituft.
" When can the business be arranged ? When can I go in ? "
asked Jericho.
" When the usual forms are over — and in your case, they are
only forms — directly, my dear sir."
" Well, as it will please my wife, and — as you observe, Mr,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Candituft — property ought to prop the nation, I don't think I
shall refuse. No : you may book me for Toadsham."
At this moment Mrs. Jericho entered the room. "Permit
me, madam, to congratulate you on the admirable resolution of
Mr. Jericho. He has consented " — said Candituft, as though
relieved of great anxiety — " he has consented to stand by the
country. He will sit for Toadsham."
" Of course, my dear sir. These are not times " — said
Mrs. Jericho — " for property to desert its post. No, sir, we
must stand by our institutions. Ar'n't they beautiful, my dear
Solomon ? "
" The pride of surrounding nations " answered Jericho, with-
out moving an eyelid.
" A fiddlestick ! I mean the diamonds," and Mi'S. Jericho
exhibited a magnificent suite of jewels.
" They look very bright," said Jericho.
" Bright my dear ! Why, as Miss Candituft observed, they
are positively scintillations of the sun. Bright ! "Why " — and
Mrs. Jericho waved the jewels to and fro — "there's no looking
at them."
" What will be the use of wearing 'em, then 1 " asked the
apathetic Jericho.
" My dear, how very literal you are. Why, I thought you'd
be delighted to see them," said Mrs. Jericho.
"I am; very much delighted," and Jericho looked at the
gems with as much light in his eye as would have been reflected
therein from so many pewter buttons. "Very fine ; whose art^
they ? "
" Whose are they 1 " cried Mrs. Jericho. " What a question !
Why, whose should they be 1 "
" I'm the worst of all men at a riddle," said Jericho. " I can't
guess."
" Why, Mr. Jericho, they are your wife's — of course," cried
the majestic owner, with proud emphasis.
" How did you get 'em 1 " inquired the frigid husband.
" What a question to ask a woman in Loudon ! My dear
Jericho — ha ! ha ! — why, my good man, what is the matter with
you ? I thought you'd be delighted with my taste. Any other
man would be proud of his wife, with such a choice. Eh, Mr.
Candituft ] "
" And so is Mr. Jericho. Only he's a philosopher ; he won't
show the rapture that swells his heart." No winter-tortoise
ever slept sounder in its shell, than did the heart of Jericho in
his bosom.
" You know, my dear," — said Mrs. Jericho, in her sweetest,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 73
most convincing voice — " you know 'twould be impossible to go
to coiu't without diamonds. One isn't drest without diamonds."
" Court ! " Jericho opened his eyes ; and a wan smile broke
on his thin, blank cheek. " Are you going to court 1 "
" "Why, of course. Are we not, dear Mr. Caudituft ? " Tlie
Man-Tamer placed his hand upon his heart, and smiled assent.
" What would be thought of us, if we did not pay our homage
to"—
" To be sure ; very right : I shall only be too hapjDy," said
Jericho ; " it's expected of us, no doubt."
" And 'twill not be my fault, my dear, if we do not go like
ourselves. The dear girls are quite delighted with their
pearls " —
" Pearls ! " groaned Jericho.
" Pearls," repeated Mrs. Jericho very vivaciously — " quite
delighted and " —
The sentence was broken by the sudden appearance of Monica
and Agatha, each bearing a jewel-case ; and looking radiant with
the possession.
"Thank you, dear papa," said Monica, curtseying and smiling
her best to Jericho.
" They're beautiful ! Thank you — dear, dearest papa " — cried
the more impulsive Agatha, and — thoughtless of the presence of
Candituft — she threw her arms about Jericho's neck.
" And the pair of you have pearls, eh 1 " asked Jericho, very
hopelessly.
" Look," said Monica, and she exhibited her treasure.
" Look," cried Agatha, and she half-drojit upon one knee, on
the other side, to show her jewels.
" Beautiful ! " cried Candituft. " Pray ladies, don't stir."—
The girls, with pretty wonder in their faces, kept their positions
on either side of Jericho. "My dear madam" — and Candituft
appealed to Mrs. Jericho — " Is not this a delightful group 1 An
exquisite family picture 1 It ought to be painted. On either
side beauty lustrous with thankfulness, and for the centre figure,
benevolence unconscious of its worth. Positively it must go to
the Academy."
" Milton and his Daughters quite common-place to it," averred
Miss Candituft, joining the party : for the interesting group
above had been suddenly scattered by the arrival of the jeweller.
Hence, Sir Arthur Hodmadod shortly afterwards edged himself
into the circle, contributing his admiration in his own nervous
style. Ere, however, his praises could call forth a response
there was an addition to the party in the flushed and hurried
person of Basil Pennibacker,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Beg your" pardon. Like a cannon-ball, you see, bring my
own apology with me," cried Basil.
" My dear eliild," said Mrs. Jericho. " "What is the matter 1
Wliy are you always in such a hurry 1 "
" Credit's long, ma'am, life is short, as the latin tailor says,"
and Basil bowed to the guests.
" Look at mamma's diamonds and our pearls," cried Agatha.
" Why, my honoured madam, you are not going to wear these
diamonds 1 You are 1 When ? " cried Basil.
" Oh, at the drawing-room, on Thui'sday," said Mrs. Jericho.
" Well, then, my revered lady, let me embrace you ; I shall
never see you again. Never," said the despairing son.
" What do you mean, you foolish boy 1 " and the fond mother
smiled at her child, and shook her head.
" You'll be carried oif, ma'am, stolen beyond the hope of all
Hue-and-Cry. You must go to St. James's with two policemen
in your carriage ; two with blunderbusses, or the property's lost.
Eh 1 What's here 1 " — and Basil looked at the treasures of his
sisters. " Pearls, eh 1 Why, what a lot ! — there's the lining
of a hundred beds of oysters."
" Basil, how can you ! " cried Agatha.
" Cost a pretty penny, eh 1 Take the oysters at eight-pence a
dozen, and say two dozen subscribe one pearl, how much will
the pair of you be worth, when you're both drest ? Eh, su- !
That's a nice bit of arithmetic," said Basil, turning to Jericho,
" How much, sir 1 "
"I don't know, young man" — said Jericho with dignity,
" What is more — I don't want to know."
" No, sir ; but it's odd how folks will force disagreeable
knowledge upon us ; crab-ajiples, sir, that we must eat, and
defy the stomach-ache."
" Basil ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jericho, in her very deepest voice.
" I suppose," said the unchecked Basil, " you've not heard —
no, I'm sure you haven't, by the holiday looks of you all. I'm
certain, Mr. Candituft, you've heard nothing disagreeable, other-
wise you'd have been alarming to look at."
" Dear Mr. Pennibacker," — and Candituft clasped his hands,
" what has happened 1 "
" Ha ! you've something like a heart, you have ; so fresh, and
so full now. Some people's hearts are shrunk in them like dried
nuts. 'Pon my life, you can hear 'em rattle as they walk."
" Mr. Pennibacker ! " said Jericho, solemnly.
" Sir ! " said Basil, folding his arms, and drawing himself up.
" You will keep these similes for your associates. There are
ladies and gentlemen here," said Jericho,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 75
" Very good, sir ; I'm easy of belief ; wasn't made for a
martyr. No, sir," said Basil, " warranted not to burn."
" My dear Basil, for all this levity," said Mrs. Jericho, " I can
see there's something wrong. "What is it 1 "
" Well then, here it is." Basil cleared his throat, yet his eyes
moistened, and his mouth twitched as he spoke. " Well then, to
begin ; your friend Carraways is ruined."
" Euined ! " echoed all.
" That fine old man — that noble gentleman — that capital chap
crowned in his cradle the king of good fellows — that man that
was as free of the loyalty as the skies are free of rain — well, he's
ruined ! A blank — £. s. d. scratched clean out of him — in one
word, the vital spark of money has left him, and in the city he's
worse than a dead man."
" Poor fellow ! Poor — dear — fellow ! " said Candituft grieved,
but very placid.
" It's quite impossible ! " cried Mrs. Jericho ; " so sudden !
How could it have happened % "
" Easily enough. House gone in India. Nothing safe there.
For my part, I hardly believe in India at all. I think India's a
magnificent illusion, like a grand sunset. Somehow or the other
eveiy fortune in India has an earthquake wrapt up in it. Any
way, Carraways is swallowed ; " and Basil bit his lip.
" Well, I am sorry," said Miss Candituft. " I must say I am
very sorry."
" Very good of you, madam. And of you too, sir ; " and
Basil looked gloomily in the unconcerned countenance of
Candituft. " I'm sure your heart is broken. I can see the
pieces in your face."
"The fact is, dear sir," said Candituft, and he spoke truly,
"I was a little prepared for the intelligence. Still I feel deeply
for my friend."
" And poor Mrs. Carraways ! Poor dear soul ! What will she
do ? I feel for her," said Mrs. Jericho.
" And sweet Bes.sy ! It will be a dreadful blow ! Such a
gentle creature," said Monica, glancing at her pearls.
"Why, she can't come to positive want, you know," said
Hodmadod ; and then, looking about him in his wise way, he
added — " I don't think she'll come to want, do you ? She's
accomplished, you know, and when I say accomplished" —
" I know," said Basil bitterly, his eye flashing. " I know ;
turn governess — an upper housemaid, with privilege to go
without caps. Teach children to gargle their little throats with
the gamut. Of course, she can't starve. But I beg your pardon,
Mr. Candituft ; people did say you were in love with Bessy."
76 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
"I always admired Miss Carraways, but love-
never," said Candituft with solemn emphasis ; and Monica again
looked at her pearls, and serenely smiled.
'•' Well, I only wish she'd have me," said Basil. " I never did
think I should go the way of most flesh — but as matters have
turned out, I'd marry Bessy myself."
Mr. Jericho rose with great dignity from his seat. He looked
about him, as though bespeaking all attention for the coming
utterance. When he deemed the company sufficiently toned
down to appreciate the value of his words, he looked sternly at
Basil, and said — " I cannot consent to remain in the room and
listen to such folly — such headlong folly." With this, our Man
made of Money majestically retired.
" Better not drive me desperate," said the youth ; " better not,
or I'll marry her, and — to get a bit of honest bread — disgrace the
family. Shouldn't at all mind sweeping a crossing in diamond
studs, mahogany stick and lavender broom. Elegance in distress.
I\Iust melt a discerning public. Ha ! ha ! " and the young man
laughed very savagely.
" Basil, I must say it — your conduct is most extravagant,"
cried Mrs. Jericho. " Marry, indeed ! "
" Why not ? As Bessy can make satin pincushions, and I can
sell 'em, my wife will serve the family cheap, my dear lady, if
only for old acquaintance. Ha ! ha ! "
"Don't be foolish, Basil. For my own jiart," said Mrs.
Jericho, " I would make any sacrifice for the poor things."
" And so would I, mamma," said Monica.
" And gracious goodness knows," cried Agatha, " so would I."
" And you mean it 1 Well, I begin to be proud of you," said
Basil, " And it isn't friendship made easy 1 Oh, no ; certainly
not. Capital little girls you are ! Let us have a good stare at
these sons of oysters," and Basil took the pearls from his sisters ;
whilst Mrs. Jericho with important looks moved silently from
the room. " I suppose " — and Basil waved the jewels in the
light — " I suppose they're warranted real natives ? "
" What do you mean, Basil 1 " cried Monica.
"Beautiful jewels," and Basil still admired the pearls. "But
what a jewel is true friendship, eh 1 Nothing like that
jewel for the time-piece of life to go upon : is there. Sir
Arthur 1 "
" Certainly not," answered the baronet. " When I say certainly
not, I mean — it's quite a matter of opinion."
" How very handsome you'll look with these upon you ! 'Pon
my word, girls, they'll think you're mermaids come to court ;
come, with the family pearls from the Indian seas. They will"
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 77
cried Basil, earnestly. " You'll look beautiful with them ; but,
if you'll take my ad\'ice, much more lovely without 'em."
" Without 'em ! Go to court without jewels ! Foolish boy !
"WTiat would you have us wear ? " asked Monica.
" Friendship, my pretty one. It is such a jewel, and I'll tell
you how you may best display it."
Whilst Basil describes to imi^atient ears a very uninteresting
operation, we will follow Mrs. Jericho. She has just entered
Mr. Jericho's study. " My dear," she observes, " you must let
me have some money."
'Mi: Jericho did not rouse himself at the sound. He sat in his
arm-chair, pale and thin, and melancholy.
" What is the matter, Solomon ? Surely you are not ill 1 " said
Mrs. Jericho.
" Certainly not ; do I look ill ? " asked the Man of Money.
" WTiy, — no. Nevertheless, my dear, you don't seem to have
that zest for life that-*-with such a prospect opening iipon us —
you ought to have. In a few weeks you're in Parliament : a
peerage must follow in proper time : we can command that. Our
money must make us one of the bulwarks of the constitution.
Why, you don't attend to me, my love : one of the bulwarks,"
repeated Mrs. Jericho.
" To be sure ; of course," said the listless peer in embryo.
"And now" — said Mrs. Jericho, in her most cordial manner —
" now, let me have a thousand pounds."
" A thousand pounds ! "What for ? " cried Jericho.
" To pay the jeweller. The man — I'm determined never to
lay out another shilling at the house — the man has orders not to
leave the jewels without the money. He little knows whom he
insults," said Mrs. Jericho ; twisting her neck to strangle her
indignation.
" He won't leave the jewels without the money 1 " said Jericho.
" Then let him take them back — we won't have 'em."
" Why," answered the wife, " 'twould be only what the fellow
deserves ; but the truth is, I'm very much taken with them.
Besides, to reject them we — we might be misunderstood."
Jericho had, in truth, no mind to lay out a thousand pounds.
A terrible suspicion of the nature of his money made him pause.
He would therefore turn to his own account the caution of the
tradesman. " I'll not be insulted, JNIrs. Jericho. The man has
refused to leave the goods without the money ; very well — let
him take them back."
" Mamma ! " cried the weeping Monica, running into the
room.
" Dear mamma ! " sobbed Agatha, following in larger grief.
78 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Why, what's the matter ? Tears ! What can have happened 1 "
asked their mother,
" Is the parrot dead ? " was the cold qnery of Jericho.
" That Basil has run away with my pearls," cried Monica.
" And mine ! " sobbed Agatha.
" Put them in his pocket in the most shameful manner, and
said he'd turn them into — into — " Monica could get no farther
for her tears ; whereupon Agatha vigorously wiped her eyes,
checked her sorrow, and indignantly continued —
" Into friendship for Bessy Carraways. Because we said we'd
show our friendship in any way, he told us a fine story about a
better — better — better jewel — and — and — and pearls in his
pocket — gone away," sobbed Agatha, incapable of unbroken
speech.
Mrs. Jericho knitted her brow in deep black lines ; then smiled
and said — " 'Tis only Basil's jest ; but certainly a very foolish
one. Now, IVIr. Jericho, the money must'be paid ; we have not
the jewels to return. Now, we have no other alternative,"
Jericho groaned. " I will send the man to you."
" When I ring the bell," said the haggard Jericho.
"Come, girls, 'tis only Basil's frolic, but certainly a very —
very foolish one." And Mrs. Jericho, with an arm about
the neck of either daughter, led her weeping oflspring from the
room.
" The thousand pounds must be paid," thought Jericho. " They
shall be paid ; and at once I'll be resolved." A few minutes the
Man made of Money sat in a maze of thought : he then drew a
thousand poimds — ten notes — from his mysterious bank ; he rang
the bell ; the jeweller was shown in, and laid the receipt before
his customer. Jericho, with offended dignity, cold and silent,
pointed to the ten bank notes. The jeweller took them up —
counted them. As they rustled, Jericho felt as though his heart
was compressed within a cold iron hand.
" A thousand pounds — very much obliged to you, sir," said the
jeweller, and took his leave.
For some minutes Jericho sat motionless — all but breathless.
He would, however, know his fate. He took out the silk lace
with which an hour ago he had measured his chest. Again he
passed it round his body. He had di-awn upon the bank, and he
had shrunk an inch.
Truly he was a Man made of Money. Money was the prin-
ciple of his being ; for with every note he paid away a portion of
his life.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 79
CHAPTER IX.
In due season, Mr. Jericho — on the authority of his wife — was
a pillar and an ark ; a staff and a sword ; a flambeau and a pair
of scales ; a buckler and a British lion. For, in the metaphoric
mind of Mrs. Jericho, all these things were contained in a
member of Parliament ; even as a variety of spoons may be held
in a single cherry-stone.
In addition to this, Mr. Jericho, on the like conjugal assui-ance,
found himself to his passing pleasure, one of the trees of the
constitution. He wanly smiled when he learned that, with his
giant arms, he was to shelter the altar and the throne. He was
a little flattered in his self-love when he heard that the weary
would seek for comfort in his shadow, and the multitude feed
with thankfulness upon his fruit.
As the cedar of Lebanon, without conscious efibrt of its own,
represents the property of timber, so did Solomon Jericho
represent the property of Parliament. And cedar and man — we
have it upon the faith of Mrs. Jericho — are noble presences to
contemplate. What — observed that intellectual woman — what
would the little birds of the air, the robin-redbreasts, and all the
family of finches, do — were there no cedars with hospitable
boughs and twigs to house and roost them ? And what would
become of the poor and the weak, were there no Jerichos to
protect and comfort them 1 Mr. Jericho was, doubtless, much
delighted as he pondered the question.
It must be owned that the genius of money has a liking for
fair play. Now and then, it takes pleasure in equity. If, at
times, it brings trouble upon men, as men are too apt in their
excess of sincerity to declare, it must be allowed that the
trouble it saves them is to the full as great as the perplexity it
inflicts. In the old poetic time the same fairy that would lead
men astray for the sake of the mischief, would, by way of recom-
pense, churn the butter and trim up the house, while the
household snored. Now, money is the prose fairy of our
mechanical generation. If now and then it leads simpletons
into a Fleet Ditch ; on the other hand, as deftly as ever imp or
brownie laboured, it works even for the slumbering. Solomon
Jericho, by the labouring means often thousand pounds, became
memVjer for Toadsliam. He ate, drank, and slejit ; and, without
sense of the great change working in him by workman money
80 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
became a legislator. Even as the olden fairies churned butter,
it may be, stamping the lumps with their own elfin impress ; so
had ten thousand ministers silently transformed Jericho into a
legislator, stamping him with M.P. There is no such Puck as
the Puck of the Mint.
Solomon had paid the money for his seat ; every farthing of the
sum had been deposited in the hand of the Hon. Cesar Candituft,
who, whilst he was ever congratulating the country upon the
acquired patriotism of Jericlio, could not, much as he tried, be
insensible of the shrunken and still shrinking anatomy of the new
legislator. " 'Tis anxiety, my dear madam ; no doubt, anxiety,"
said Candituft, a little puzzled, to Mrs. Jericho.
" A nervous apprehensiveness," said the wife. " He thinks
too much of the responsibility. I tell him 'tis nothing ; am
continually assuring him that, with his property, he may expect
every indulgence ; nevertheless, it is plain, dear sir, that the
thoughts of Parliament wear him to a shadow. But he'll get
the better of it : at least I hope — I must hope " — said the
resigned woman — "that he'll get the better of it. "Without
such hope, I should be forlorn indeed. For I have other
troubles, dear sir. That sweet, I mean, that foolish boy of
mine " —
" A delightful study, madam ; what I call a delicious study.
It is so cheering, so sustaining, to contemplate the generosity of
youthful emotions, when the ardent heart beats towards the
entire human race : that is, to the whole family of man. Delight-
ful ! " and Candituft upturned his eyes.
Mrs. Jericho civilly acknowledged the general truth delivered
by the philanthropist ; nevertheless she felt a mother's anxiety,
a mother's grief, that her boy Basil would select from the human
family one particular individual as the depositary of an affection
that, for a time at least, might be expended upon the world at
large. Had matters remained as they were, the union of Basil
and Bessy would have been at once natural and advantageous ;
but that Carraways should be turned into rags at the very time
that Jericho was sublimated into money, rendered the idea of
such a marriage quite preposterous. It was plain that Basil as
the son of the wife of a man of bovmdless wealth, might many
whom he would ; might, improving on the manner of the sultan,
throw a wedding-ring at whomsoever he pleased. Therefore, to
unite himself to the child of a pauper, was to fly in the face of
fortune. It was wicked, presumptuous. Mrs. Jericho was not
a superstitious woman ; nevertheless, she could do no otherwise
than tremble to think of it.
Some six weeks had passed since the festival at Jogtrot Lodge ;
A MAX MADE OF MONEY. 81
and Mr. and Mrs. Jericho, with the two young ladies seated in
their barouche, again travelled the road. The Hon. Mr.
Candituft and Sir Arthur Hodmadod, all grace and goodness, rode
on either side of the carriage.
" My dear Jericho, I do thmk this is the most lovely country !
Quite an Eden ; is it not ? " asked IVIrs. Jericho ; and the Man
made of Money looked upon God's glorious work, as though he
stared at so much whity-brown paper. " Quite a Paradise ! "
Jericho grunted. " Don't you recollect these beautiful swelling
fields ? "
" Like a green velvet bed," cried Hodmadod. " That is, when
I say a bed, I mean to be sure a — a bed in Paradise ; of course.
All beds gi-een there, Candituft 1 I think they're green, eh ? "
" No doubt," said Candituft. " Green, with heartsease
borders."
" You recollect these fields, eh, Solomon ? " and j\Irs. Jei-icho
looked in her husband's eyes.
" To be siue ; of course ; green fields. One field's pretty well
like another," answered the listless Jericho.
" And there, upon the hill ; that noble clump of oaks ? " said
Mrs. Jericho. " Well, I do love oaks ! "
" Wonderful trees, oaks," said Hodmadod. " Extraordinary.
I tell you what happened to me."
" Oh do," said Agatha, gently closing her hands in attitude
of meekest entreaty.
" Only last autumn I saw all the Channel Fleet. All with
their sails set ; all like so many clouds : when I say clouds, of
course I mean canvas. Well, said I, this is wonderful. To
think, said I — for it never struck me before — to think that all
these thi'ee-deckers should come out of little acorns." Then the
baronet paused a second ; then rapidly asked, " They do come
out of acorns, don't they ] "
'• Oh, undoubtedly," cried Agatha, with most assuring em-
phasis. " Most certainly."
Mrs. Jericho employed her thoughts solely upon the shifting
beauties of the scene. " What a lovely mass of wood is that,
rising up as it were to meet us as we mount the hill ! Quite a
retreat for Druids — don't you think so, dearest ? That wood
there," and Mrs. Jericho appealed to her husband.
" Hm ! " said Jericho ; " it must be damp — devilish damp,
I'm very fond of woods— very ; but it's when they're turned into
comfortable houses."
" You hav'n't an eye for the picturesque, Mr. Jericho," said
the hasty Hodmadod.
" Sir," cried Jericho ; at the same time shutting his brow
Q
82 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
in such a deep, tight fold that had a fly been at the time upon
his forehead, it must have been crushed to bits in the sudden
wrinkle—" Sir ! "
" When I say the picturesque, I mean you don't like houses
in trees ; that is, houses in the raw material 1 Houses without
carpenters, you know ? They are without carpenters, — eh 1 "
A very few weeks ago, and had Sir Arthur Hodmadod, Bart.,
dropt a single syllable to Jericho, he would have treasured it
even as a syllable of the ghl whose biggest words were the
largest jewels. And now, in contemptuous silence, he looked
upon the baronet with a grim, sharp face ; keen, inexorable ; the
aspect of an axe. Possibly, the imaginative baronet regarded it
as such ; for he seemed irrepressibly to pass his hand round the
back of his neck ; at the same time urging on his steed, as though
pricked by sudden peril.
" Why, my dear J ericho," said Sabilla, " what a love you had
for the country."
" I've grown out of green food, madam ; can't abide it," said
Jericho.
" Never tell me, Solomon, I know you love it still. And how
dtlicious, after your work in the Commons — how delicious when
you can, to come to such a place as this. A place that must give
you new strength, new ideas, new freshness," said Mrs. Jericho.
" Evei-y man with such an amount of national work must be the
better for the country."
" It's like going to grass, you know," said Hodmadod, again
dropping back.
" Quite," said Candituft. " The country is the natural abode
of man. Nothing like the fruits of rustic thought. Give me
an Act of Parliament that smells of the green earth."
" Delicious," said Hodmadod. "An Act of Parliament that
smells like a nosegay. When I say a nosegay, of course I mean,
smells of the landed interest. Nothing like the coiititry for a
statute. Without the country, you know, we should have no
laws against poacliers. Should we ? " There was no spoken
answer ; none : but Agatha always eloquently replied, for she
always smiled.
" Certainly the loveliest village, I ever saw," cried Mrs. Jericho
as the carriage — according to orders — rolled slowly through a
double line of cottages. " Delightful, is it not 1 The first time I
saw it, I thought to myself, — well, here I could gather myself
up to repose for life."
" Like a cat on a cushion," cried the too impulsive Hodmadod.
Instantly, he felt his face shot clean through by the eyeballs of
Mrs. Jericho. Whereupon he stammered, — " When I say a cat
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 83
on a cushion, I mean of course a lady — a lady in her own house,
you know."
" My dear Jericho," said the wife to the dullard made of money,
" you don't seem to recollect where you ai'e."
" Where 1 " asked Jericho, holding his cheek on edge.
" Where ? "
"Why, at Marigolds. Don't you remember those cottages,
where the children stood, and where " —
Jericho growled, and no more. Possibly, he had the fullest
recollection of the scene ; and cared not to own it. Nevertheless,
the place seemed blighted, changed. The two oj^posite school-
rooms where infant voices would answer voices, -were empty,
silent. There were knots of children playing at the doorways ;
here and there a straggler sprawling in the road : but the room of
Schoolmaster White was tougueless ; alike silent, and soon to be
deserted, the school of widow Blanket. Squire Carraways, who
had fed these little rills of learning, was a fountain dried up,
and the rills had sunk with the source. A few of the folks of
Marigolds looked from doors and i^eeped out at casements as the
carriage ceremoniously rolled along the road ; and there was an
air, a look of curiosity in the people ; but nothing frank, nothing
hearty in their manner. The party must have felt that they
entered the village as conquerors, rather than as future house-
holders and patrons.
" Eh ! Why, here we are at Jogtrot Hall," cried Jericho as
the carriage rolled through the gates and wound up the sweep.
" Dear me, how dull everything looks ! " said Mrs. Jericho,
as she stept from the carriage. Dull indeed. The life of the
Hall was gone — it seemed only the carcase of the house. All
the furniture was removed ; and vacancy stared through every
window.
" Well, I don't know," said Hodmadod a little gravely. " Seems
quite the ghost of bricks and mortar. Makes one low — very
low. When I say low, I mean quite a woman. No ; I don't
mean that — I " —
"The emotion, my dear Sir Arthur," said Candituft, "does
honour to your nature. There's hardly a piece of the house
that doesn't seem to mourn the absence of the dear people who
gave it warmth and life. I'm sure the family seem to come all
about me ; but — there is such a chill, such a loneliness — they
come like ghosts."
" I didn't thiuk," said Agatha, and two tears peeped into her
eyes, " I didn't think there could be such a — a sort of feeling in
an empty house. I'm sure there's something qiutd — quite
religious about it."
G 2
84 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Miss Pennibacker ! " cried Jericho, with a reprehensive
frown, " Eeligious ! For shame ! "
"It seems to me, as if dear — dear Bessy" — cried Monica —
" would glide into the room every moment."
"It is wonderful, Mr. Jericho " — said Candituft, as tlie party
lounged on, and then paused, looking from the lawn into the
dining-room — " it is wonderful, how the imagination will people
space ! "
Jericho rubbed his chin, and said — " Wonderful ! "
" Ha, sir ! what a femily was here ! There, sir, as perhaps
you may recollect " — said Candituft, — " was the head of the
table ; there sat dear Mrs. Carraways ; and there the master's
chair. And there Bessy's place ; she always sat beside the old
man."
" Sweet girl ! " — cried Hodmadod — " clung to him like a
honeysuckle ; when I say a honeysuckle, I mean of course, a — a
devilish affectionate thing."
" Ha ! Mr. Jericho," said Candituft, " I have passed manj''
delightful dinners here, sir. I spent, I think — yes, I did — I
spent last Christmas here. And — pray pardon me — it is impos-
sible to think of that room unmoved. There sir, as I've said,
was ]Mrs. Carraways ; a kind, soft, beaming, hearty woman —
plain to be sure, in her manners ; in fact, very plain — ^but well
meaning, poor soul ! very well meaning, in spite of her bad
French. And there was Carraways himself A good man — I'm
pretty sui-e, a good man ; though perhaps a little sanguine :
at least, they say so in the City. But when people have a
tumble, the world always gives a good-natured reason for the
slip. That, sir, I have remarked — always. There he sat, with
his face lighted with the best of hearts, the best of wine,
and the best of good spirits ; his eyes swimming in jollity, and
looking and talking as though he could have received all the
brotherhood of man at his Christmas mahogany."
" Mr. Carraways was always very kind" — observed Mrs. Jericho,
— " I don't think anybody can deny it."
" And there sat Bessy " — continued Candituft, warming as
he went on — " there she sat ; and though not a beauty — certainly,
not a beauty — still, very well she looked. And next her was —
I forget his name — but he was an amazingly rich person, and a
very pleasant man. And there, oj^posite, was an Indian friend of
Carraways — a Brahmin banker or something — very curious
about English Christmas, I recollect ; a man of most liberal
sentiments — above national prejudice. Took mince-pie and
burnt brandy in a manner that quite warmed one's heart. —
Beside him I recollect was the last year's Lady Mayoress ; very
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 85
fine, very interesting woman ; I well remember her ; she never
spoke a syllable. And on that side again, was a very — very
distinguished traveller. He had hunted a unicorn somewhere,
and was asked to a round of dinners to tell all about the sport. —
And opposite to him was the rich " —
" You're not going to string oif the whole set, are you ? " —
growled Jericho.
"A thousand pardons. I was carried away by the magic
force of old associations. Still, I must say, it was a beautifully
mixed party ; that is, an equal share of wealth and wit. Poor,
dear Carraways ! He certainly did keep up Christmas. I believe
there was absolutely a plum-pudding boiled, and put out cold
for the robin-redbreasts."
" Poor little things," cried Hodmadod, " how they'll miss it ! "
" Possibly not," said Mrs. Jericho with a proud look. " There
may be others here. Sir Arthur, equally hospitable to robins."
" Yes, Sir Arthur," exclaimed Agatha. " Eather than they
should go without, I'd make the pudding myself."
" Bi-avo ! Beautiful I " cried Candituft. " Should you ever be
lost in a wood, be sure of it, dear young lady — the robins will
remember your goodness."
" Faugh ! " said Jericho, at the same time looking a fierce
rebuke at Candituft ; who with the magic of his self-possession
tiu-ned the censm-e into a jest. " Let us go in."
An old woman stood behind the opened door. An old, calm,
sorrowful face looked timidly at the new-comers. Once or twice
she sighed heavily ; and then looked angrily, as though, in her
way, resenting the ill-manners — as they seemed to hei' — of the
visitors.
" You needn't follow us — we know the house well" — said
Mrs. Jericho to the old dame.
" I know you do," said the old woman. " And so being, I hope
you'll use it tenderly — poor thing."
" Tenderly ! Why" — cried Monica — " the old woman talks as
if the house was alive."
Mrs. Jericho raised her fiuger ; forbidding any remark upon
any probable meaning of such a person. And the old woman
dropt herself upon a stair, and, heedless of hearers — as though
she eased her heart with the utterance — she answered, while the
tears ran down her face — " Alive ! Ay, and it be alive, more
alive than some flesh and blood. Dear ! dear ! dear ! An' I've
seen them folks look at the squire, as though it was- bread and
meat to 'em ; and cosset and coax him, as if they could ha' put
their necks imder his shoe-leather : and now to stand afore the
Hall — in the trouble it's in — and to grin and to make game — eh,
S6 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
dear ! dear ! — it's like laughing in the face of a corpse." And
Widow Blanket — for it was the old village school-dame, removed
from her seat of learning to dwell awhile in the Hall, before her
final removal to the Poor-house — Widow Blanket sighed heavily ;
and as though to comfort her sorrow, seemed to fold it in her
arms, and rock it to and fro.
The tread of the visitors — echoed loudly by the empty walls —
sounded hollowly, heavily above. At the sound the old woman
shivered a sigh, raised her eyes, and then continued to swing
backwards and forwards, as though she would hear nothino-
more. Will the reader — for two or three minutes —mount the
staircase ?
" A very noble house," said Jericho, his eyes sweeping the
reception-rooms.
" And what a lovely prospect," said Mrs. Jericho, approaching
a window. " What an undulation of hill and meadow ! What a
prospect ! "
" TJds, Mrs. Jericho," said the Monied Man, " is my prospect.
This I can make my own ; this is property : in its essence, I may
say, property. But where 's the property in what you call a
lovely prospect ; that any beggar may look at as well as I ? Any
vagabond tinker — or poet, or any ragamulhn of that sort — may
pitch his tent, and boil his kettle, and smoke his ]5ipe, and take
his pleasure of the prospect, quite as if it was his own — upon
lawful parchment, his own. This, I own it — this interferes with
my righteous sense of property. What belongs to a man, belongs
to him. If the sun goes down upon my property, IVe a clear
title to that sunset ; if the clouds over my land are remarkably
fine, they are my clouds ; and it is a sort of moral larceny —
though unhapjjily there's no law for it — but a moral larceny it
is to all intents and purposes — for any beggar at his pleasure to
enjoy what is over my land ; to have — as the term is — ^the
usufruct of that sunset — of those clouds."
Mr. Candituft pulled up to his face a look of strong conviction.
" The question, my dear sir, in its whole breadth and depth,
never struck me before. There is great primitive truth ui what
you say."
" A law could meet it," cried Hodmadod. " Couldn't a law
meet it 1 At all events, if you can't secure the clouds and
sunsets, of course the landlord has a clear right to all the
thunder-bolts."
" Ass ! " was at the lips of Mr. Jericho ; but he swallowed the
word, possibly to treasure it for another time. Stalking through
the apartments, and looking about him, he flowed in speech ;
and INIrs. Jericho was too wise to stay the stream. " A vei-y
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 87
fine house — very fiue ; but it wants a great deal — a very great
deal done."
" How fortunate, Solomon ! " at length observed Mrs. Jericho.
" Were it otherwise, there would be no opportunity for the
development of your taste."
After a due examination of the upper house, the party
descended the stairs, Dame Blanket slowly rising from her seat
to make them way. " There is one room that is locked. Have
you the key ? " asked Mrs. Jericho.
" That room be Miss Bessy's," said the old woman.
" Yes ; I know it, very well. You have the key ? " said the
lady.
" Yes, ma'am," answered Dame Blanket, a little creakingly.
" Give it me," said Mrs. Jericho.
" No, ma'am," said Dame Blanket, straightening her back.
" Were you desired to retain that key 1 " asked Monica,
sharjjly.
" No, I warn't bid to keep it ; but I warn't bid to give it,"
ei'ied the Dame, her voice rising. " And as it's as much one as
t'other, I shall do one and not t'other."
" I call that logic in petticoats," said Candituft.
" I call it damned impertinence," cried Jericho — " whether in
]jett!coats or in" —
" My dear Jericho," said his wife, with deprecating tenderness,
" don't, love." Then, turning round to tlie dame. " Woman,
give me the key ; I tell you, I know Miss Carraways."
" You know her, ma'am ! " cried the dame with a doubting
smile. " La, bless'ee ma'am, I put on her first things." And
Widow Blanket thought she had closed the conversation as with
an iron spring.
" You are not aware, woman, who may become the master of
this house," said Mrs. Jericho, " you are not aware what you
may want, and then" —
" La, ma'am ! I'm sure to get what I want," said the Dame
smiling. " Sartin. I shall soon want nothin' but a coffin ; and
folks must give me that for their own sakes."
" What do you think of that 1 " asked Jericho. " 'Pon my life !
these people talk of coffins as if they had a right to 'em — as it
they came into the world with a future property in coffins."
" At your yeai-s," said Monica, venturing a reflection, " you
ought to be ashamed to talk in that manner. Like an aged
heathen — as if you'd no fear of death."
" Fear, Miss ! Oh dear ! Oh dear ! What a world would this
be, special to folks like I, — if there was no death ! What a
cruel prison. Miss ! And now, after what I've seen, and what
88 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
I've borne, what a comfort it is — like sabbath after work — what
a comfort it is, to think of rest in the churchyard. Ay " — said
the old woman, raising her shaking hand, and smiling as she
scanned the gentlefolks about her — " Ay, what a comfort to
think of that long, sweet Saturday-night in the grave."
" She is quite a heathen," said Hodmadod. " When I say a
heathen, I mean a very strange old woman."
CHAPTEE X.
Mr. and Mrs. Jericho, arm-and-arm and in closest communion
of soul, for some half-hour longer hung about the ground. The
young ladies with Candituft and Hodmadod loitered where they
would ; too well occupied to break, by word or motion, upon the
privacy of man and wife. Jericho listened very complacently to
the magnificent designs of his helpmate. She had made her
mind up that he should fill the world. She could never die
happy if he did not fill it. Jogtrot Hall, for one country-seat to
begin with, was indispensable to his greatness. " I am assured,
love, by Mizzlemist" — began Mrs. Jericho —
" Hm ! Where is he 1 You said it was an engagement.
To be sure. He was to meet us here," interrupted Jericho,
tetchily.
" The engagement was provisional ; it was, indeed, love ; and
he may come yet. Well, Solomon, the Doctor tells me that the
whole estate may be had for thirty thousand poimds," and
Mrs. Jericho at the moment looked as artless, as innocent, as
though she had said thirty thousand pence. There are people
who make even a million a very small matter, merely by the
condescending way of speaking of it. Mrs. Jericho had the art
in perfection. " Only thirty thousand " —
" Only thirty thousand ! " cried Jericho, — " Do you know
where the money comes from ? "
" Why, where should it come from," — said the wife, with a
sparkling smile, and tapping Jericho's cheek, — " where, but from
where it grows ? "
Jericho's jaw fell. Had his wife discovered his secret 1 " And
where," he asked gi'imly, " where is that 1 "
" Why, my dear, in our mine, of coui'se. Did you not say
'twas inexhaustible 1 and, to be sure, I asked no further. Besides,
I've a great faith in nature ; nature's a pattern maid-of- all-work,
and does best when least meddled with. So you'll buy the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 89
estate ? You must : your position in parliament requires it.
All statesmen love the coiintry."
" Mr. Pitt lived at Wimbledon," said Jericho, willing to be
■won.
" Of course," said Mrs. Jericho. And in a veiy few minutes
the member for Toadsham consented to live at Marigolds ; and
to become the squire and patron of the village. Yet as he pro-
mised, he winced ; for he thought of his wasting bank. Such
was his life ; urged by the devil expence upon one hand, and
jilucked by the devil remorse on the other. Never mind. He
had a way to win back all. He would stop the waste ; and once
again grow jslump and fat : though he was never better ; never
stronger. Still, people wondered to see him wither. Moreover,
they looked oddly at him ; and he had heard them drop strange,
mystic words. Only twice more ; only twice would he draw
upon his bosom bank.
Mi's. Jericho, as she turned with her lord to meet her daughters,
in the prettiest manner twitched a slip of laurel from a shrub,
and waved it over Jericho's head. " I have conquered " — said
Mrs. .Jericho — " here is the lord for life of Jogtrot Hall."
" Oh, mamma ! you will change the horrid name, I hope ? "
said Monica.
" And take away those dreadful peacocks 1 " cried Agatha,
" They make one shiver."
" Magna Charta House would be a good name," said Hodma-
dod ; " that is, when I say Magna Charta, I mean Kunnymede
Cottage. Of coui-se, my dear sir, you'll ask all parliament, lords
and commons, to the house-warming ? "
" Couldn't we make it a fancy ball, and have 'em in historical
dresses ? " cried Agatha, jumping up and down, tipsy with
happiness.
Candituft with a sudden, serious look, took Jericho aside. " It
has just struck me," he said, " and I must out with it, though it
is abrupt." He then took Jericho by the right hand, squeezed
it, looked tenderly in his face, and with a voice of emotion, like
one compelled to suggest a sharp surgical operation, asked —
" How should you like to be made a baronet ? "
Jericho twitched his shoulders ; drew himself up ; and put
his hand in his bosom. " I have not the least ambition of the
kind. But it might please my wife. Title is a sti-aw that tickles
women ; so, for the sake of Mrs. Jericho, I might not resist."
Candituft looked relieved. It was plain, a leaden weight oi
doubt was removed from his soul. He smiled, and again squeezed
Jericho's hand, saying as he squeezed — " Good creatui-e ! Bless
you ! "
90 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Mr. Jericho returned to the party ; and again and again he
was hailed by all as the lord of the domain. " Hurrah ! " cried
the impulsive Agatha, jumping up, and hitching a wreath ot
honeysuckle about the head of Jericho, " hurrah for the king of
Marigolds ! " The next moment Jericho stepped under an
apple-tree ; and the next, a shower of apples fell bouncing
about him.
" The devil ! " cried Jericho, running ; and the ladies screamed.
" May it please your majesty," said a voice from the apple-tree,
and immediately Basil Pennibacker's earnest face stared down
through the boughs — " may it please your majesty, when a king
is crowned, it is always customary to let fall a shower of golden
pippins."
" Why, Basil, my love — you strange boy ! — how came you in
that tree ? " cried Mi-s. Jericho.
" Wonderful escape, my anxious madam, but calm your fears.
You'll not believe my story. Never mind ; in this world truth
can wait : she's used to it," and in another moment Basil
descended from the tree.
" WTay, you were not here a few minutes ago, Basil," said
Monica : " how did you get into the tree ? "
" The fact is," said Basil, " I went up in a balloon, had a
quarrel, and dropt my company. Quite in luck to fall among
you, wasn't 1 1 Now the hard truth is, I came here on business."
" On some labour of love, no doubt," said Candituft, winking
with all his might.
" My dear sir," cried Basil, " I never see you that I don't
wish i was a bulrush, to do nothing but bow. May I say one
word, my revered sir 1 " and Basil turned to Jericho, who
coldly assented, walking apart. " Now, sir, did you receive my
letter 1 "
" I did," said Jericho.
" And you did not answer it 1 Because, don't let me blame the
postman," said Basil.
" I did not answer it, young man," cried Jericho with his best
emphasis. " Where notlaing is to be said, I take it, silence is the
best reply. In a word, I will not advance a single farthing."
" Not to assist your old friend Carraways ? " cried Basil.
" He was never any friend of mine ; a mere acquaintance,"
said Jericho impatiently.
" To be sure ; friendship in ill-luck turns to mere acquaintance.
The wine of life— as I've heard it called— goes into vinegar ; and
folks that hugged the bottle, shirk the cruet."
" I have nothing more to say, young man," said Jericho,
turnine from Basil.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 91
" "Well, I'm not sorry for it," answered Basil, waspisbly, " for
the sample I have had, doesn't encourage me tn go on." Basil
strove to dash aside his anger, and returned gaily to the party.
" And so you've taken the Lodge, eh ? "
" Yes, Basil," cried Monica, " and we shall have such a rout to
begin with."
" Then, of course you'll want your jewels," said Basil, wickedly.
'•' The butcher brought 'em back, I hope ? "
" The butcher ! What do you mean ? " cried Agatha.
"Butcher!"
" There, girls — never mind him," cried Mrs. Jericho.
" I sent 'em back by the butcher." A mode of conveyance
hitherto disguised to the young ladies. " I met him coming to
the house, and on second thoughts I " —
" You foolish boy," cried Mrs. Jericho, anxious to set aside the
subject ; " come and tell me what really brought you here. Who
could have eApected you ! "
" Ar'n't you delighted, dear boy," said the appeased Monica,
" that we're coming to live here 1 "
" Live here ! why none of you will ever be able to sleep for
the ghosts," cried Basil.
" Ghosts ! " exclaimed the ladies.
" Yes : the ghosts of the feasts you've had at the cost of good
old Can-aways. At twelve o'clock every night" —
" Now, don't be foolish, Basil," exclaimed Monica.
" I won't hear you," said Agatha, putting her fingers in her
ears, and tripping backwards.
" At twelve o'clock at night every saucepan will be haunted :
every mug, eveiy tankard, every goblet, and every custard-cup
will go banging, clanging, ringing, tinkling, with the ghosts of the
diuuers and the sup])ers you've had in this house. You won't
air your bed of nights, that there sha'u't be a red-hot ghost in
the warming pan."
" Then, I fear, Basil, we may not count upon you as a visitor,
unless indeed you defy apparitions ? " said Mrs. Jericho.
" No, my dear madam, I shall never rent a spare bed here, I
assure you. Moreover, pray don't summon me to King Jericho's
banquet, for I shall be sure to have other business. By the
wa)% as you've entered upon your dominion, ])crmit me" — said
Basil, taking off' his hat and approaching his father-in-law —
" permit me, your majesty, to give you seisin of it."
" What does the boy mean ? " cried Mrs. Jericho. " Seisin ! "
"Quite right, my dear madam. Seisin's the word. You've
no notion of the amount of law I know. In another fortnight I'm
called, and then — upon my life when I thuik of some people,
92 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
they fire me with ambition. They do. I'll get uj^on the bench,
if it's only to hang 'em."
" Not you, my dear sir," said Candituft — " you don't know your
own heart. "We do."
" I haven't your chai-ity ; I wish I had : only a little — you've
too much. You waste it. 'Pon my life you are so good, you'd
pour rose-water over a toad," and Basil leered at the Man Tamer.
Then, stooping, Basil picked up an apple, and holding it
between his finger and thumb, with ceremonious gravity
addressed the ireful Man of Money. — " Permit me, sir, in this
little apple to give you seisin of the land. And, sir, this little
apple is wondrously appropriate to the interesting occasion. It
is golden, and smiling, and like youi'self "
" Beautiful, Basil ! and so true," said Agatha.
" During your many visits, you were here when this apple was
a blossom. jS'o doubt of it, gorgeous sir, that when this apple was
a pretty pink and white flower, you were here, rosy, and light,
and glad ; and looking full of pleasant promise to jolly old
Carraways. Times are changed, sir ; you're very rich : the
blossom's grown into fruit. A flower you were, and " — and Basil
threw the apple up, catching it — "and a golden pippin you are.
Therefore, sir, take the apple as seisin ; 'tis so like you. Oh, very
like ! See, a golden promise " — Basil bit the apple in half — " a
sour and bitter inside ; and to make the thing complete — look,
sir — a maggot at the heart." And Basil dropt the fruit with the
sentence.
There was general consternation at the boldness, the wicked-
ness (as Candituft whispered) of the simile. Mrs. Jericho, with
al 1 the fears of woman, moved between her husband and Basil.
The young man bowed to his mother, turned upon his heel, and
went his w\ay. There was a dead pause. At length Mr. Jericho
solemnly proclaimed to his wife : " Mrs. Jericho, I will no longer
encourage that viper. Either you give up your son, or give up
me." Mrs. Jericho made no answer ; it was not a genial moment
for reply. She silently placed her arm in Jericho's, and led the
way to the carriage. They would make a little circuit of the
country, ere they returned to town.
A very few words will account for the sudden appearance of
Basil in the apple-tree. Bob Topps, the old serving-man of
Carraways — we may say old, for he had grown from mere child-
hood to the maturity of seven-and-twenty in the Squire's house
— had, within the past week, married Jenny "White, honoured, it
may be rememl>ered, in a former page, by the praise of Sir
Arthur Hodmadod. Mrs. Topps had removed with her husband
to London, where Bob had started as an independent cabman,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 93
driving his own vehicle — certainly the very neatest on the stand :
for the which neatness there was this reason : the cab had been
the property of Carraways : one of the chattels of the Hall,
knocked down, dispersed by the hammer — at times more terrible,
more crushing, more causeful of blood and tears than the hammer
of Thor — the hammer of the broker. Topps with his savings
bought the carriage. " It might fall into worse hands," he said.
'' Now, he felt almost a love for it, for the sake of them as had
ridden in it." Again ; he said " he shouldn't like to go into any
other service. A cabman's life was, after all, an independent
thing. He could sit upon his box, and — beholden to nobody —
coiild see how the world wagged about him." True it is that
Mrs. Topps had a first objection to the brass badge, an objection
that had more than its inherent force, for it was made in the
honeymoon. Still, as it was the honeymoon, she the more readily
smiled and, as Bob said, " listened to reason." " I tell you what,
Jenny," said Bob, " the noblest sight on earth is a man talking
reason, and his wife sitting at the fireside listening to him."
Everybody wore a badge of some sort, ran the philosophj- of Bob.
Brass or gold, the thing was the same, it was only the metal that
was different. Whereupon Mrs. Topps was thoroughly convinced,
and we verily believe was rather proud of her husband's badge
than otherwise.
A very natural incident had thrown Basil and Bob together.
The night before, Basil had supped some three miles from his
chambers. Bob by chance was hailed, and drove young
Pennibacker to his student's home. " Wliat have I to pay 1 "
asked Basil. " "Why, sir," said the neophyte, " I hope you won't
think eighteenpence too much." " What ! " cried Basil, in
thrilling surprise. "Well, then, sir, say sixteenpence," said the
shrinking cabman. Basil, laying hold of the man's collar and
crying — " A vehicular wonder ! I must have a portrait of
you," pulled him under a lamp ; and thereupon took place what
Basil called a tremendous recognition. In few words. Bob told
of his marriage, and his prospects ; and moreover, that he was
going to Marigolds the next day. He was going to drive his
wife there : he had borrowed a cab, and lent his own for the day;
for he hoped he knew himself better than to take what had been
Squire Carraways' to the village. Miss Bessy wanted a few trifles
that Jenny knew best about ; and Jenny herself had not brought
all her tilings from Marigolds: indeed, she seemed as if there
would be no end to her moving ; it seemed as if the things grew
she had left behind her. In few words, Basil made an appoint-
ment with Bob for the journey. " I should like to see the Hall
once more myself," said Basil, "and I should like to go quietly ;
94 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
30 I tell you what. I'll take the cab for the day ; and out of my
abounding generosity shall be happy to present Mrs. Topps with
a lift." " You're very kind, sir," said Bob, delighted. " She can
ride on the box close aside me." And Basil came, a visitor to the
Hall. When he learned that his family were there, in the idle-
ness of his high spirits, he mounted a tree in the hope of a joke ;
and, such as the joke was in the apple-shower, he had it. Mrs.
Topps very soon despatched her errand at the Hall, where poor
Mrs. Blanl<;et duly wept over her as " one she had nursed from a
baby, and one who was going back, a wife, to London."
Basil, we must observe, did not, as he had appointed, arrive at
the village in the cab of Topps. In the morning he somehow
thought horseback would be a more fitting, a moi-e expeditious
mode of transit. Mrs. Topps herself was very soon reconciled to
the new arrangement. She could not but reflect that she would
then have all the inside of the vehicle for a few of the things she
had left behind. As the Jerichos drove through the village, they
looked curiously at a London cab at a cottage-door, with baskets,
and shrubs, and flowers in pots standing about it ; and with " that
young woman that wore the silver bee, " kissing a score of
children one after the other, duly setting aside every child when
finished. It was, indeed, a very busy, a very exciting afternoon
in Marigolds, when Mrs. Topps returned, just for an hour or two
from London. She brought an importance with her, that the
people could not but feel, though they could not explain. She had
seen all the sights of London ; and she was stared at as though
some of their glory hung still about her. There was Westminster
Abbey, St. Paul's, the Queen's Palace, the Waxwork, and all the
playhouses in some odd way mixed up with Jenny Topps. (It
would be hard for some of us to look at a man fresh from the
Chinese court, and not think of long almond eyes, white clay
faces, pigtails, and peacocks' feathers.) Jenny had, from baby-
hood, been a favourite with all the village. She was so good-
natured, so cheerful, and what was an especial virtue,in the words
of a female eulogist, " she never seemed to think nothing of her
good looks." Clever Jenny ! Twenty times had she been asked
how she liked London, and how she liked her husband 1 Whether
she was as happy as when at home — and whether — and here the
querists hugely laughed — and whether she would not like to
come back again. To all these inquiries Jenny with a sweet
gravity — for they were grave questions to her — made due reply.
" She had no notion, though she had been there twice before,
that there had been such a place as London in this world ; and
she never thought anybody could be so happy as she was, out of
London." And then she dwelt upon a fear that did now and then
A MAN MADE OF MONEY 95
possess her. It was, that her husband would some day quite
lose himself — it was so hard for him in his business to learu the
ways of town.
Basil, in a dull, dreamy mood, turned his horse towards
London. He had seen the Hall for the last time. Had taken, as
he then believed, a long farewell of its new possessors. In his
indignation at the selfishness of Jericho, he felt a new strength
in himself. He felt a spirit of independence. He would not owe
the benefit of another shilling to such a man, upon whom fortune
seemed to have fallen like a disease, withering and corrupting
him. And there was a mystery in the means of the man, so
suddenly rich, that, he was sure of it, would burst in some terrible
catastrophe. Of course, Basil had no suspicion of the super-
natural source of Jericho's wealth : the young man's imagination
was insufiicient to such a thought : again, even in the days of
Jericho, the foolish old faith in fairy-works, and compacts with
the devil, ensuring ready profit for future perdition, — was dead
and scorned. If men came by strange modes to sudden,
mysterious wealth, it could not be by conjuration ; but by dull,
prosaic craft. The wizard's circle was of no more avail ; the
devil no lonsrer rose in the infernal rin^ to barter wealth for
souls. Nothing was left but the mere hocus-pocus of unromantic
knavery. Hence, in the conviction of Basil, father-in-law Jericho
had juggled with the dai'k spirits of fraud to possess himself of
sudden substance. There coidd be no doubt of the horrid truth;
and the wasted and wasting condition of the rich man, proclaimed
the ravages of his conscience ; of the worm in his brain he could not
kill. And then Basil suddenly thought of Jericho's ghastly look,
as the apple fell at his foot. And the next thought imparted to
the young man a vigour of mind, a hopefulness of heart, he had
hitherto unknown. As he rode on, the cloud cleared away. He
had seemed to himself shut in, narrowed, dwarfed, whilst
depending upon the aid of another. And now in his very
contempt for the man — so strangely, so monstrously rich — the
futui-e stretched brightly before him. He would stand up, and
fight the world in his own strength, and take no condescending
help from any man. Armed and assured by this blithe determi-
nation, Basil, some ten miles still from home, and the evening
closing in, spurred his horse. It would not be too late even that
very evening — at least he would'not sufi'er himself to think so —
to call iipon Bessy's father. Yes : he would at once put his
new faith in practice ; he would not sleep witliout taking the
first — and that the most important, most anxious step, — in the
bright, open path that he would hereafter journey.
" Hey, hallo ! Why, Basil ! — Mr. Pennibacker ! " cried Doctor
96 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Mizzlemist, leaning far out of the first-floor window of the Silver
Lion, the glad half-way house 'twixt Marigolds and London.
" Hallo ! Why so fast ? If you knew what was in the cellar you'd
draw bridle, I take it."
" That he would ; hm 1 " cried Colonel Bones ; who had
joined Mizzlemist ; both it appeared upon evidence, then and
there in the Silver Lion, enjoying what the Doctor in his meek-
ness was wont to call his glass of wine and his nut.
" You haven't seen anything of Mr. Jericho and the ladies ? "
asked Mizzlemist. " They must have gone the other road : and
so we've missed. Very provoking ; but we're trying to comfort
ourselves. Won't you join us ? "
" So you had an appointment with my honoured father, eh,
Doctor ? " asked Basil.
" Why, that is, rather an appointment. Not exactly a fixed
thing, but come in ; you haven't dined," said Mizzlemist. After
a minute's thought Basil turned about, and dismounted at the
door. Instantly he stood in the best room of the Silver Lion, with
both his hands pressed and shaken by Mizzlemist. " I suppose
you've been to the Hall, eh ? Been to pick out your own corner, I
take it 1 Noble fabric, my dear young sir. Noble fabric ! The
very look of it is an honour to the hospitality of the country !
Wasn't I saying as much, Colonel ? A palace for the king of
good fellows 1 "
" What do I know of palaces ? " cried Bones. "A beggar like
me ! I only wish you'd let me keep quiet in my own corner
cupboard. With mj' own mutton choi^ and my pint of small ale,"
and Bones poured out the wine, looked at it with an unctuous
tremor of the lip, and threw it ofi".
" But you've not dined," cried Mizzlemist to Basil. " What
will you have 1 Country fare, you know."
" Nothing. The fact is, I j^icked a bit with the gypsies ;
always ding with the gypsies when I come into the country ;
always," said Basil with a laugh.
" With gypsies ! Bless me — can't be true —I mean, very odd
company, Mr. Pennibacker. Very," and Mizzlemist rubbed his
hands, looking doubtfully askance at Basil.
" Most polite people on earth," cried Basil. " And for poultry,
I assure you, quite by themselves. True, upon my life ; I can
eat nobody's ducks but the gypsies'. Ha, sir ! Gypsy life is the
real life, sir. Nothing to do with parchment, Doctor."
" Why, no, young gentleman," said Llizzlemist with dignity,
" save, perhaps, when they go sheep-stealing."
" No house-rent ; no taxes ; no rates ; no infernal respeet-
bility," cried Basil, bent upon his humour.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 97
" Ha ! ha ! very good. Beggars all. Hm 1 " cried Bones.
" Capital state, when people have no respectability. Ugh ! it
eats a beggar like me out of house and home."
" Well, i didn't imagine that, Colonel," said Basil. " I thought
you always put out your respectability to board on other
people."
" Capital ! Very good ! The fact is, my dear young sir —
come, take a glass of wine — people won't let me alone. They
will carry me about with them ; no doubt, to show their
humility. I tell them I'm a beggar : what then ? they will have
the pauper with them — they will. Here's the Doctor — would
drag me out to-day, to come and look at old Carraway's Lodge "
— and again Bones emptied his glass.
'■' Of course," said Mizzlemist : " if your friends didn't look
after you, Colonel, you'd never stir. You'd take no exercise.
You'd sit in that arm-chair of yours till the sexton came for
you. And the fact is " — and the Doctor ai-chly smiled — " we're
not going to lose you in that way. No : it's our duty as fellow-
creatures and Christians to take care of you, and we will do it ;"
and Mizzlemist's kindly emphasis almost brought the tears into
his eyes. " Poor lone creature ! You never knew what it was
to have the tenderness of a wife. You haven't a dear soul,
growing all the kinder and tenderer for age, haunting your
fire-side ; and so we must take care of you — and we will, old
fellow."
" All too good, much too good to a beggar," cried Bones, with
his fore-finger scratching the nape of his neck.
" Come, sir, take a glass of wine," and Mizzlemist urged Basil.
Then dropping back in his chair, he gazed at the young gentle-
man in all the fulness of after-dinner admiration. " Ha, sir ! it
is something delightful— nay, very delightful, indeed, only to look
at you."
" Indeed," cried Basil, "glad to hear it. Easy way of getting
a living. Shilling a-head for grown fools, six-pence for children.
Come sir, down with your money."
" In your connection with Mr. Jericho, you have a grand field
before you," said the unoftended Mizzlemist.
" Hm ! Can you tell me if the field's in crop ? And what
it is ? " asked Basil.
" Whatever you like, sir. I am afraid, Mr. Pennibacker " —
and Mizzlemist became very serious — " I am afraid you do not
sutficiently estimate the position of Mr. Jericho. See what he
has done already. Is he not in Parliament ? Is he not in the
verj- highest society ? Next Tuesday — yes, absolutely next
Tuosilay— he dines with the Duke St. George, at Bed Dragon
H
93 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
House ; and with his inestimable lady and daughters, will at
once, be dipped in the Pactolean vortex — if I've not forgot my
Christ-cluTrch classics — in the Pactolean vortex of fashionable
existence."
" Well, and what will Mr. Jericho pay ? What, for self, wife
and daughters t " asked Basil. " What will be the price of admis-
sion to the Red Dragon mahogany ? "
" Price, Mr. Pennibacker ? " cried Mizzlemist.
" Price ? Why, you can't tell ; neither can Jericho himself.
More than that, I've my doubts, if even the Duke of St. George
has made up his mind to the exact sum to be borrowed of the
]\Ian of Money. It must be for a loan, or do folks think money,
like the measles, catching 1 The Duke St. George, of Red Dragon
House ! Why, he 's a very river of royal blood. From the
heptarchy downwards, thei-e's been a pi'ince or a princess, or a
royal bishop, or something of the sort, cut into the stream — and
he contains in himself the very best blood, laid on from twenty
crowned houses. And to think that he should shake hands with
Jericho — that he should invite such a piece of clay — why it must
be for the gilding."
" My dear yoimg gentleman," said Mizzlemist, with a gravity
almost affectionate, " disabuse your mind of such vulgar cant.
Be above it, sir. Don't think that money can do anything and
everything — it can't. There must be inward worth. The gold
candlestick — if I may be so bold as to use a hgure — the gold
candlestick may be prized, I gi-ant ; but its magnificence is only
subservient to its use ; the gold is very well : but after all, it is
the light we look to." And Mizzlemist believed he had clenched
the question.
" Yes," said Basil ; " so that the candlestick has gold enough,
I take it, it may burn anything : mutton fat's as good as
wax."
" I say again, don't think it. Mr. Jericho, independent of his
wealth, is a man of talent. I assure you" — now Mizzlemist was
never more serious — " I assure you, I forget them, but some of
his admirable bits of wit are now going about. I forget them,
but I pledge myself, they are allowed to be very brilliant."
" All's one for that," and Basil emptied his glass.
" But as I was observing, Mr. Pennibacker, you have all the
world before you," said Mizzlemist.
" I quite feel that, sir, in the new profession that within this
half-hour I have determined to adopt."
" Why, sir, when you go to the bar " — began Mizzlemist.
"No, I've abandoned the thought. The bar's too full.
Bench can't be lengthened to hold a thousandth part of us ; and
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 99
mus'n't sit in each other's laps. So many, nine-tenths must die
like spiders with nothing to spin. I thought of the army. But
that's going, sir ; going, soon to be gone. Bless you, laurels
are fast sinking from the camp to the kitchen. In a very little
while, sir, and the cook will rob Caesar of his wreath to flavour
a custard."
" Ha ! ha ! very good. Wait a little though, — ^hm 1 " cried
Colonel Bones.
" I do not very fully grapple with your position," — said Mizzle-
mist, hesitating.
" Don't try, then, sir," said Basil, " 'twill only strain your
intellect. Therefore, as I see all the usual avenues shut up — ' no
thoroughfare' writ over 'em, I shall strike out a road for myself.
Meet a want, or make a want, that's the motto, sii", for a new
business."
" Well, there really is something in that," said Mizzlemist.
" Now, I intend to meet a want — a very craving want," said
Basil. " And with such benevolent determination, I purpose to
start in life as a Comic Undertaker."
" Good, devilish good ! " and Bones rubbed his hands ; and
Mizzlemist stared.
" It will be my lasting reputation," said Basil, " to meet the
gi'and desire of the age. For do you not perceive, sir, the gi'eat
tendency of our time is to sink the serious, and to save the droll ]
Folks who have an eagle in their coat-of-arms begin to be
ashamed of it, and paint it out for the laughing-goose. In a very
little while and we shall put a horse-collar rotmd about the
world, expressly for all the world to grin through it."
" You know best, Mr. Basil," said Mizzlemist, " but surely
'twill be a great stop to business."
" Now, in pursuit of the comic," said Basil, " I think we might
very successfully carry fun into the churchyard. A man of true
humour, sir — afid such a man every morning when I rise I am in
the habit of considering myself — may put a capital joke into an
epitaph, and get a broad grin from a skeleton. I think I see my
board and card — ' Basil Pennibacker, the Original Comic Under-
taker. Funerals acted in the happiest vein of humour. Mutes
of every drollery.' I think that will do, sir."
" It will never be permitted, sir ; never," said the literal
Mizzlemist. " The legislature, sir, will not permit it. I like a
joke, sir ; I think I may say I like a joke, but when the ashes
of"—
" What ! Eh ? Why here comes Mr. .Jericho, pelting along.
Hm ? " cried Colonel Bones, who had run to the window.
" Then I'm off," said Basil, and instantly he ran do-mi to the
H 2
100 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
door, jumped in his saddle, and was speedily far away in a cloud
of dust.
Mizzlemist approached the window. Jericho's equipage came
rattling down the hill, Hodmadod and Candituft galloping a
little in advance. The carriage pulled up at the door of the
Silver Lion. Mizzlemist had descended, and approached Mr.
Jericho. " I am very sorry, sir, that I should have missed you,"
said the Doctor. " I brought out the Colonel for a ride, and
thought we should all meet at the Lodge. I thought you'd have
stopt " —
" I don't stop, Doctor Mizzlemist," said Jericho coldly, whilst
Mizzlemist stept back in astonishment — " I don't stop for any-
body. Who are you, sir — whom do you take me for ?" bellowed
Jericho, whilst Mizzlemist stared, and his jaw fell in mute wonder.
Here, Colonel Bones, benevolently thought he might come to the
rescue of his friend. Whereupon bending his iron face into a
very severe smile, he began —
" I do assure you, Jericho, that " —
" Jericho ! " exclaimed the Man of Money, with an oath that
passed xipon the Colonel a very hot and very summary sentence,
" Who asked you to speak ? A toad-eater ! A bone-picking
pauper ! Drive on ! " and Jericho sank back like an exhausted
savage ; the coach and cavaliers flew forward, and Mizzlemist
confounded, groped his way back to the Colonel, whom he found
seated, foaming at the mouth, and violently cutting the air about
him with a knife he had taken from the table, inarticulately
spluttering — " Toad-eater ! Majesty's officer ! Bone-picker !
Blood— blood--blood ! "
After a time, Mizzlemist took the knife from the Colonel, and
entreated him to be calm. He was immediately obedient. He
filled a bumper, glanced at his friend, and in a soft but very
decided voice, as though making himself a solemn promise of
some especial treat, said — " I'll have his blood, sir, his blood."
CHAPTEE XL
We have again to introduce the reader to Gilbert Carraways.
The circumstances under which the reader and he last met were
so very different, so opposite to the present condition of the
worthy gentleman, that we may be justified in treating the old
man with something of the deference due to a stranger. In one
of the Primrose Places to be found selvaging London — for we
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 101
care not to be a whit more definite in the whereabout — Carra-
ways, his wife and daughter, had taken refuge from the storm
that had broken over their heads ; a storm that had made clear
work of every stick of their property. No hurricane could more
completely sweep away a field of sugai'-cane. In a small, neat,
comfortable room sat the ruined family. The old man was
reading, or thought he read. In a few weeks the snow had come
down -upon his head with a heavy fall. In a few weeks, his
cheeks were lined and lengthened. He had been held — so
ruthlessly held — face to face with misery, that his smile, that
was constant as the red in his cheek, had well nigh vanished.
Now and then, as he exchanged looks with his daughter, it
glimmered a little ; played about his mouth, to leave it only in
utter blankness. Still he went on reading ; still he turned page
after page ; and believed that he was laying in a stock oi
knowledge for his future life. For he had again — he would tell
his daughter with a bright look — he had again to begin the
world. Hard beginning ! Dreary voyage, with neither youth to
fight the storm ; nor the hope of youth to wile away the long,
dark, dreary, watch — to sing the daylight in. But this he would
not think of. At least he thought he would not. He felt
himself as strong as ever ; yes, even stronger. He could not
have hoped to bear the blow so well. He was never better ;
never. His glorious health was left him ; and therefore, why
despair ? In this way will the brain of the stout man cheat
itself. It wUl feel whole, and strong ; and for the viler cracks
and flaws, they are not to be heeded. Mere trifles. And then
some day, some calm and sunny time, that peace has seemed to
choose for itself, for a soft, sweet paiise — with the tyrant brain
secure and all vain-glorious, — the trifle kills. In this way do
strong men die upwards.
Gilbert Cari'aways was, at our first meeting, set about by all
the creature delights of life. He was the lord of abundance.
The man who had nothing to do with want and misery, but to
exercise the noblest prerogative of happy humanity — namely, to
destroy them wheresoever he found them preying upon his
fellows. Wealth was gone. He was a beggar ; but in his
poverty were thoughts that might glorify his fireside. He had
used his means for good ; and, at least, might feel enriched by
the harvest of his recollections. With his face anxious,
lengthened, and dim, there was a dignity in the old man that we
do not think we ever recognised at the Hall. For he had to
bear a load of misery ; and he sat erect, and with his spirit
conquering, looked serenely about him.
Bessy and her mother sat at work, and to see them for the
102 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
first time, they seemed as though they had never had a finer
room to sit in. Already were they so self-accommodated to the
place. In their days of fortune, Mrs. Carraways — good, kind
creature ever ! — nevertheless loved to show to folks the finest
outside. She confessed to a pride in exhibiting to the "vrorld the
best holiday proofs of worldly prosperity. Her husband would
call her his old butterfly. And, in a few weeks, she had cast all
euch thoughts, even as the butterfly ita wings, never again to be
enjoyed, or dreamt of. She looked the good wife of one of
Carra way's late clerks, at some hundred and fifty pounds a year ;
with those sixty shillings a week — to provide home and food,
and raiment ; the worldly all-in-all. And if at times she was a
little, just a little wayward, in the full blaze of fortune — as the
best-tempered folks are sometimes apt to be tetchy in over-warm
weather — now, she sat in the shade all gentleness, and smiles,
and patience ; as though she, perhaps, remembered those little
breaks of temper, to be afforded when at ease with the world,
but all too serious, too wilful an extravagance for a poor man's
home.
Bessy was at first astonished, broken-hearted that she had
never seen, scarcely heard, and that coldly, ceremoniously, of
niaiiy of her friends. She could not for a long time comprehend
the cause. And then, she speedily agreed with her mother
that, possibly, an extreme sense of delicacy kept them absent —
silent. " They may not like to intrude u^jon our misfortune,"
said Mrs. Carraways very sadly. Bessy at once acknowledged it
must be so with Miss Candituft. She recollected that with that
young lady it was a favourite phrase — " the sacredness of
adversity." And then Bessy could not but think — " She might
have written more than once." But Bessy was young and
hopeful. The tempest had blown over her ; and once passed, she
was again smiling and erect. A lily after a thunder-storm.
Such the group at the fire-side. There is, however, a person
at the street-door well-known to the reader. We have tried,
with all his faults, to make him a sort of favourite. This
outside person is Basil Pennibacker. He has galloped to
London, and straightway taken the road to Primrose Eow. He
has hardly shaped his thoughts into the roughest form of speech;
but he feels that he has something to say ; nay, his heart is full
of it — and it shall out before he sleeps. And with this brave
determination, he marches to the door ; feeling, nevertheless, as
though with all his courage, he was walking up to a cannon.
He stops short at the step. The next moment he mounts it, and
the next he raises the knocker. And the next, as softly, tenderly
as ever human fingers touched a human wound, he lays the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 103
knocker down. He is much relieved, and gently descends the
step. It is too late — much too late to call. Hush ! The clock
of St. Asjihodel's strikes nine — it is vmreasonable, unmannerly to
think of it. Basil crosses the road, and much comforts himself
looking at an upper window. There is a light ; and now a
female figure moves to and fro. It is Bessy ! Her light, active
form ; the turn of her head, so like a wood-nymph's ! Now, she
comes to the window ; and now the light is gone and the room
is dai'k. For a moment, the hope of Basil is quenched — dead.
And the next instant, raising his hat, and gazing at the window,
he cries — " God bless you !" and takes to his heels, as though he
had done something wrong, unmannerly.
Now, as it must be evident to the well-meaning few who read
these pages, that we propose to set down nothing but truth, let
us clear up as we go. It was not Bessy, as believed by Basil.
It was a solitary, pale young thing — one of the cloud of genteel
phantoms that flit across our daily path — who compliment life,
by endeavouring to live by needle and thread. It was not Bessy,
upon whom Basil called down a benison. But let it rest upon
the stranger's head. Who so spiritually rich as not to need it 1
"And do you think, Bessy" — said her father, for having dis-
posed of Basil for the night, we return to the fireside — " and do
you think, my wench, that you'll make a good sailoi" ? "
" I don't know," said Bessy, " but I'll try."
" Well said. It's the most we can promise against sea-sickness.
A long voyage, wench," said Carraways.
"My dear Gilbert," said the wife with anxious looks, "are
you resolved — are you really resolved 1"
" I have looked at it every way, lass : I have turned the
matter on every side. Weighed the risks with the good chances.
And I am resolute." A deep sigh escaped the wife. " Why,
what's the matter ? " asked her husband.
"Nothing. I meant nothing — at least, nothing, if you are
resolved. And yet, Gilbert, we are old" —
" Aye, that's it ; old to move. But, my good dame, what will
our years bring us if we stop ? I tell you, I can't bear to think
of it. I should die a thousand deaths here in London. I
couldn't go into the City — and somehow, I know myself, I
should be sure to be going there if I was near it — I couldn't go
there, that every other face wouldn't seem to stab me. Oh ! I
have seen the sight myself, — and I won't provide the show."
" What sight, father 1 " asked Bessy, almost heedless of the
question.
"The sight of a ruined man. An old man broken to bits,
with no hope, no chance of patching. A piece of utter rum
10-1 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
with grey hairs upon it. The ghost of one who was ' a good
man.' I've seen it. And I know what follows. I should pass
people, and hear 'em talk — yes, feel 'em point at me. ' There,
sir,' — says one to a country friend — ' do you see that old man ?
Once one of the proudest fellows in the City, sir. One who held
his head above every body. One who was as high as Lucifer ' " —
" O, father ! they never, never, could say that of you," cried
Bessy, and her face coloured, and her eyes filled M'ith tears.
" Ha ! ten to one but they would say it, though. 'Tis hard
for a man to tumble, and not get dirt about him, deserve it or
not. ' As proud as Lucifer ' they'd say ; ' and now look at him
— poor fellow ! ' Yes they'd call me — ' poor fellow ; not a
penny, sir : not a farthing.' Now, I won't endure this. I've
talked to myself I've had a little conversation with this Gilbert
Carraways — old fellow ! — he and I were not such intimate
acquaintance as we ought to have been in fair weather times —
but I've talked to him since we've been in trouble, and the end
of it is, wife, he won't suffer it. He won't," and Carraways
struck the table.
" My dear Gilbert, do as you will — go where you will. Any-
where " — said the wife, and at length lier heart loosened, and
she fell upon her husband's neck — "so that we go all together."
.Bessy laid down her work, and silently crept round her father'-s
chair, and without i word, mingled her arms with her mother's.
The old man felt the pressure of his daughter, and hugging
wife and child close at his heart, he cried — " Yes ; all together —
all together." And in a minute, in a gay voice, and his eyes
sparkling through their mist, Carraways said — " Come, it's time
to go to bed. Good night," and he kissed his daughter. " I shall
not be up long ; but I want to finish these few pages." And
Carraways was left alone ; trying with all his might to see a
Land of Promise for his old age in a golden book, written for the
hopes of emigrants.
The next morning, Basil Pennibacker — for we must for a page
or two return to him — rose, determined to see Primrose Pow by
daylight. As he took his breakfast, his looks fell with peculiar
satisfaction upon a large bunch of heartsease that, ere he slept,
with his own hands he had placed in water ; that, ere he had sat
down to begin his meal, he had examined with an eye more
curious than was his wont in the small matter of flowers. Indeed,
he was himself a little surprised at the interest hanging about
his heart for those few bits of purple and yellow " freaked with
jet." However, he was satisfied of their beauty and freshness ;
and therefore breakfasted as heartily as man with cheerful
conscience may.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 105
It was about mid-day -when Bessy was broken in upon by the
servant girl, who came almost in a bunch into the room — so
hurried, so anxious, and withal so pleased seemed she to deliver
her tidings — to proclaim with scai'let face, and panting breath,
that — " there was a gentleman below that wanted Miss." Now,
neither Mr. nor Mrs. Carraways were in. This circumstance the
girl observed, she knew, and had already acquainted the gentle-
man with the fact ; a fact that, in truth, had in no way discon-
certed him. Bessy was finally stopt in her inquiries by the girl,
who remembered she had a card,
" Mr. Basil Pennibacker." —
Bessy reddened as she took it. " Yes, Miss, I'U show him up
directly," said the girl.
" Stay, Susan — I — yes ; you are quite right. Pray show the
gentleman in," said Bessy ; and, as she heard the foot of Basil
on the stairs, her heart kept count with every step, and she felt
cold as a stone.
Basil entered the room. We verily believe his own mother —
doting parent that she was — would not have known him. He
was almost awkward in his bashfulness ; his eyes wandered ; he
feebly smiled ; and deeply blushed, Bessy, somehow, showed
more courage of the two.
" I'm very sorry, Mr. Pennibacker, that there is no one but
myself at home. Very sorry that " —
" Pray don't mention it. Miss Carraways ; I assure you I —
that is — I hope Mr. and Mrs. Carraways are well ; as well, my
dear madam" — and Basil began to feel his ground — " as well as
I could M'ish them."
" Quite well," said Bessy, " I do not think my mother can be
long. And I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. We do not see
many friends now," said Bessy ; and then she coula have bitten
her tongue that she had said it : he might beUeve that she
hinted at his mother and sisters.
" After all, Miss Carraways," said Basil, " how veiy few
people there are worth thinking friends !"
" It may be so, sir ; I fear it is so ; but," said Bessy, " it is a
hard truth to learn, learn it when we may."
Basil was again at fault ; again his tongue hung fire ; and he
wondered, and was a little piqued at the self-possession of Bessy,
when he — a man — was in such a tremor. His brain was
wandering for new words, when happily, his eyes fell upon the
superb bunch of heartsease idly grasped by his hand. " Happily,
Miss Carraway.s," said Basil, suddenly supported, " happily there
are friends that will smile upon us till death."
" Oh dear, yes ! Life, indeed, would be a sad lot could we not
106 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
think so," and Bessy's eyes glistened ; and glistening, made
Basil wince.
She never looked so beautiful. Heaped about with luxury ;
a little rose-bud queen in a golden palace, with fairy birds
singing to her, and happiness like an atmosphere aroimd her —
she never looked so beautiful as in that bit of tenpenny muslin —
standing upon Kidderminster, at the rate of eighteen shillings
a-week, boots included. (Now all this went jumbling, jostling
through the brain of Basil, as he caught the dewy flash of Bessy's
innocent blue eyes.)
"There are friends. Miss Carraways, whom you have been
kind to, who still have grateful looks. There are friends, I saw
thousands of them yesterday, looking all the happier for your
care. I was told of some, for whom you had a particular regard.
I" — here Basil began again to feel abashed and tongue-tied,
" I mean friends by the outer wall, opposite the summer-house
with — with Diana In it " —
" I recollect the summer-house," said Bessy, and her little
hand clutched the back of a chair.
" Of course. I was sure you would. Well, the truth is, my
dear lady — pardon me. Miss Carraways — I was there, and I
thought you would like to see some of these friends, and — the
fact is, — my dear Bessy — ten million pardons, madam, I — the
fact is, as I said, thinking you would like to see them, I gave
them a — a general invitation, — have brought 'em here, and here
they are."
Basil held the heartsease towards Bessy. She curtseyed, held
her trembling hand to take them. " Thank you ! A thousand
thanks ! " she smiled. And then she fell in a chair, and burying
her face among the flowers, gave up her heart to weeping.
Poor Basil ! he felt awe-struck by the passion he had roused.
He wished the floor to open, and himself — to use his own
after-phrase — to be repealed for ever. " If I had thought " — he
stammered.
"Oh thank you, sir — a thousand thanks," cried Bessy, and
she wept anew.
" My dear madam," said Basil, " I am a foolish person ; a very
foolish person. Another time I hope to be permitted to assure
you that I meant no folly ; upon my soul, I mean truth — earnest,
honest, eternal truth, if truth be in this world. I " — And here
Basil distressed, discomfited, rushed from the room.
In another hour, Bessy was calm and sad — yet not altogether
sad. The heartsease were placed in a glass, and again and again
Be.ssy would go to them, and, as though putting her finger under
the chin of baby loveliness, as though the flower were a sentient
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 107
thing, she would lift the curl of the blossom as it hung over the
vessel. She was gazing at the heartsease when Jenny Topps was
shown into the room.
" Well, Mrs. Topps," said Bessy, with a melancholy smile.
" Now, not that I'm ashamed of Topps's name, why should I
be 1 " — said the young wife, looking very proud of it, — " but do
call me Jenny, ISIiss, as afore. Do, please."
" Well, then, Jenny."—
" Well, then, what do you think. Miss ? We went to the Hall
yesterday. Ha, you should only see it now ! No ; I didn't mean
that. I wouldn't have you see it for any money. We've brought
away what you wanted. But that's not it. What do you think ?
Now, don't cry — promise me, you won't cry."
" Well, then, Jenny, I promise you," and somehow Bessy made
the promise with better self-assurance than she coiold have
boasted a little more than an hour ago.
" Well, then, them .nasty Jerichos — for I hate 'em " —
" You should hate nobody, Jenny," said Bessy.
" Perhaps not, ma'am. But natui"' that makes us love, makes
us hate, and we can't help it. Them Jerichos is going to take
the Hall."
" Is it possible 1 " asked Bessy, with strange calmness.
"I saw 'em all there. Going to take the Hall," repeated
Jenny, much incensed.
" Very well. Somebody must live there," said Bessy. And
then, stiungely perplexed, she looked at the heartsease, and
knew not what to think.
Basil, on his hun-ied way home, was no less perplexed. He
accused himself of folly, cruelty. He had torn open the girl's
heart with his clumsy blunder ; and of what avail was it, that he
would die to dry her teax-s 1
" Why, my dear fellow," said an acquaintance, stopping Basil,
fuming with remorse, " My dear fellow, what is the matter with
you ? Anything wrong ? Anji^hing I can do to help you 1 "
" Yes," exclaimed Basil. " Bind me to you for life, and get
me a coalheaver."
" A coalheaver ! " cried his friend.
"A coalheaver," repeated Basil. "In my present state of
feeling, nothing — I know it — nothing can restore me to tran-
quillity till I've licked a coalheaver."
103 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTER XII.
Already had Mr. Jericho banked the purchase-money for
Jogtrot Hall. Thirty thousand pounds' worth of flesh had he
sacrificed to buy to himself a country mansion ; the better, in
the flattering words of liis wife, to fill the world ; who delighted
as she was with the obedient ambition of her lord was, never-
theless, touched in her teuderest afi"ections when she contemplated
his diminished presence. Even Jericho himself, prepared as he
was for the astonishment of his family and familiars, winced as
he caught the astounded glances of his circle. Breeks, the tailor,
began to measure, and to re-measure with an increasing wonder,
that in a little time deei^ened Into awe, and threatened to explode
into terror. " It's like measuring a penknife for a sheath,"
Breeks declared to his wife. " That Mi\ Jericho's quite a
puzzle, Julia ; quite. There's no knowing where the paddin'
ends and the man begins. Man, Julia ! He isn't a man at
all, but a cotton-pod. Why he can't have no more stomach
than a 'bacco-pipe." Such were the confidential communings
of man with wife ; and, after certain intervals, with a whole
round of Mrs. Breeks' bosom gossips. In a little time, it was
the growing belief of a large circle that Jericho was no flesh,
no man at all. " He was made up of coats," ran the rumour,
" like an onion."
Jericho, we have said, was tenderly alive to his daily waste.
Again and again had he passed the silken lace about his chest ;
the lace that, if the bank continued to be drawn upon, soon
promised to wind round and round the anatomy of Jericho, like
whipcord round a boy's peg-top. Jericho, however, comforted
himself — so had he taken measures — that the bank should be
closed for many a day. He would not peel himself to a leaf, let
his wife conjure as she might. Fortunately, he was never in
better health. If he lost in substance, mei'e flesh, he somehow
obtained an unusual toughness and strength of fibre. He was
lithe, elastic as a rod of steel. And after all, what was flesh 1
Animal grossness. The less he had of it, the more spiritual the
human creature.
But Mrs. Jericho would not thus be comforted. She had
half-uttered her fears to Mr. Candituft. Would introduce
Doctor Dodo, a friend of his, as a friend ; not to alarm Mr.
Jericho, Certainly not. But merely to lead him in the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 109
meanderlngs of a pleasant moruiiig talk to his own individual
case. Mrs. Jericho might depend upon the care of Candituft.
He would study even the weakness of dear Jericho as a weakness
to be reverenced. " Some weaknesses," said Candituft, " were
like flawed China : quite as good as the perfect thing, if not too
rudely handled." Mrs. Jericho declared the thought to be true
and beautiful.
Now, it grieves us, as faithful chroniclers of this history to
pain the reader with the intelligence that at the very time
conjugal love and manly friendship were sweetly plotting for
better health and insured life in the person of Solomon Jericho,
there were men — certainly two constructive homicides — who
contemplated the probable funeral of the Man of Money, and
never once winced at the thought of the sable feathers. Let the
reader judge.
Almost at the exact time that Basil Pennibacker fled in sorrow
and confusion from the door of Carraways, Commissioner Thrush
knocked at +he postern of Solomon Jericho. And had Jericho's
household gods been as anxious, waking, instead — as we fear it
too often happens with household gods in general — instead of
sleeping, like pet spaniels at the fire-side, sure we are that the
chimney deities would have given a sympathetic shriek, or howl,
or cry, or squall — hearing murder's messenger at . the door.
" Is Mr. Jericho within 1 " asked the assistant homicide with a
serene gravity worthy of the coming funeral. The victim was
at home. The undertaker might walk up stairs ; and making
due allowance, might measure the living customer. And all
this time, though the household gods might see in the burning
embers, the splendid funeral of their master prefigured in
glowing rays, with — if it further pleased them — a view, between
the second and third bar, of the widow weeping over a
pyramidal monument, weeping in a cloud of veil, with streaming
wisp of handkerchief, — although every part and piece of this
alarming spectacle were to be seen in the live coals of Jericho's
hearth, nevertheless Jericho's household gods took no more
account of the show than if it were a congregation of burning
vapours brought together to roast the family goose, or cook the
family mutton.
Commissioner Thrush walks placidly up to Mr. Jericho, and
oflers him his hand. And Jericho takes the palm in his own,
never dreaming that, probably, he grasped a piece of- churchyard
clod.
" Though I come upon an unpleasant business, my dear sii- —
by the way I think you get thinner and thinner," said Thrush.
"I believe Commissioner," said Jei'icho very austerely, "I
no A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
believe in polite society, a man's flesh is silently permitted to be
quite a matter for his own contemplation."
" Mr. Jericho, I am corrected, and very properly. A thousand
pardons. I bring this from my friend Colonel Bones," and fixing
his eye like a snake upon Jericho, Thrush discharged a letter
upon him.
Jericho read the letter. With a stony face of contempt he
looked down upon it. " This is quite ridiculous," said Jericho.
" It may be droll, devilish droll," said Thrush. " Men differ
so in their tastes. You may think a challenge a joke ; may,
indeed, think pistols when they click, merely diseurs de bons mots.
Every man as he likes."
" You do not intend to say, Commissioner Thrush, that this
Colonel Bones — this gingerbread hero — this " —
" Colonel Bones is my friend," said Thrush. " Colonel Bones
has served her Majesty : at least, if not her Majesty, her Majesty's
uncle. It's all in the family ; just the same thing. You insulted
the Colonel."
" The fact is " — Jericho paused, but only one instant, for a lie
— " The fact is, the day was hot ; I had drunk too much" —
" I am sorry to hear it. For now it is impossible to accom-
modate matters. Now, sir, the Colonel must be a charcoal-
burner ; you must taste his saltpetre," and Thrush smacked
his lips, as recommending its flavour.
" Impossible to accommodate ! When it was abuse in a
moment of wine," cried Jericho.
" Sir, an offence committed in wine must be between intimates
a double offence ; and for this reason ; this iron-bound reason.
It implies long-smouldering malice," cried Thrush.
" I don't see that," exclaimed Jericho, becoming interested in
the question. " How do you prove it ? "
" You shall hear, sir, in a very few words ; and those, the
very words of my late excellent and sagacious friend, the king of
Siam."
" I don't see," cried Jericho, " that the king of Siam " —
" If you please ; one moment," said Thrush, with mild autho-
rity. "' Drunkards,' his majesty would say, 'are of two sorts.
The good-natured and the malicious. Now, the good-natured man
m his drink babbles his praises and his affections ; and with all
his goodness would blush when sober to say the loving things
that run from him in his wine. His sober thoughts are written
in his heart in the milk of human goodness. Now, the malicious
man, who in his steady hours, has kept a fair face and a clean
lip to his fellow — in his time of drink talks reviling and abuse. His
thoughts are written not in milk, but in vinegar : but the fire of
A MAN MADE OF MOXEY. Ill
the wine brings out either character, showing both true, the
words of milk and the words of verjuice.' Now, this, sir, was the
judgment of the king of Siam."
" I — I do not see it. I can't see it. Ridiculous ! Preposterous,"
cried Jericho.
"The king of Siam though in his royal tomb, and sprinkled
with the loving ashes of fifty of his wives bui-nt at a great exjjense
for that occasion only — the king of Siam," said Thrush with
ominous gravity, " is still my friend. When we have disposed of
our present business, I shall be happy to give the readiest
attention to any disparagement you may feel disposed to vent
upon the lamented potentate."
" I am not at all the man, sir, to do anything of the sort,"
cried Jericho. " I respect the — the — yes, the constituted
authorities, in their tombs or out of 'em."
"I am very happy to hear it. Because you must at once
concede, on the authority of my friend, the king, that an affront
in drink is a double insult. You called my friend, Colonel Bonea,
an officer her Majesty's uncle's service " —
Jericho who, though he trod upon thorns, could not resist the
sneer, asked, " What regiment 1 "
"No matter, sir," said Thrush, "I have forgotten it. The
Colonel himself may have forgotten it. Any regiment you like.
The 59th Harlequins, or the 74th Pantaloons — it is no matter. You
have insulted an officer ; it may be, insulted him for years. You
called him toad-eater — pauper — bone-picker ! Now, sir, who
shall say how long you may have carried about you those oppro-
brious epithets, wi-itten in the strongest vinegar upon your heart ?
Written, and only waiting the required volume of hot, fruity port,
to dawn and break out into diabolic blackness 1 At length you
drink ; you become drunk ; and thereupon immediately publish
to the world the calumny writ in withering acid." Jericho was
astonished. Thi-ush, wiping his forehead after the exertion,
droi)t his voice, and in the politest, meekest manner, asked,
" To whom will you do me the honour to refer me ? Who is
your friend 1 "
" Certainly ; to be sure," said Jericho with alacrity ; and he
immediately sat down, and penned a note to the Hon. Cesar
Candituft. With what a halo of benevolence was that good
creature immediately surrounded ! With something of a smile
at his lip, Jericho penned a few familiar lines. " He would leave
the matter entirely in his hands." This done, he handed the
missive to Thrush, who took it with the satisfied air of a man
who felt that he was proceeding in a manner most satisfactory
to the feelings of all parties.
112 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Good morning, Mr. Jericho, this little affair — end as it may
— will, I trust, malce no alteration in our intimacy. I give you my
word of honour, so impartial am I in this matter — so little
personal feeling have I mixed up in this business, that had you
instead of the Colonel called upon me, I should have had equal
pleasure in attending upon yourself"
" You are very good, very good," said Jericho very icily.
" Not at all. I consider that in going out with any man, I
merely fulfil a great social duty, and think upon that account I
have an equal claim — should the occasion fall — upon equal
services from any of my fellow-creatures. Dear sir, good
morning." And Thrush went his way.
It may seem odd, when we aver that Jericho sat in the com-
pletest state of ease. He was never more tranquil, and for this
reason, — he was profoundly secure in the friendship, the sweet
humanity, of Candituft. He, he an accomplice to draw him into a
duel ! That noble fellow would rather meet the ball himself
Besides, he recollected — and very much soothed was he by the
recollection — that Candituft abhoiTed duelling. He had heard
him denounce the practice as murderous, fratricidal. "A
duellist ! " Candituft would say, — " A duellist is only Cain
in higher life." Very much comforted was Jericho with
this sweet philanthropic sentence. Again and again did he
speak it to himself: pass the beautiful words one by one
before his moral vision, as a girl admires bead by bead a
new necklace.
Only lialf-an-hour had passed, and Candituft was announced.
"Aduellistis onlyCain in high life,"thought Jericho triumphantly,
as he rose to press the hand of his friend.
" Dear, good sir," said Candituft, " I am delighted to see you
look so happy. Yes ; it is a moment like this that shows the
true man. That proves the constitutional serenity of his soul.
That shows him ready, if it must be, at the call of honour —
ready to quit life when life has its best blandishments — ready to
leave the flowery path of wealth and prosperity, and to descend
into the cold and comfortless tomb. The friendship of such a
man makes me proud indeed ;" and Candituft shook Jericho's
hand.
" Tomb ! What do you mean by tomb 1 " cried Jericho.
" Don't talk to me of tombs."
"Of course, my dear fiiend, only as a figure of speech.
Goodness forbid anything graver," said Candituft.
" You have seen that Thi-ush 1 " asked Jericho, trying to be
careless.
" I met him as I was coming here. An unpleasant business.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 113
But I've settled matters, I think, very comfortably," said
Candituft.
" I knew you would. My best of friends ! " cried Jericho,
clapping Candituft on the shoulder.
" My friend's honour is as dear — I don't know if it isn't
dearer — than my own. Yon were qiiite safe in my hands."
Here Candituft pulled out his pocket-handkerchief, used it with
considerable vigour ; and after a seemly pause, said, " We fight
at eight."
" Eight ! " shrieked Jericho, and he leaped as though already
struck by the bullet.
" Everything is settled quite according to routine, and we'll
take a light, early dinner, and" —
" And do you mean, sir," exclaimed Jericho, " to call yourself
my friend, and want me to fight ? "
" I do assure you, my dear sir, it is the most touching proof
of — I will not stop at friendship — I will say, of afiection. Yes,
sir, brotherly affection," said Candituft, a little moved by a
sample of the emotion.
" Why, sir, I have heard you call duelling murder ! Have you
not ? " cried Jericho.
Candituft was instantly explicit. " Murder it is, sir."
" Fratricide ! " exclaimed Jericho.
" There can be no doubt of it : slaughter carried among the
brotherhood of man."
At length Jeiicho came to the clenching sentence. — " Have you
not called a duellist, Cain in high life 1 "
" Very true, my dear sir. But if Cain is admitted into the
circles, it is not for us to object to his introduction, I trust, sir,
that I love my fellow-creatures. I hope I know what is due to
the family of man ; nevertheless I can't be expected to give up
my place in society, from the mere weakness of affection."
" Seriously, Mr. Candituft," asked Jericho, " do you expect me
to fight Colonel Bones ? "
" You placed yourself in my hands, my very dear sir — and
though I should lament any fatal issue on your side — when I say
lament it, I feel 'twould blight my future existence — ^nevertheless,
as my friend, and as a man in society, as a man owing to the
world the efficacy of high example, you must fight." Thus
judged the Hon, Cesar Candituft.
" But I won't fight," exclaimed Jericho. " Fighting isn't in
my way."
Cautlituft merely observed — " Kicking may be." Jericho drew
himself up. "Pardon me, ray dear friend — I" — Candituft
struggled with his feelings ; at length, he fell upon Jericlio's
I
114 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
neck, and in an agony of friendship exclaimed — " Worthiest of
beinsrs ! Best of creatures ! You must ficrht ! "
Jericho was a little subdued by such devotion. — "You really
think I must fight ? "
" Do you think," said Candituft, " that the Duke of St. George
would suffer a man who refused a challenge to sully the door-
step of Eed Dragon House ? Noblest of men as he is, and
kindest of the human race, he would feel it to be his duty to spit
upon you. Metaphorically, my dear friend, of course."
" You are right," said Jericho, giving his courage a wrench —
" I wiU fight."
" I knew it" — and Candituft seized Jericho's hand between
his own — " I was sure of it."
"At eight you say 1 And where" — Jericho felt a little dizzy
— " where the place ] "
" The best, the noblest, the most heroic spot," said Candituft.
" Battersea-Fielde, of coui'se."
" Hm ! I thought Wimbledon was more genteel ?" observed
Jericho, wanderingly.
" It was : but surely, my dear sir, you can't forget. The Duke
himself — the immortal Wellington, has thrown an undying lustre
upon Battersea- Fields."
" I recollect," said Jericho. " Of course — to be sure he has."
" Such being the case, I suffer no friend of mine to receive any
man's fire on any meaner ground. For my own part, I have
always considered Battersea-Fields, as a sort of battle-field-of-ease
to Waterloo. Possibly, my dear friend, the same thought may
have struck you ? "
" I can't say that it has" — replied Jericho — " but I shall
remember it for the future no doubt."
" And now, my dear Solomon " — Jericho winced at the affec-
tionate familiarity ; there sounded in it a raven note — " my dear
friend, you may have a few matters to settle ? You may have to
speak to Mrs. Jericho" —
" Why, I mus'n't tell her of it ? " asked Jericho.
" Not for ten thousand worlds ; it wovdd spoil all. We know
what women are, dear creatures ! They smell powder, and they
scream police." Mr. Jericho never felt a warmer admiration of
the wisdom of the sex. " Not a word to Mrs. Jericho. Never-
theless, you may manage indirectly to convey certain wishes.
I've said enough. Adieu ; I'll not fail at seven, to the minute.
Good-bye," and the friend and philanthropist took an affec-
tionate leave.
Ever since Mr. Candituft had blown the praises of Doctor
Dodo, Mrs. Jericho, like an earnest and affectionate wife, wished
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 115
to introduce him to her husband : even though by stratagem.
Responsive to the lady's call, the Doctor came to the house ;
arriving some half-hour before the return of Candituft. After a
brief, confidential gossip, the Doctor suggested that Mrs. Jericho
should introduce him as called in by herself. She had the
vapours ; was nervous ; failing in appetite. Happily, an excuse
could never be wanted by a fine lady for a physician. Fortunately,
IMr. Jericho — anxiously seeking his wife, to give some indirect
council ere Candituft should return — came upon the doctor in
consultation with the lady. "My dear," said Mrs. Jericho,
" Doctor Dodo. I have called him about my horrid nerves."
" Why, what's the matter with them ? I never heard that
anything aUed them. Nevertheless, I'm very happy to see
Doctor Dodo. Surely, a friend of Mr. Candituft's ? " said Jericho.
" We are very old friends, very old," said the Doctor, and he
took hold of Jericho's hand, treating it to a somewhat prolonged
shake.
" Don't let me huiTy you, my dear," said Jericho, about to
retire. " I shall be in the library. Doctor Dodo, I shall be very
happy to make your acquaintance. Very happy ; " and Jericho
walked restlessly to the window.
Doctor Dodo shook his head, saying in a whisper, " Mr. Jericho
must be seen to, dear madam. His appetite is not good ? "
" Excellent," whispered Mrs, Jericho, with emphasis.
" It looks a decided case of — however, we shall see. Pulse,
very extraordinary — very extraordinary," said the Doctor.
" Doctor Dodo, will you take a short notice," said IVIi's. Jericho,
aloud, " and in a homely sort dine with us to-day ? "
" I dine out, my dear," said Jericho : " dine at the Club with
Candituft, and " — a deep, sepulchral knock shook the door — " and
here he is to fetch me."
Candituft was delighted to see Doctor Dodo. The very man
whom he wanted to meet. Perhaps, in the Doctor's way, he would
set Jericho and himself, Candituft, down at the Club. It was
exactly in the Doctor's drive, and he would be only too happy.
" Come along, dear sir," said Candituft to Jericho significantly,
" or they may wait dinner for us."
" Good-bye, SabiUa, my love," said Jericho, and squeezed his
wife's hand a little to his wife's astonishment.
" And now, Doctor," said Candituft, when the three were in
the carriage, " your work is over for the day. You must oblige
us with a drive — we have a little call to make ; therefore, allow
me to direct the coachman. After our call — we sha'u't be lon^ —
we'll all dine together."
Doctor Dodo was the most polite of men. He at once acceded
I 2
116 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
to the request ; and the coachman, guided by Candituft, at eight
precisely, drove on Battersea-Fields. " Eh ! " cried the Doctor
— " What ! I smell powder ! "
" And there's the game," cried Candituft, and he pointed to
Colonel Bones and Thrush who had just alighted from a cab,
driven to the field by the unconscious Bob Topps.
" This is not fair, Mr. Candituft. You've entrapped me here ;
I shall not stop," said the Doctor.
" Nay, only five minutes, for Mrs. Jericho's sake," said Candi-
tuft. " You may be needful, Doctor."
" I can be of no use, none whatever. You'll please to remem-
ber, I'm a physician, not a surgeon. However, as I'm here, if
you'll use dispatch" — and the Doctor looked at his watch — "I"ll
see the business through."
" Thank you — a thousand thanks," said Candituft, and imme-
diately he and Thrush conferred. The parties came to fight —
not to exj^lain : the seconds ruled that. Whereupon, the men
were immediately placed. Candituft looked at them with an eye
of admiration ; saying to himself, — " I think, as near as possible,
precisely on the Duke's own ground."
All ready. Colonel Bones, with a grunt and a grin, fires at
the signal. His ball goes clean through Jericho's bosom, knocking
oif a button in its passage, and striking itself flat against a pile
of bricks.
" A dead man ! " cried the Doctor, running to Jericho.
" My friend ! " exclaimed Candituft. " Have you made your
will ? "
" Eh ! what's the matter ? " said Jericho.
" Matter ! " exclaimed Doctor Dodo, and he pointed his cane
to the hole in front of Jerichos coar, immediately over the region
of his heart ; and then, walking round him, stared at the hole
between the fourth and fifth rib. " Matter ! It's the first time
I ever heard a man with a bullet clean through his heart, ask —
what's the matter ! "
" I'm blessed if here ain't the ball, as flat as a penny, with
the waddin about it," cried Bob Topps, jiicking up the lead.
" What ! Eh ? Why, gentlemen," said the Doctor, taking the
ball, and peeling from it the fragments of paper — " are you so
rich that you wad with bank-notes 1 "
The Colonel's ball had passed through Jericho's bank-note-
paper heart ; and Jericho lived and moved, and was none the
worse for it. Jericho fired in the air ; whereupon the Colonel
and Thrush, with a strange leer at him, avowed themselves more
than satisfied. Jericho declared the whole matter to be a good
joke, and was about to enter the Doctor's carriage. " I beg your
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 117
pardon, sir," said tlie Doctor, " but no man, or devil, or whatever
he may be, rides in my carriage, who can live with a hole through
his heart." And the Doctor jumped inside, shouted " home,"
and was whirled from the ground.
Neither Thrush nor Bones cared to ride back ; indeed, they
proposed to walk. Whereupon, Jericho beckoned to Topps —
" Not if you'd turn these fields into gold and give 'em me," cried
Bob ; and he jumped on his box, and drove away.
" Dev'lish impudent fellow," said Jericho to Candituft : but
Candituft made no answer. He cared not to talk even to the
Man of Money, the money having a hole in its heart.
CHAPTER XIII.
The ball that went through Jericho's heart, killed Doctor
Dodo's reputation. The Doctor was one of those stiff-necked
men who will believe their own senses in oisposition to their own
interests. He was signally punished for his obstinacy ; and, we
trust, will stand pilloried in these pages as an instructive examjile
of misfortune, bigoted to a faith in its own eyes, ears, and under-
standing. Why — with a wife and increasing family hanging at
his coat pockets, — why would Doctor Dodo, in defiance of the
world, insist upon enjoying his own convictions 1 How many
men liave been ruined by the extravagance ; nevertheless, head-
long simplicity will not take warning !
Doctor Dodo declared that he had been inveigled to the ground
— the Battersea Waterloo — and therefore was under no profes-
sional pledge of silence. Again, the gun-shot wound enjoyed by
Jericho — as Dodo sneeringly phrased it — was so extraordinaiy,
so marvellous, seeing that the man was no worse for it — that,
with trumpet voice, the case must sound an alarm to the whole
profession. If men were to live with holes in their hearts, there
was an end of the delicate mystery of anatomy. Man became
no jot more dignified than polypus.
" I tell you, Doctor Stubbs, a hole clean through the fellow's
heart," cried Dodo to a brother physician, who, with finger and
thumb dreamily fondling the tip of his nose, looked askance at
the heated narrator. Dodo fired at the look of doubt, and
l)ellowed, " I tell you clean — clean ! If the ball had passed
through a crumpet, it coukbi't have gone cleaner."
" And the — the man walked from the ground ? " said Stubbs
with wary look and voice.
lis A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Never felt it," said Dodo, " Walked away, Stubbs ; strode
off like an ostrich."
" Hm ! " said Stubbs ; and the good fellow thought of Dodo's
large family with friendly concern. " Hm ! And was there
much hemorrhage 1 "
" None, none, Stubbs : no more than if you'd fii-ed through a
pancake," exclaimed Dodo.
" You couldn't" — Stubbs spoke very tenderly — " You couldn't
be mistaken, my dear Dodo 1 It was the heart 1 "
The blood rushed to Dodo's face, choking his speech. Giving
a violent jerk at his neckcloth, then sternly composing himself.
Doctor Dodo gave the following testimony solemnly, as though
the honour of a life depended on it : — " My dear sir — Doctor
Stubbs — I am not a man to joke, sir ; I defy my worst enemy
to say that. Well, sir, upon my professional reputation, Colonel
Bones's bullet went through the left ventricle of Jericho's heart."
" Dear me ! very odd — very odd ! Of course, if you aver
this"
" Aver it ! I saw the wound ; the hole. Doctor Stubbs, the
hole. I say it ! On my professional reputation, standing before
Jericho, I saw through him. As I am a gentleman, I saw the
setting sun through his fourth and fifth ribs."
" Very strange," said Stubbs, in the kindest, most conciliating
way. " What do you think of it 1 "
" Think ! Why, when I saw the man walk away ; when I know
that he is now as well as ever ; what must I think — averse as I
am from all such notions — what must I think but that Jericho
has sold himself to the devU ? What do you smile at, Doctor
Stubbs l " cried Dodo, angrily.
" I couldn't have thought you believed in such bargains," said
Stubbs, gently. " Besides, whatever may have happened in the
dark times, we mus'n't believe in such transactions now-a-days.
Political economy forbids it."
*' I don't see ; I don't see," cried Dodo. " I say, sold himself
to the devil ; and why not ? "
" Why, my dear Dodo, you see we must concede that supply
is ruled by demand, and " — and Stubbs thought to pacify Dodo
— " and between ourselves — ^if half we hear be true, I think the
devil must have his hands full. And so, my good friend, take
my advice ; say nothing about the matter."
" What ! " cried Dodo, " close my eyes — shut my mouth ? Not
out of my grave, Doctor Stubbs ; certainly not. I know you're
a prudent man, with a reverence for the world, and so forth.
But for myself — as I say — not out of my grave. No, no ; not
out of my grave," and with a smile and a waive of the hand that
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 119
said — " Doctor Stubbs, you're a pitiful fellow," Dodo strode from
his mean adviser.
Colonel Bones — it was at the Cutancome Club that the Doctors
met — dropt in a few minutes after the departure of Dodo ; five
minutes after, came Commissioner Thrush. It was plain from
the strange looks of the men that there was a dark secret between
them. Bones lifted his eyebrows ; Thrush upraised his. Bones
drew his mouth into a small significant hole ; Thrush puckered
his lips to a point. Bones threw up his hands ; Thrush, with
shaking palms, responded to the gesture. And then Bones and
Thrush seated themselves at the opposite sides of a table ; and
squaring their elbows upon the board, looked silently in one
another's faces.
" Hm ? " cried Bones, after a pause. " Hm ? Ever seen
anything like it in Siam ? "
" Who could have thought it ! " cried Tlunish. " Who could
believe the devil such a fool — such an ass ? "
"After all; Commissioner, it's long been my opinion that
the devil is a fool. We've flatter'd him too much ; thought
too highly of him. The ' devil's a nincompoop. Hm ? " said
Bones.
" He must be ; or could he ever have bought such a penn'orth
as Jericho 1 " asked Thrush.
" Vulgar notion. Commissioner. The devil buys nobody :
folks when they've a mind to it, give themselves away. The
wonder is, some of 'em are taken even at a gift. Hm ? "
" Wrong, Colonel, wrong ; I'm certain of it, the devil's a liberal,
punctual dealer in the market, and when he buys outright, pays
ready money for his goods. I wonder how much he's given for
Jericho ? Who'd have thought that Doctor Faustus should come
up again in our time ! That hole in his heart accounts for the
money in his pocket. Colonel Bones," — cried Thrush, with
sudden solemnity.
" Commissioner Thrush," said Bones, sonorously responding.
" We owe a duty to society. We must expose this fiend,"
exclaimed Thrush, rapping the table.
" Strip him to the world," coincided Bones, " that the world
may see through him. Hm 1 "
" Tear the demon from his gilded temple," cried Thrush,
eloquent in his indignation, "and appal mankind with the
hideousness of wicked wealth."
" Beautiful ! Hm ] " and Bones rubbed his hands, pleased
with promised sport.
" Nevertheless, Colonel, let us proceed regularly, respectably.
I have turned the matter over ; and I think our best line of action
120 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
is this. — Is this," and Thrush, gathering himself to the table,
brought his forefinger to his nose, to steady his opinion. " We
will call upon the rector of the demon's parish."
" Hm ? " said Bones, doubtmgly. " Well, if you think so."
" We will inform him of the existence of the fiend your bullet
has discovered " — Thrush paused.
" Very good," cried Bones, encouragingly, " Very proper — if
you think so."
" The rector will then lay the matter before the bishop of his
diocese " — Thrush again paused.
" Excellent ; quite according to discipline," said Bones, " and
what then 1 Hm 1 What then ? "
" Why, then," continued Thrush with an awful expression of
face, " why then, the bishop — I have no doubt of it, whatever —
the bishop will, with his pastoral grasp, seize upon Jericho, and
haul him into the ecclesiastical court."
The fierce, grim, cannibal look of the colonel was softened into
compassion. " Poor devil ! " said Bones.
" There is no help for it," cried Thrush, with the air of a man
determined upon making a sacrifice in no way distressing to
himself. " No help for it. Perhaps, it is not agreeable to be
mixed up with such a matter. It is certainly not pleasant to go
down to posterity in company with a demon. Nevertheless, we
owe a debt to society. Therefore, we will first obtain the attesta-
tion of Doctor Dodo, and so assured, proceed to Doctor Cummin
of St. Shekels. Man owes two solemn debts ; one to society, and
one to nature. It is only when he pays the second, that he covers
the first."
" Beautiful ! Hm ? " said Bones.
" My dear fellows," said Stubbs, joining the two friends vowed
to the destruction of the demon Jericho, " have you seen Dodo
lately ? "
" Saw him last night, didn't we ? " answered Thrush, with a
wink, to Bones.
" I may speak to both of you confidentially," observed Stubbs
in trustful tone. " I believe we all have a regard for poor Dodo :
an excellent fellow — will talk, that's the worst. Has no stopper
to his mouth ; what rises from his heait will run out at his lipa,
that's his misfortune, poor fellow ! but — well, well, — we all have
our faults. Now, I want to ask you" — and Stubbs, looking about
him, lowered his voice — " I want to ask, have you observed any-
thing odd about Dodo ? Anything at aU flighty ? — ^you know
what I mean."
" Why, upon my word" — said Thrush, di-agging out the sylla-
bles, and then pausing.
(
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 121
" He has a large family ; I may say, a sweet family. An
excellent wife, too. But, poor fellow ! he has not had time to be
rich, and I hope — yes, I do hope," said Stubbs, emphatic, " that
the brain's all right."
" What ! Cracked 1 " cried Bones. " Does it ring as if
cracked — hm ? "
" This is in the closest confidence," again urged Stubbs ; " but
I assure you that, for half-an-hour. Dodo would insist upon it
that a man — it would be unjust, ungenerous, to mention his
name, but a man of unbounded wealth and equal honour — had
received a bullet through the left ventricle, you understand, of
his heart ; and that the man was still alive. And this," Dodo
said, " he had witnessed ; had seen the simset thi-ough the per-
foration. And still alive ! "
Bones slowly rubbed his hands.
" Well ? " said Thrush, coldly.
" Well ! " cried Stubbs. " My dear sir, when a man makes
such an avowal, we know that the brain — for the time, at least —
is gone. And when, moreover, the man happens to be a physi-
cian, why then " — and the Doctor, in despair of utterance big
enough to express the result, took a pinch of snuff.
At this moment Doctor Mizzlemist joined the party. " Seen
Dodo lately 1 " said he, looking mysterious. " Very odd. I
suppose he means it as a joke ; but jokes are not exactly the
things for physicians ; indeed, not for any man who'd ride in his
carriage. Jokes are the luxury of beggars ; men of substance
can't afford 'em."
" Very true. Doctor," said Stubbs, nodding serious affirmation.
" Must be mad, I think," said Mizzlemist. " Going all about
the town, swearing that he saw a man shot through the heart,
and the man walk from the ground. Why, his diploma isn't
worth so much ass's-skin. Who'd employ such a physician ?
Now, this is Dodo's dilemma — law, insanity, poverty ; the prongs
of the caudine fork — if I haven't forgotten my classics," and
Mizzlemist extended his three fingers.
" What do you mean? And only for saying a man was shot?"
stammered Tlirush, " what do you mean 1 "
" In the first place" — and Mizzlemist smacked his lips — " there
is libel, inasmuch as to assert that a man lives with a bullet-
hole in his heart, iu the opinion of every soimd lawyer implies
a diabolical compact."
" Good," cried Stubbs, mucli satisfied,
" Secondly, if the physician escape libel, he is open to a writ
de lunatico," said Mizzlemist, his voice cheerfully rising.
'• There can be no doubt of it," averred Stubbs.
122 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Thirdly, if he get clear of libel, and, more extraordinary
still, escape a lunatic jury, why, the physician's practice is gone
— dead as a fly in his own ointment."
" Physicians don't keep ointment," said Stubbs, with dignity.
" We prescribe — simply."
" His practice is gone," repeated Mizzlemist, " and then, if
he's not made his fortune, then " — and Mizzlemist rolled the
verdict over his tongue, — " then there is poverty, emphatic
poverty. And so, as friends of Dr. Dodo, give him a hint, do.
Are you going westward, Stubbs 1 I see your wheels are at the
door. Can you give me a trundle ? "
" With pleasure," and Stubbs and Mizzlemist straightway
departed.
" You did not see the hole yourself, Colonel ? " asked Thrush,
■with contemplative face.
" Why, no. I was the last person to look at it, you know.
Hm ? " cried Bones.
" I wish I had had a peep. Would have been more satisfactory
■ — much more," said Thrush, puzzled.
" I saw no blood ; and I was near enough to see that. Hm ? "
and Bones nibbled his thumb-nail.
" After all," and Thrush spoke like a man of amended judg-
ment, " after all, it must be Dodo's joke, or if not" — and
Thrush pointed expressively at his own forehead, " poor fellow !
A large family, too. At all events, we cannot be too prudent.
And so, till we hear more, I think we will postpone our call
upon Doctor Cummin."
" I must say I wouldn't trouble either him or the bishop
without better grounds. For my part I think there must be a
mistake. And then there's libel, and lunacy, and — though I've
nothing to lose — there's poverty, and — upon my word" — and
Bones seemed fixed in the opinion — " I think we had better hold
our peace."
" I think so too," cried Thrush, very readily. " For I recollect
it was a saying of the King of Siam's, that the giant Whapperwo,
who with his little finger could level stone walls, was at last
knocked down by his own tongue."
" Very strange," said Bones, opening a letter — one of two
brought by the servant. " Jericho, I suppose to show he bears
no malice, asks me to dinner."
" It is odd," answered Thrush, reading the twin missive ; " but
here, too, he asks me. This looks like conscious innocence.
Dodo must be jesting, or must be mad."
" At all events, we'll go — hm ? — I say we'll go " — Thrush
bowed assent — " if only to look about us. Nevertheless, I must
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 123
Bay that I am auxioixs for Dodo — anxious for his wife — anxious
for his family. Hm 1 "
And Rumour blew upon the hole in Jericho's heart — blew as
through a brazen trumpet — making many modulations. We
have heard her at the luxurious Cutancome. Let us listen to
her at the Horse and Anchor, frequented by Bob Topps, whose
simplicity and goodnature had made him a sudden favourite
with the rugged charioteers wlio drank and baited at the hostelry.
*' What's your fare, Bob ? " a cabman wag would ask, playfully
satirical on Eobei't's innocence, " what's your fare, now, from the
first of April to Jerusalem ? " Another, in the like vein would
demand of Bob " how much he'd take to drive over Lady-day,
and set down clear of the water-rate 1 " And Bob gave and took
in the best of humour, and in a few days, with the help of ale —
the liberal " footing " of a beginner — commanded, when he would,
an attentive audience. And Bob told the story of the duel from
the beginnir^. *o pleased listeners. When, however, he came to
the hole in the duellist's heart, the duellist still alive, he met
with boisterous unbelief.
'' Upon my word and honour, gentlemen" — said Bob earnestly
— " I picked the bullet up myself; and it was as flat — as flat
as any shilling. It had gone clean through him."
" And him as it hit," asked one of the audience, " was still
alive 1 "
" Alive ! Why, I tell you, he wanted me to drive him home.
But, no, no, says I. In course not : I wasn't goin' to pison
my cab, and a new 'un, too, with brimstone," said Bob sagaciously.
" Well, if that lie isn't enough to take one's wheel ofl",'' said an
old man, holding Bob's ale-pot in his hand ; and then winking
at the donor, and taking a long, deep draught to right himself.
" A hole right through him, eh 1 " said another, a grave jester.
" Why didn't you thread him with your whip, like a herrin'
through the gills ? There's a song that talks o' hollow hearts,
but I 'spose the song don't mean hearts with holes in 'em like
grindstones."
" You may say what you like," cried Bob, " I know the man ;
I saw the light twinkling through him — and more than that,
his name's Jericho."
" What ! the rich man that they're always talking about in
the paper 1 The man that's buying everything ? The man
that's goin' to have gold scrapers at his door, and lion's head
knockers cut out o' diamonds? You're a good fellow, Bob,
though you know no more of the fares of town than the Babies
in the Wood, — still you're a good fellow, and I wouldn't see you
124 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
hurt. So you'd better say nothiu' aginst such folks as Mi\ Jericho.
Why, what are you to such as him 1 He'd put you into the
Court of Chancery for scandal, and none of your dearest friends —
not even the wife o' your bosom with the biggest telescope as ever
was, would ever be able to see a bit of you agin. Do mind what
you're about," and the philosopher and friend pulled at the ale.
" Don't tell me," cried Bob ; " that Jericho — oh, there's some-
thing precious wrong there ! A man can't live with a hole in
his heart, and the devil know nothiu' about it."
A pelting shower came on ; there was a sudden demand for
cabs, and all Bob's audience were speedily ou their several boxes.
He alone sat in the tap-room, pensive and puzzled.
" My good lad," said the landlord of the Horse and Anchor,
addressing Bob with considerable kindness — " my good lad, I like
you, but take my advice — don't give your mind to lymg. A lie
may do very well for a time ; but like a bad shilling, it's found
out at last — it is, upon my word and honour. Still, if you must
lie — if you can't help it — tell lies about them as is your equals ;
don't lie agin them that has money enough to eat you. Without
salt ! " added, in the way of exclamation, the Horse and Anchor.
" Breeks, my dear, I've long been sure of it, though 1 never
said anything about it." —
(The hole in the heart, reader, is now discussed beneath the
roof-tree of Breeks, Jericho's tailor ; Mrs. Breeks miich outraged
in her feelings that her husband will continue to make for that
serpent.)
" I never spoke — I never do 'till I'm forced — but as true as I
wear a wedding-ring, I always used to feel hot and cold shivers
when you came from measuring that creature. And some day,
some twelve o'clock at night, take my word forit, he'll be carried
off in a red-hot chariot, with your clothes upon him."
'• Should be sorry, Julia, to lose so good a customer. To be
sure, ]VIi\ Jericho is not the man he was" — said Breeks.
" Man ! There's no doubt of it, he's sold himself to Beelzebub,
and given a stamped receipt in his own blood for the money.
Else I should like to know how a man could live with a hole iu
his heart."
" It's nothiu' whatever," — said Breeks — " easily enough."
" Breeks, you're getting quite a heathen, and for the sake of
the dear children, I won't live with you," pouted Mrs. Breeks.
" See, Julia, what a hole your eyes once made in my heart,"
cried the flattering tailor.
" Quite another sort of thing. Holes of that sort ar'n't
supposed to kill ; " and the wife proudly smiled.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY, 125
" No : they certainly do heal, and don't leave so much as a
scar behind. Time does fine-draw 'em wonderful. But don't
believe it, Julia ; certainly Mr. Jericho isn't the man he was :
he's thin to a wonder, and solemn to match. And once he was
so lusty and so droll. To be sure, then he never paid, and so
took any joke. Do you recollect once when I made him a whole
suit, without a single pocket ? ' Why Breeks,'— says he—' why,
there's never a pocket ; not a single pocket.' ' I know that,'
says I. ' I made the suit so a purpose.' ' Why so ? ' says he.
' Why,' says I, ' Mr. Jericho, whenever I ask you for money,
you say you never by no means have so much as a shillin'.
Now, when a man never has money, what's the use of pockets ?
I wouldn't any longer hurt your feelins to make 'em.' Law !
how he laughed: never laughs now, — but in return, what a
jewel of a paymaster ! "
" Paymaster ! And how do you know where his money comes
from ? I shouldn't wonder if his money in partic'lar isn't after
all— as Mr. Jabez Spikenard says of all money— so much dust
and ashes."
" I can't say," answered Breeks ; " all I know is, you very
soon turn it into mutton and tatoes. And as for the hole that's
talked of— if Mr. Jericho's heart had as many holes as a cullender,
you'll be good enough to wink at 'em."
" What ! be blind to wickedness ! I never was in all my life,
Breeks, not even afore I listened to Mr. Spikenard, and it isn't
likely I'm going to shut my eyes now. I'll learn all about this
hole of Satan's make, depend upon it : I'll give all the partic'lars
to dear Mr. Spikenard, and won't he make a discourse on it that'll
drag the hearts out of the very charity children ! I ivill, Breeks,"
averred the wife.
" I'm sorry to hear it, Julia : because, I did intend to give you
a new cherry-coloured satin. You look well — 'xtremely well
in cherry-colour, Julia. Yes : I had made my mind up to a new
gown."
"And what's to baulk a blessed intention, Breeks?" asked
Julia.
" Why, I'd put aside the money from a bill of Mr. Jericho's.
And only to think, if when you was at chapel, the cherry-
coloured satin should turn upon your very back to sackcloth aud
ashes ! "
" Breeks, my love," said the wife with sudden energy, " I'll
risk it."
" Mr. Jericho " — said the tailor — " is shamefully abused.
'Cause they can't find a hole in his coat, they pick one in his
heart. See, too, what we owe him ! Any other man, when I'.e
126 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
got rich, would have left the tailor of his struggling years ;
would have cut him off like an end o' thread, — and gone to the
west. Has Mr. Jericho done so 1 "
" He hasn't, love," said Mrs. Breeks, melting.
" Has money made any difference in him — 'xcept this ? Afore
he never paid, and now he does ? "
" It's a sweet truth," cried the wife, continuing to soften.
" And as for this talk about the hole — it's a venomous false-
hood. Besides, what is it to us ? "
" What, indeed 1 " exclaimed Mrs. Breeks.
" He pays his way like a prince — I only wish all princes paid
like him," — cried the emphatic Breeks — " 'twould be better for
some tailors. And are we to see a hole in such a customer's
heart 1 Not if the sun and moon and- all the stars was shining
through him. But I don't believe it. No: it's a wicked
scandal."
" Backbiters, as Mr. Spikenard says, are like locusts ; they
love to feed upon the fat of the land. They've no doubt bit the
hole ; nobody else. Yes, my love ; you've made me quite happy ;
quite restored my confidence in our customer. I shall be proud
to wear a gown out of his money ; it will show I don't turn
against him. And I think this time, love " — and Mrs. Breeks
patted the face of her lord with kitten playfulness — " this time,
not a cherry-colour : no, dearest ; a crimson."
In Primrose Place the hole in the heart, played upon by the
rapid lips of Mrs. Topps, had a various effect. Bessy was struck
with fear and wonder ; Bessy's mother thought there might be
something in the story ; and yet could not believe it : and
Carraways laughed outright at the tale. " I assure you, father,
Jenny seems quite shocked at the circumstance. Poor
girl," said Bessy, " she will have it, something's going to
happen."
" No doubt," laughed Carraways, " or how would the world
go on 1 Come, teU us all about it, Jenny," said the old gentle-
man, as Mrs. Topps, with a staid grave face, crept from an inner
room. " Mr. Jericho got a hole in his heart, eh ? "
" Yes, sir ; and everybody's wondering about it — for he's not
dead, and not likely to be," said Jenny.
" And what do you think of it, Jenny ] Come, speak out,"
said Carraways.
" Why, if you please sir, it isn't for such as me to think any-
thing ; still, I have heard of people selling themselves. I have
heard that the — the — the " —
" The devil, eh Jenny 1 " said Carraways.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 127
"If you please, sir," and Jenny curtsied. "That he walks-
about like a hungry lion to buy folks."
" And you think he's had a cheap penn'orth of Mr. Jericho,
eh ? "
" I didn't say that, sir," said Jenny ; " still, everybody -wonders
how he's got so rich. He says it's a mine of metal. Folks say,
a mine of brimstone. But this I know " — and Jenny encouraged,
became voluble — " this I do know. A bullet went through Mr.
Jericho's heart ; and the lead was as flat as a plate, for Bob
picked it up, and after that Jericho walked away. He wanted
to ride ; but Bob — bless him ! — knew better than that. Oh
yes ! "
" And this is Bob's story, is it ? " said Carraways, gravely.
" Hm ! I'm sorry to hear it. I'm afraid, Jenny, my good girl,
I'm afraid Bob loves to drink."
" La, sir ! No more than a baby," said Jenny.
"Just so," said Carraways.
" Besides, there was a doctor that handled the bullet — a lucky
thing that, tor dear Bob — and moreover, that saw through the
hole in Mr. Jericho's breast — and more than that, that says he'll
have Mr. Jericho afore the bishops, and put him in the Fantas-
tical Court. And the doctor, by what I hear " — said Mrs. Topps,
with burning face — " drinks no more than Robert."
" "Well, Jenny, well," said Carraways, with a smile. " I like
you to defend your husband. It's very natural ; very proper.
But the world, my good girl, can't and wont think as you do.
I know a little, you'll allow, of Bob ; and though I can speak
from no absolute evidence, nevertheless, I have a suspicion that
he has a liking for drink. If this be so, tiy and reform him."
" I will, sir," said Jenny, and the tears came into her eyes.
" I may be wrong : but watch him, and if need be, persuade
him against so dreadful a vice."
" I will, sir, indeed I will," cried Jenny, weeping outright.
" I don't believe this story. Nobody will believe it. Every-
body will take it as a drunkard's tale ; therefore, warn Bob ;
warn him from me. There's a good girl."
" I will, sir ; thank'ee, sir," and poor Jenny, with saddened
heart, crept from Primrose Place, sorrowful for her weak and
foolish husband. It was the first thin cloud that had crossed the
honeymoon ; and suddenly, the world had never looked so dark
to Jenny.
The Hon. Cesar Candituft, on the night of the duel, went to
bed in a state of grievous perplexity. There could be no doubt
that the bullet had passed through Jericho. The man, it was
12S A IVIAN MADE OF MONEY.
horribly clear, held a supernatural tenure of existence. It waa
impossible to continue his friendship, for the mystery would be
blown in all corners of the town. Impossible, too — or, at least,
nnsafe — to marry into such a family. Who was to know what
infernal compact did, or did not exist among them ? That he,
Cesar, should have a bosom friend, so rich, with a hole in his
heart !
Mr. Candituft, wearied by dreams in no way complimentary
to Jericho, sat late at breakfast. The servant brought in a small
packet. It was a letter from Mr. Jericho with a most magni-
ficent diamond ring. " Wear this diamond, my dear Cesar," ran
Jericho's missive, " as the type of a friendship, bright, unflawed,
and everlasting." Candituft was a judge of diamonds. The stone
was splendid ; costly. As Cesar sat, gazing at the lustrous pre-
sent, his heart melted in charitable emotions towards the donor ;
his brain sang thanksgiving. He rose, and approaching the
window, in sweet luxurious idleness of feeling, tried the gem
upon the glass. He wrote with diamond point :
" Friendship, mysterious cement of the soul,
I owe thee much."
"Very good," said Basil Pennibacker, looking over Cesar's
shoulder, " but you hav'n't put down the amount."
" Mr. Pennibacker," exclaimed Candituft, " this is an honour
that "—
" Don't name it. I've dropt in like a housebreaker upon you ;
but the fact is, by what I hear, blue fire's come into fashion
again," said Basil.
" Wliat can you possibly mean, dear Mr. Pennibacker 1 " asked
Cesar, sweetly unconscious.
" Mr. Candituft " — said Basil — " you must be kind enough to
explain a matter to me. Understand, I have no objection what-
ever to the sale of any gentleman to the — I wish to be guarded
in my words — to the iniquitous principle. If people will take
themselves to Horns-and-Tail Market, why, that's their afiair.
I may drop a buttermilk tear or so, as you would do, but I
shouldn't think of holding 'em back. After all, sir, to speak
plainly, it is said about town that my respected father-in-law,
Mr. Solomon Jericho, has sold himself to the devil." Candituft
started. " Have you any knowledge of the interesting trans-
action 1 "
" I ! Mr. Basil Pennibacker ! " exclaimed Candituft, his thoughts
wandering and wounded.
" Understand," said Basil, very calmly : " pray, understand.
I have no objection whatever to the sale on Mr, Jericho's personal
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 129
account ; only the world may think that the sulphur runs through
the whole family."
" Surely, sii- " — said Candituft — " surely you are in jest ? "
"If my words were engrossed on parchment, with a fifty
pound stamp to 'em, they couldn't be more serious. Last night,
Mr. Jericho fought a duel ? Battei*sea fields ? You were his
second ? So far, I find I'm right. Well, sir, it is said that
Colonel Bones fired a ball through the heart — how the ball found
it out, I can't say — through the heart of Mr. Jericho."
Candituft dropped his eyelids — smiled — and shook his head.
" Is this true ? " asked Basil. " Doctor Dodo swears it's true ;
but Dodo — some folks say — is a lunatic. Is it true that Jericho,
with a hole through his heart, like a hole through a tailor's
thimble, laughed at the thing as a good joke, and walked like a
postman from the ground 1 "
"IVIr. Pennibacker, in this world we light upon strange
people " —
" "What the monkey said " — cried Basil — " when he met his
sweetheart in tne Ark. Go on."
" Do you not perceive, Mr. Basil — is it not veiy strange — that
a man of your extraordinary acumen does not discover this bullet
to be — a — a metaphor ? "
"I don't know," said Basil. "To be sure I have known
metaphors of the like metal. But what do you mean ? Where's
the metaphor, when the world calls Mr. Jericho, the Man with
a Hole in his Heart ! "
" Ha ! sir," cried Candituft, " it is saddening to a man who
tries hard to love his species — to be compelled to hear such
things. Malice ! Envy ! The cant of wicked poverty — nothing
more. Because a man is rich, he must have no emotions ;
because his pocket is crammed, his heart must have a hole
in it."
" Hm ! " said Basil doubtfully.—" WeU, I'm— yes, I'm satisfied."
And the hero, Cesar Candituft, glanced at his diamond, and
said to himself — " So am I."
130 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTEK XIV.
Mr. Jericho was fully conscious of the malice of rumour.
He well knew that he appeared before the world in a super-
natural, perhaps, in a demoniacal light. The timidity, the
tremors of Mrs. Jericho and her daughters, convinced him that
they saw in husband and father, a man of most mysterious
attributes. Monica, with all her strength of mind, turned pale
at the smallest couitesy of her parent ; and Agatha, suddenly
meeting him on the staircase, squealed and ran away as from a
fiend. " Mamma, dear mamma," she exclaimed in a moment of
anxious tenderness, " I'm sure Mr. Jericho's sold ; everybody
says so — sold. If you love me, tell me now — does your night-
light burn blue ? " And though Mrs. Jericho very majestically
rebuked the giddiness of her daughter, the wife in the deep, silent
niglit — the shrunken Jericho fast asleep, screwed up in himself
as'you would twist a bank -note — the wife would feel the solemnity
of her whereabout. " Should the buyer come," — she thought
while abed — and if folks could be arraigned for their thoughts,
what goodly company would throng the bar ! — " should the
buyer come, I trust he'll know his own side."
Yet Jericho, from the first hour of his change, never felt so
strong in himself ; so insolently vigorous in mind and body. It
was clear he should live for ever : he had been made immortal
by money (not so uncommon a creed this). Death was to be
awed like the human vulgar, and to pay respect to wealth.
The principle of property was to flourish everlastingly in him,
Solomon Jericho ! True it was he continued to shrink — to
waste. Nevertheless, he could not wholly disappear : he must
have body, no matter for its tenuity. But that he was elevated
beyond the anatomical accidents of common humanity, was
plain from the ball that had passed through his heart, and he
alive, without the loss of one drop of blood. To be sure the
hole — for he had stood between two mirrors and seen through
himself — the hole had an ugly look, but who was to know it ? A
secret to be easily kept, with proper caution, even from the wife
of his bosom.
Therefore, Jericho despised the innuendoes, the hints that
buzzed up and down the world— no more valued them than
a cloud of summer gnats. And wherefore ? He knew the way
to conf)und and kill them. In the might and immortality of
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. ]3l
his money, he would bring back homage, flattery, devotion. He
looked upon the world and its millions, as his palace — his
subjects. He felt himself the elect of wealth — the chosen one
designed to develop to the human race the endming rule of cash.
From such moment, there was to him nothing high, nothing
great, nothing beautiful in humanity, — and for this reason,
Jericho believed he could purchase it. In his moneyed eye, man
in his noblest striviug, woman in her holiest devotion, was
ticketted and bore a price. Truth and virtue at the highest and
best, were things for market : and Jericho scorned them, —
because, when he would, he could destroy either commodity, by
huckstering for it.
Jericho strong, stem in his power, had cast about him the
most magnificent presents. He had sought occasion to bestow
gifts of worth and beauty upon the merest acquaintance ; in all
cases, contri\ing that the donation should harmonise with the
taste — melodiously accord with the wish of the gifted. Jewels,
pictures, horses, had Jericho — with more than imperial boimty —
bestowed upon all sides. A week only after the duel, and
Jericho had more than treble the number of his friends and
champions. The Hole in the Heart, in the eye of Jericho's world
had gradually closed ; and the heart was nobler, better, truer,
kindlier than ever.
Mrs. Jericho was soon sweetly comforted by the enthusiasm of
crowds of dear friends for her magnificent husband. She
ought, indeed to be a happy woman, possessing such a man.
Whereupon, Mrs. Jericho, with the slightest touch of remorse
for past ingenuous thoughts, owned he was the best of creatures.
And then she wondered how it was, that any man with so large
a soul, should have so little substance. It really seemed as if all
Jericho's flesh went to make heart !
And Monica entirely vanquished her fears. And Agatha never
screamed again : no ; she would smile when she met her dear
father ; more, would raise herself upon her toes, and take a kiss
from him, gulping it with great content. How, indeed, could
wicked rumours any longer pass into the ears of the young ladies,
when their father had hung there the costliest ear-rings 1 Those
diamonds — like the diamond shield of St. George — shamed and
confounded everything false that approached them. A happy
thought, this, of .Jericho's, to protect an ear with a diamond.
Nevertheless, Mr. .Jericho was doomed to meet with a rebufi:
In the full flush of victory he was to be chilled. Among his laurels
there was an ugly, domestic slug, that would stick there. And
this, too, with Jericho's power of money ! However, the annoy-
ance wan only passing ; a bank-note or two would wipe the eye-
K 2
132 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
sore off; would make the soiled leaf immortally green. Now,
this contemptible, yet irritating slug, was our young friend Basil,
changed almost as much as Jericho himself. Love had seemed
to give sudden maturity to his brain : had seemed to have
advanced to meet time on his way, learning by anticipation his
goodly lessons. It was only at intervals that Basil's odd, quaint
spirit, that had shone in him from boyhood, would now reveal
itself At times, he would be as fantastic as ever, but the fitful
jest would die in sudden gravity. However, altered as Basil was,
his arrival at the mansion of Jericho was a matter of delight to
his mother and sisters. Mrs. Jericho's only trouble was, that her
foolish boy would not be friendly with his excellent father. And
both the girls would earnestly assure their brother — though they
must own Mr. Jericho got awfully thin, and they could not
account for it — that after all he was a dear, kind man, and never
refused anything.
" Wliy, what is the matter, my dear Basil 1 " said Mrs. Jericho.
" Wliy you look ten years older. I'm sure you study too much.
And, you foolish boy, why should you study at all, now ?"
" Why, indeed, mamma 1 " asked Monica. " Why not leave
law to people — poor creatures ! — who have nothing but their
wits ? By what I hear, there's not room even for them : and,
as Mr. Candituft says, it is not kind — it is not philanthropic —
for wealth to study to take the bread out of the mouths of
the indigent. Do give up those horrid chambers, and be a
gentleman."
" Yes, dear," said Agatha ; " and if you must employ your time,
why not go into the army ? You would look charming, Basil,
you would, indeed ; and I'm sure Mr. Jericho would buy you
as many regiments as you'd like to be officer to. Do be a soldier
— there's a darling."
"Or, my dear Basil," — observed Mrs. Jericho with serious
emphasis, — " as you seem strangely inclined to a sober view of
the world, if you would prefer the Church — not, for my own part,
that I think any profession necessary for you — nevertheless, if you
have a regard for the Church — I do not see, looking into the pro-
bability of events, and contemplating — as I have contemplated —
the growing interests of Mr. Jericho — I do not see, my dear child,
why you should not be a bishop." And Mrs. Jericho resignedly
folded her hands at the prospect of Canaan.
" Thank you, my dear madam— in the meantime can I see Mi-.
Jericho 1 " asked Basil.
" Of course, my love. He'll be enchanted at your visit ;
delighted to see you. Here, my dear." Basil followed his mother ;
who, pausing in an ante-room, turned to her son. " Now, my dear
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 133
boy, do be courteous to your father. He loves you — I know he
loves you. And yet you will look so coldly. Ha ! Basil, you don't
know Mr. Jericho's heart."
" Hm ! said Basil.
" My dear," said Mrs. Jericho, entering the library, where
Jericho sat, " I have brought you a truant."
" Happy to welcome him," said Mr. Jericho ; and he rose, and
approaching Basil, held out his hand. Basil, with a look of horror,
started back.
" Basil ! My love ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, astonished at her son's
emotion. " What is the matter ? "
" Why the truth is, dear madam " — said Basil — "I haven't
seen Mr. Jei-icho for some time ; and if he continue to dwindle at
the same rate, I take it in another mouth he'll hardly be visible
to the naked eye."
" Mr. Pennibacker," — said Jericho, with all his power of money
— " have you any business with me 1 "
" If you please — in private," and Basil looked at his mother.
" Basil ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, in a tone of protest ; but Jericho
waved his haud, and without another word, Mi's. Jericho obeyed
the implied gesture. Some shrews are tamed by the more
tyrannous constitution. Mi's. Jericho had been altogether over-
come, softened into the most docile of creatures by her husband's
money. He seemed to have bought the good-will of her bad
temper,
" I am to understand, Mr. Pennibacker," said Jericho majes-
tically, " that you refuse my hand 1 "
" If you jjlease," answered Basil.
" It is my affection for your mother, my love for her daughters,
and — I ought to be ashamed perhaps to confess the weakness —
and a lingering esteem for you, that induce me to condescend
to ask, why you presume to refuse the hand — the hand, young
man — that has fostered you 1 "
" Mr. Jericho," said Basil, plunging into his subject, " are you
aware what the world says of you 1 "
" What ? " asked Jericho, with a grim and ghastly smile.
" Why, it says that — common report, by the way, isn't very
choice in its language — it says that you have sold yourself to
the devil."
Jericho rose, and with his stei-nest dignity and best composure,
asked — " Will you take the stairs, young man, or shall I have
you thrown out of the window 'I "
" Just one moment, sir, and when I've finished my business,
111 make my choice. You sent me some bank-notes, Mr. Jericho,"
said Basil, taking a letter from his pocket.
134 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" I am almost ashamed to own it," answered Jericho. '' But
I knew that to a young man — a youth of generous feelings —
money was always accei^table ; and — yes, I am ashamed to
confess it — I was weak, foolish, fond enough to supply you
with a large sum of money." Here Mr. Jericho took out his
pocket-handkerchief.
"I did not believe the story of the diabolic transfer," said
Basil ; and Jericho believed he had softened his son-in-law ; —
" not for want of witnesses ; because, we know, when the devil
buys, two parties are sufficient to the deed. That I know, allow
me to say, as a moralist and a lawyer."
Jericho ventured to bow.
" I had heard the story of the duel ; and inquired into it. As
for the bullet going through your heart, Mr. Jericho, and you
still paying the world the politeness to remain among us, I did
not — though it posed me at first — I did not believe that, either.
The bullet was a figure — the hole a metaphor — I was satisfied,
and thought my mother safe."
'•' I respect your filial anxiety, Mr. Pennibacker, though it is
so ridiculously needless. Ha ! ha ! Then you were satisfied of
the insanity of Doctor Dodo 1 By the way, poor man ! I'm
sorry for him — sori-y for his family. Of course, his practice is
gone ; no man's life safe in his hands. Poor fellow ! Well, well,
we're frail, feeble creatures. Very arrogant in our wisdom, and
yet — let a pin's point touch the brain, as Doctor Stubbs well
observes — and where are we 1 However, the poor Doctor's
family shall not starve. No : I shall most assuredly provide
for his widow and children." But with all this, Jericho failed
to call forth any cordial love from Basils face. He sat stern
and self-sustained.
" You sent me this letter, Mr. Jericho," — said Basil — " with
bank-notes ] "
" A thousand pounds in — I believe — in hundreds," answered
Jericho, carelessly.
" May I ask, sir, where you took these notes 1 " asked Basil.
" Where ! What is that to you, sir 1 " and Jericho began to
chafe. At last, with a forced smile, as though disdaining
himself for the condescension, he said — " They're new notes,
ar'n't they ? "
Basil looked at Jericho, and then at the notes. Then he
crumpled the paper in his fingers, and the sympathetic heart —
the heart of money — felt a pang, and Jericho was, for a moment,
drawn up in his chair, knees to chin. Basil eyed him with a
fierce look — eyed the notes. " Humph ! " he said, " Odd, tough
paper ! And the marks don't look like ink, but black blood."
A MAN MADE OF MONEX'. 135
" What do you mean, villaiu ? " cried Jericho ; and — it was a
momentary flash of thought, of will — and Jericho saw Basil,
dallying as he was with the secret, silenced, killed, put out of
the way.
" And the hole, sir ! Do you mark 1 " and Basil smoothed
out a note. " Odd, isn't it ? Just the round of a pistol
bullet," and Basil advanced the perforated paper under the very
nose of Jericho, who, fallen in his chair, shrank up bodily from
the note as from a spear's point. " Come, sir," cried Basil,
" confess at once."
" Why, what is the matter ? Confess ! " cried Mi'S. Jericho,
who had lingered near the door, and, alarmed and confused by
the half-sentences that reached her, re-entered the library.
" Confess what 1 "
" I will confess," said Jericho : " and I could only wish that
all the world could hear me ; that all the world might know
your baseness," and the Man of Money glared at Basil.
" Baseness ! Impossible ! Dearest Solomon ! " cried Mrs.
Jericho.
" My love,'' said Jericho : " I have acted weakly — I own it.
Condescending to the prejudices of society, in a rash moment, I
consented to fight a duel."
" The rumour, Solomon, had reached me ; but I would not
reproach you : no ; I have struggled with my feelings, and been
silent. You cared not to make me a widow," said IVIi-s, Jericho,
" but heaven knows I forgive you."
" I received my adversary's ball here," — said Jericho, spreading
his hand over his heart. " A poor man must have been killed,
but there is a fate that watches over property. I was pro-
videntially preserved by my money. I hope I am thankful,"
and Jericho carefully wiped his dry eyes.
" Proceed — I conjure you," exclaimed Mrs. Jericho, with an
alarming gush of tenderness.
" I carried my pocket-book here : 'twas full of notes, the ball
went through every one of them ; and " —
Mrs. Jericho shrieked, as though the peril was imminent.
" And stopt short at my shirt," and Jericho paused.
" T breathe again," exclaimed the thankful wife.
"Well, my dear, I now come to my confession. I had
intended to present your son with a handsome amount on his
approaching birth-day. I sent him a thousand pounds. It now
appears — for the circumstance had escaped me — that the notes
were among those perforated by the pistol-ball. I might have
thought" — and Jericho tried tc^ feel much hurt — "that such
perforation would have enhanced the value — yes, of a thousand
136
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
pounds ; but, I regret to say it, the young man is hardened — ■
bronzed against the finest emotions of the soul — even when
recommended by money. Madam, he is incorrigible."
Mrs. Jericho was wholly won by the story of her husband.
Kind, good, generous creature ! So liberal to Basil. She sent
to Jericho a look of thankful fondness, and then shook her head
at her abashed offspring.
Yes — abashed. Basil was puzzled by the ingenuous confes-
sion of his father-in-law. For a moment he felt a touch of
lemorse, and was about to spring forward and seize Jericho's
hand. And then he paused, and doubt came up again. " If I
am wrong, Mi\ Jericho — if I have been rash and rude, I shall
be glad, delighted, sir, to ask your pardon. But you must
allow me to take a little time — to sift my evidence a little
finer. Meanwhile, sir, you may impound the money," and
Basil laid the notes before Mi-. Jericho. " Good-bye, my dear
mother ; you'll hear, I hope, good news of me soon. Am on
the high road of happiness, and hope soon to put up at AU
Earthly Bliss."
" A strange, wild creature," said Mrs. Jericho, following her
son with loving looks as he darted from the room. " But good
— yes, dear, believe it, good. His heart, I know it, is in its
right place. And these" — and Mrs. Jericho took up the ten
hundred pound notes with a hole in each — " and these protected
your heart ! Henceforth, to me they are enhanced beyond all
price. — Yes, Jericho — Solomon — husband," and the fond wife
carefully folded up the bank-notes, and as carefully placed them
in her bosom, laying her guardian hand above them — " yes, I
shall treasure them. No power — none, Jericho — shall tear them
from me. They saved your life, and to me they are hereafter
beyond all price."
Jericho endeavoured to look resigned — pleased. Such devo-
tion flattered him, though he could not but feel that it cost him
a thousand pounds.
(With respect to the hole in the heart, let us clear up as we
proceed. In a very little while every bank-note was perfect as
before. This was to be expected. When a heart is wholly
made of money, how can it long feel the worst of wounds ?)
A MAN >IAI)E OF MONEY. 1,37
CHAP1"ER XV.
And Mr. Jericho went on, a rejoicing conqueror. His huge
town mansion, burning with gold — the very domain of uphol-
stery, massive, rich and gorgeous, for the Man of Money was for
the most substantial, the most potent development of his cl"eed,
whereby to awe and oppress his worshippers — his house, in its
wide hospitality, embraced, as Jericho devoutly believed, the
world. Let all mankind outside his walls suddenly sink and
die, and he would be convinced that stiU under his roof-tree
were gathered together iall the men and women who composed
the heart, the kernel of human life. The eaiiih might be reple-
nished and set up again all the better, the finer ; both for what
was lost, and what was spared. The kernel might grow kernels,
without husk or straw.
And comfortable, happy people, ■with the bread of competence
and the butter of comfort inch-thick, would nevertheless marvel
at the imagined happiness, the life-long rapture of Jericho. And
honest, weU-to-do folk, from country homes would stare at
Jericho House as though it was made of a single diamond cut
into chambers and banqueting-halls : for it was to them a
magnified Mountain of Light, albeit they had' never heard of the
jewel. And London paupers stared at the walls, as though they
saw in them a strange, fantastic reflection of their own rags and
wretchedness ; and took a savage pleasure, a malicious joy in
seeing their hungry faces flung back from the House of Gold.
And there were others who delighted, though they tasted not
of his labour's, in all that Jericho did : they instinctively loved
him for his money, although they had no hope of a farthing of
it. Nevertheless was he to them a mighty power — a great
presence ; one of the wonders of our mortal state. Could
Ml'. Jericho have papered the sky with bank-notes, these
impartial admirers would have sung praises to the work and the
workman. It would have been a marvellous triumph of wealth ;
to be honoured by the well-to-do accordingly.
Nevertheless, so headstrong, so self-destructive was Basil
Pennibacker, that he refused to cross the threshold of Jericho
House. He resolved to break for ever with the Man of Money.
He had made his last essay upon his own spiint ; and impulsive
and indignant, it rose above the politic restraint. He would
138
A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
touch no farthing of Jericho's means ; he would, in his own
want, be nevertheless his own man of money.
Basil sat in his chamber writing. A. letter lay before him. It
was from his mother — the last of many, sent day after day —
entreating him to Jericho House. All the world would be there,
only too glad to show delight upon the occasion ; for it was
Basil's birth-day. On that day, he came of age. On that day,
he gave a quittance to natural and legal guardians ; and became
invested with the rights of citizen. On that day, in Basil's own
words, he was free to sit down in Parliament, if he could only
find a seat. On that day, he took possession of man's estate —
with his purposes and aspirations, a glorious heritage ! And
Basil proposed to keep his birth-day in finest state, too, though
not at the board of his legal father. And this determination he
had again written — had folded and sealed the letter, when the
clock struck twelve. Basil rose to his feet at the first stroke,
and, with self communing looks, paused until the hour was told.
In that brief space, he had entered into a compact with his
heart, and — with uplifted eyes — silently asked for strength to
maintain it.
Basil then cast a heap of papers in the flames — letters and
other records of his dead, disowned life — and, as he stood leaning
at the fireside, watching the destruction of notes and recollections
once so treasured ; as he looked down upon the curling flames,
and now and then tossed back some scattered fragments to the
burning heap, he laughed a moment as in contempt of his olden
idols — for he had worn some of those things in his bosom, had
kissed them with his lips, had read their words, as though he
caught their syllables from speaking mouths. And now he
laughed ; and the next moment a grave look rebuked the levity.
The flames went out ; the papers were consumed ; and casting
one look at their ashes, specked with dying fire, Basil went to
his rest. He had fulfilled his self-])romise ; had accomplished
his first work. He had, as he purposed, seen his birth-day in
alone : in due and solemn state — as he was fain in after-times to
avow ; with preparation and with ceremony befitting the
crowning One-and-Twenty.
Basil rose early on his birth-day. He was up and out ; for
he feared to be waylaid by his mother and sisters — and he had
resolved, and it was hardly the day to begin with weakness, not
to be made the show at Jericho House. And he felt anger, pity,
that Bessy and her father and mother — the girl so sweet, so
gentle ; the old man with so cheery and strong a heart ; and
the wife so soft and patient, with not a frown or angry word
for fortune — should be forgotten, cast aside like holiday garments
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 139
sported and worn out : — that his mother and sisters should do
this — should value his love for the daughter of a ruined man, as
a mere caprice — a wayward generosity, which, with any other
youthful freak, would last its time, and then subside and die —
gave him the heart-ache, not unmixed with shame — the sharp
shame that comes with blushes for those we love.
Basil, we say, left home early, resolved in his own fashion to
celebrate his coming of age. It was the first day he showed to
the world, — a citizen. He had determined to strip himself for
the race of life, casting aside all needless trappings ; all foolish
cumbrous pride ; all vanities, that at their best bladdery light-
ness, take mvich room ; and sometimes, make much idle noise.
He would start in his path like a runner in his coui-se. But he
shall give the history of the day — an odd, curious day for a
newly-risen heir — in his own words. He shall give it as he
narrated it years after ; when the flush of youth had passed
from his brow ; and in manly maturity of strength and beauty,
with som^ forty years descended with grace and goodness on his
head ; some forty years hardening his cheek ; and looking with
sober sweetness from his eyes, — he told the story of his twenty-
first bu'th-day, to his eldest boy aged eighteen.
" It was after this manner, Basil " — for the boy though some
time distant from the world, is upon arrival to have his father's
name — " after this manner, boy.
" Up and early through the city to the fields ; and there, in
the eye of God, my knees upon their kindred clay, my spirit
seeking its hoped-for home — I asked a blessing on the day. I
prayed that my heart might feel the freshness of life, even as my
body felt in evei-y limb the freshness of the morning earth. I
prayed that my soul might be lighted, even as my sight, with the
gloiy that from the gates of heaven streamed upon the world.
I prayed that I might carry through my days the mingled
feelings of that time. — The constant touch of earth that warned
me whence I came — the flooding light of heaven that showed me
where I'd go.
" And then, Basil, I walked about the fields, and began to
school myself — making little moralities by the way — to see
nothing common in my path, wheresoever it fell— still to wonder
at a blade of grass, with its thousand veins, carrying up and
down the nourishing green blood. And, then, I would lay down
awhile, and listen to the lark — there is a mighty orchestra in
fields and woods, if we would but cultivate the ear to attend to
the musicians, — listen until my blood throbbed in my ears, and I
sprang to the earth, bounding with joy and life. And then,
I peeped in and out of hedges, i^lueking little gentle, bashful
140 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
flowers, that looked so beautiful in the light, and preached this
lesson — one of the many of the day — to him who plucked them ;
to look tenderly, thoughtfully for humble worth, — the hedge
flowers of the world ; the very poor relations, but still relations,
of the lilies of the field.
" After an hour or two, I felt it must be time for breakfast ;
and I resolved to take the meal in patriarchal state. And I
moreover resolved, on this day, to take a lesson of temperance.
So I pitched upon a little bit of a hillock, no higher than a wool-
sack, with a tall poplar in the middle of it. Well, I lay myself
down, and laid my breakfast. Rolls, and butter, a bottle of
milk, and hard eggs. But the moment I was about to fall to,
a bird, perched on the top branch of the tree, piped away, as
though giving me especial welcome to his breakfast parlour :
pausing to acknowledge the creature's civility, my breakfast still
remained untasted. Just as the music was finished, a miserable
woman — a moving bundle of rags — with three children, crawled
round a' corner of the hedge and paused, and for the moment,
seeing my breakfast, looked as though they beheld the Land of
Promise (if, indeed, suet misery had been ever cheered with the
tidings of it).
" And now there were four unexpected guests — ^four hungry
mouths, that, without uttering a syllable, had declared for my
breakfast. The wretched woman's eyes shone with an uncom-
fortable light ; a glittering sharpness, as she saw the food. And
the children though they never stirred a foot — the bread and
butter seemed to drag their hungry heads and shoulders forward,
A grand opportunity this for self-discipline. Providence had so
ordered it, that I might open my Twenty-First Birth-day in a
goodly* and hopeful manner. I gladly acknowledged the occa-
sion ; and, at a word, called the woman and her children to the
outspread meal — there was not enough for all of us — and yield-
ing my place, departed. It was plain the woman thought me
mad. She watched me as I ascended the hill ; and— I could see —
wondering at the stranger, sat down with her children, doubtless
thanking her fortune that had that day sent her a lunatic. And
this was my breakfast when I came of age — so began my trial-
birthday.
" I made my way back to the town, that I might go on with
my lessons : for I determined to study one matter or the other
until I returned to bed. I walked in the Park. There was a
drill-serjeant at work with a score or so of young recruits;
human clods in scarlet livery. It was odd, and in my humour,
sad to see with what pains and care the master-man thumped
and punched and rapped and rebuked his louting, goggling.
A MAN MADE OF MOXEY. 141
shambling 'prentices. With what serene stupidity they took a
tap upon the knuckles, as though the cane was some light pretti-
ness of office — some radiant peacock's feather ; nought uglier or
heavier descending. Curious, too, to see how contentedly these
lumps of men would swallow an oath and curse flung at them, as
though the blasphemy and malediction were an expected part
and portion of their daily bread. And so these civil babes and
sucklings were swathed and bandaged, and set upon their legs,
and taught to walk, and shoot, and stab, and — upon severe
occasions — to throw firebrands among cottage thatch, and bomb-
shells upon consecrated churches. And I thought this a sad
sight ; spectacle of folly and crime, and ignorance. And I deter-
mined, for my life forward, whenever I heard of glory, to think
and speak of it as an evil in the ornaments of greatness — a
harlot in jewels and a crown ; and these filched from the trans-
muted toil of the peasant and the craftsman. And this was the
next lesson of my birth-day.
" Then I wandered to a famous spot. — It was where, in the
olden tim«.', the great grim men in power — ^who wore authority,
as though authority should have the look and manners of an
ogre, not of a sage — set up the pillory wherein men were
punished for having souls with more than the proper daring
and stubbornness of souls. Souls that would have their own
opinions, as their masters had their own teeth ; to digest for
themselves, and not take in the spoon's meat of power, with
thankful looks for what was given them. And the bodies
corrupted with these wicked and rebellious souls were placed in
the pillory — and approaching the spot, I bowed to the place ;
the martyr-field of opinion. And — perhaps, it was that I was
hungry, and with empty stomachs, men, they say, have some-
times wandering heads, but my son " — (the reader, we trust, has
not forgotten that Basil is all the while talking in this page by
anticipation — compelled to do so by the tyranny of the quill, to
his unborn boy Basil, junior) — "but my son, I winked, and
when I looked again, there, indeed, was the piUory : but not the
pillory of punishment ; not the dry, meagre wood ; the hungi-y
flesh-devouring timber. — No : the blood that had run about it
carried strange virtue with it ; a strange excellence, under the
brooding wings of time. The naked wood imbibed the stream :
and the bare pillory became leafy as laurel, and fruitful as the
vine : the leaves of a strange sort, but undying ; and filled with
a sweet perfume that scented far around. And the fruit was of
a curious, a delicious kind ; bite and bite as you would, the
lovely pulp returned, the wound healed ; now bitten, and now
■whole. Well, my boy, having had my day-dream — my vision
142 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
of the pillory — I learned to strive to look backward with thankful
looks : I learned to read the suffering of the man by the light of
his time, and — with all love for the living — to have gratitude for
the dead. We are too apt to bury our accounts along with our
benefactors ; to enjoy the triumphs of others, as though they
were the just property of ourselves. Now, to think against this,
was another lesson — a lesson learned in the Place of Pillory — of
my birth-day.
" And then I looked into a Court of Law — then into a church
— then went upon 'Change, — and in every place tried to divide
man from his double or false man — from the artificial twin-self
that so often walks about the world with him in profane places,
and sometimes in sacred temples.
"And I went into miserable lanes, where human creatures,
styed like swine, had little beyond the swine's instinct, — to eat
and drink, and gabble brutishly. And even here, I leamt to
reverence the human heart, for, in some foul place, some very
nest of misery, — there, it would flourish in its best beauty,
giving out even in such an atmosphere the sweets of love, and
charity, and resignation. It was in one of these places I took
a crust for my dinner ; and tried to swallow a life-long lesson of
patience, and contentment with the meal.
" And this and these were the lessons I tried to learn on my
twenty-first birth-day. Coming to man's estate, I lost no time,
you see, but set out to contemplate for that day what it was
that lay about me."
The reader, who has advanced somewhat more than eighteen
years, to read the foregoing confession, will be pleased to turn
back on the road, it is to be hoped satisfied with the employ-
ment of Basil, whom we left at early mom setting out for his
birth-day work. We take it there are few who thus upon the
thi-eshold of manhood welcome one-and-twenty. Who knows ?
The example of Basil may beget followers.
Early the next morning, Basil took his road to Primrose Place.
He had resolved at once to ask Bessy of her father. He would
not accept a shilling of Jericho ; he would not compromise his
conscience by submitting to the poorest obligation at his hands ;
nevertheless, he felt in his heart such a spring-tide of hope and
happiness, that the worst worldly diflaculties were but as a hedge
of thorns, to be thrust aside by an arm of resolution.
Mr. Carraways was alone : deep in his book ; and more and
more assured that he was securing a stock of knowledge that
should make him flourish at the antipodes. It was a little late,
as poor Mrs. Carraways would meekly, sadly suggest, for such
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 143
removal ; but the old man, with every day and hour, assured his
wife — assured Bessy, who, though she tried to smile and look
content, pined and withered beneath the sentence — that it was
the only place for broken men to grow whole again. They
would yet see him in the fulness of fortune ; and he would yet
leave his girl with the dowry of a lady.
" Good morning, Basil," said the old man, with somewhat
forced politeness ; for though he had a true regard for the
youth, he cai'ed not to see him so often at Primrose Place as in
old times at Jogtrot Lodge. However, the ship would sail soon,
and, with tliis thought, Carraways called up his old look of cor-
diality, and gave his old grasp of the hand. " Why, you are out
early for a reveller, eh ? After your doings, last night ? "
Basil stared. He then remembered : Carraways doubtless
spoke of the festival held at Jericho House, in honour of the
absent. He would not explain this. He merely said — " I take
but little sleep, sir."
"Hm! How's that?" asked Carraways. "But the fact
is, Basil, you seem changed altogether. I sometimes think that
one of the judges has lost his gravity, and you've picked it uj) :
for after all, it doesn't seem A'ery well to fit you. I hardly know
if I like you so well in it as in the boy suit. However, yoix're
right, lad. Be grave betimes : 'tis best, and prepares you before-
hand for the knocks that ai'e certain to come. Though, to be
sure, if a man may count upon a bright and easy road — a path of
diamond-dust, with rosebud borders, like the gardens in the
fairy-book — you are the man."
" Indeed, sir," and Basil shook his head, " I think — that is,
I know you mistake my path of life. 'Tis not so fine ; and more,
I hope not so tedious as that you see for me. In a word, I shall
owe nothing to Mr. Jericho."
" Indeed ! What, quarrelled with him ? I'm sorry for that.
You should remember your interest, Basil."
" There, my good sir, without a thought you speak a wisdom
that with a thought you despise. I shall try to make interest
one with honesty ; if it succeeds, why, the profits will bring
the best sweets of gain ; if it fails, why, still it leaves something
behind : it is not all beggary."
" Very good, very excellent, Basil " — said Carraways — " never-
theless, you must not cast away Mr. Jericho. He is a strange
man, uo doubt. If half that's said of him be true, a very strange
man. But then again only that very half, said of the most of
us, would make a deuced alteration in the best looking, — the
most punctual and respectable. Therefore, not half — no, not a
twentieth part that's said — is to be listened to. Nevertheless
144 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Basil " — and, despite of himself, Carraways looked grave, and
felt the craving of curiosity — " nevertheless do you know, it is all
about the world that your father-in-law, a few days since received
a pistol-bullet through his heart, and that moreover his heart
has a hole through it at this very moment 1 "
" Yes, I have heard the story," said Basil. " One of the jokes
of"—
" Ha ! Well, I thought so ; a joke is it ? Bessy would have
it that it meant nothing more than a fable — or hieroglj'phic —
or something of that sort. Of course, I knew that. I knew a
man couldn't live with a hole in hia heart," for all which Car-
raways seemed a little disappointed at Basil's half-explanation
at the moment. Common truth fell like cold water upon the
awakened fancy of the old merchant ; with the greater shock, as
it was rare indeed that he laid himself out for an enjoyment of
the extraordinary.
"And now, sir," said Basil, and he almost trembled a-j he
spoke, " I wish to address you upon the dearest question of my
life."
" Bless me ! " said Carraways, and he gravely seated himself,
and motioned Basil to a chair. Then the old man, with a slight
tremor of hand, wiped his spectacles, replaced them on his nose,
cleared his throat, clasped his hands, and endeavoured to look
the very study of easy, unconscious courtesy ; placid and polite.
And at the time the colour was tingling in his cheeks, and he
felt his heart beat distinctly, painfully.
In few stammering words, speech running freer as it flowed,
Basil spoke of hia affection for Bessy. All that has been said
since the first father was first asked for the first daughter — if the
reader be capable of the task, may be imagined ; and the moat
eloquent and affectionate phraaes assorted from the mountain of
words, to piece out at the bravest and best the declaration of
Basil. At length he paused. Carraways pressed his hand, and
looked mournfully in the young man's face.
"My dear young man," said the father, "once, when the
fortune was of our side, I should have been glad to hear this.
I should have been proud of you as a husband for Bessy. Now,
it can't be."
" Why not ? Indeed, dear sir, I " —
" We have not a shilling, Mr. Pennibacker. Not a shilling.
We have just scraped together a loan — a gratuity — alms — what-
ever the world may call it, to take ourselvea out of the way.
I will not quarter my family upon your relations. Quarter !
Why, 'twould be the town-talk that that cunning old fox Carra-
ways had gulled a foolish boy — the Man of Money's son — to
A MAN MADE OF MONEY, 145
marry a beggar girl. And all to end his own days in clover.
No, sir ; no. You're very good, Basil ; you mean this honestly,
nobly ; I'm sure you do ; but you'll think better of it ; and
with the prospects that await you — with the part you have to
play in the world — in a little while, you'll thank me for refusing
you."
" No, sir, no : for your refusal — though I can fully value
the integrity of its meaning — will change into consent, when
you become assured that no influence, no argument of wealth or
station, can make me debtor to Mr. Jericho for a single shilling.
I will provide for my wife — for Bessy " —
" You are very good," said Carraways, melting somewhat at
the passion of the youth, " very good ; but the fact is, my dear
lad — and make your mind up once and all to hear it — the fact
is, Bessy is already provided for."
" Provided ! Already ! " cried Basil, and the yoimg man turned
pale as a corpse, and shook from head to limb.
CaiTaways was yet more affected by the youth's emotion.
Kindly he took Basil's hand — "I mean my good boy —
don't mistake me, I would'nt be mistaken ; for I can live back
my life " — and the old man's eyes glistened, and his voic*j
trembled — " live it back in my memory to the very moment,
when I asked for Bessy's mother, and I — I can feel for you,
my lad ; believe it, Basil ; I can, boy — I can," and Carraways
stood shaking Basil's hand, his eyes swimming the while, —
begging him to dismiss the matter from his mind, and be "a
good boy and a man."
" I entreat you, good sir — I entreat you, by the precious
memories you speak of — tell me what it is you mean ! Bessy
provided " —
" I mean with a — a ship," said Carraways, with forced
cheerfulness.
" A ship 1 " exclaimed Basil,
" Yes — a ship," answered Carraways. " And I remember I have
an appointment with the Captain. So if you will you shall walk
part of the way with me ? " A proposition that, as the reader
will conclude the politic lover immediately assented to.
U6 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTER XVI.
Nothing could have been more perfect — more complete — tlian
the magnificent festival at Jericho's house, in nominal honour of
the coming of age of Basil Pennibacker. At an early hour, Basil's
chambers had been beset ; beautiful presents and delicate
bouquets were sent to the student, and they who brought
them found no one to relieve the porters, no one to utter a word
to them. All the greeting they met with, was mutely delivered
from a piece of written paper, wafered outside the inhospitable
door. The greeting ran as follows : — To all who may present
themselves. Mr. Basil Pennibacker has gone out to spend the day
with One-and-Ticenty Friends. May not return till to-morrow.
No relatives admitted (on this day) either on business or pleasure.
Vivat the Tenant." For all this, Mr. Jericho felt assured that
Basil would, some time of the evening, present himself. The
hours wore on, and though the hostess and the young ladies were
DOW and then anxiously, nay affectionately, examined upon the
probable causes of Mr. Basil's absence, — after a while, all the
world resolved to forget the cause of the junket, almost as
entirely as though it had been a funeral festival of the olden
day ; a pottle-pot carouse in memory of the new deceased. And
then, let every fair excuse be charitably received. Folks had
their own affairs to attend to ; their own little interests to
look after — their own mortal appetites to appease. Between
four and five hundred people came to do honour to
Jericho's household gods, honouring his son-in-law. And if
Basil could have flattered himself that his absence would cast
ten minutes' cloud above that brilliant mob, very much indeed,
could he have taken a peep at it, would he have been rebuked for
his presumption. As we have said, people had their own afiairs
to mind.
Mrs. Jericho had, it is true, a mother's heart, and every five
minutes — hour after hour — looked where Basil might appear ;
and as the time wore on, and there was no Basil, the mother now
drooped, and now roused herself into some sudden happiness —
some violent enjoyment at some poor platitude, stamped for true
wit, with impress sharp enough to be passed on and on for the
true coin.
Monica Pennibacker was sorry, vexed, that Basil had not
come ; it was so wayward, so foolish. Nevertheless, she could
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. U7
not sacrifice the lover to the brother ; and the Hon. Mr. Candi-
tuft had, no doubt, confoimded by the blaze of Monica's beauty
— for even the best of beauty has its happy killing times — a
beauty, accidentally assisted by magnificent jewels, — committed
himself as a man of honour, once and for ever. He had snatched
five mlautes — hardly five — to speak definitely of mai-riage ; he
had many times played about the subject,and now he had walked
up to the ring, — why, at a blow, Monica, self-sustained as an
Amazon, referred the gentleman to her fathei-. The thing was
done ; and the Hon. Cesar Candituft had nothing more for it than
to dance ofi" reflection till the morning. But no : Cesar thought
of Monica's dowry, and was not the man to jest, even to himself,
upon so solemn a subject.
When we know more about the laws of electricity, it is pro-
bable that there may be a new statute — a law of society — against
so many people meeting to dance. Who shall say, — that one man,
nerved to the deed, to make an off"er of marriage, ia a window-
corner or any other angle of a ball-room — does not in fifty other
places, electrically affect fifty other people ? For all our present
ignorance permits us to interpret, as many rings as go to bed-
cui'tains may at the same moment pass from hand to hand. We
do not v/ish to anticipate or force opinion on this most serious
subject. But as prosaic chroniclers of a prosaic history, we
must state this much ; lea\dng the inference to the reader. —
Almost at the same moment that Mr. Candituft solemuly pro-
posed to Monica, Sir Arthur Hodmadod, urging the lady to name
the inevitable day, assailed sweet Agatha. At the same moment ;
for the young ladies, ere they slept, compared the time by their
own little tiny repeaters.
Colonel Bones never appeared so well — never had so comfort-
able an air as at the party. He seemed, for that night, to have
washed away his grimy pauper look, and entered into an under-
standing with himself to display the gentleman. Perhaj^s it was
the new habit acquired by Colonel Bones, that gave a certain
air of courtesy and glitter to him ; for Colonel Bones took snuff
from a box set with lovely brilliants, the gift of his dear fiieud
and late antagonist, Solomon Jericho.
Commissioner Thrush and Doctor Mizzlemist, also jewelled by
the Man of Money, were after their fashion blithe and happy ;
with the fullest conviction of the sound-heartetlness of their host.
Indeed the hole in Jericho's heart, had, in the world's opinion
closed like a hole in sand : he had, by the force of his magni-
ficence, so conquered and confounded slander. Only one foe
remained unbeaten ; the obstinate, pig-headed Dodo, who —
wherever he could tear the hole open afresh — would avow his
L 2
148 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
faith in the diabolic existence of Jericho. And people listened,
then shook their heads, and — behind his back — pitied poor Dodo.
Very zealous friendship had moved Jericho to prosecute the
slanderer ; but the Man of Money, with his own magnanimity
replied — " Put Doctor Dodo in court ! No, poor man ; I would
rather put him in a strait waistcoat."
The day after the birth-day festival, Mr. Jericho sat in his
library in the happiest of humours. In a very quiet way, and in
the shortest possible time, he had won of Lord Bezant five
thousand pounds. Lord Bezant was one of the Duke of St.
George's friends ; one of the superb knot of men with whom his
Grace, in the most condescending manner, had made Jericho inti-
mate. Five thousand pounds ! A sum in itself of little account to
our Man of Money ; but as an earnest of the favours of fortune,
of the first and dearest importance. For every thousand that
Jericho won upon dice or cards — ^he might, moreover, under
friendly guidance, be lucky on the turf — was so much substance
saved. True it was that he made the birth-day feast given in
the name of Basil a victory to himself; true it was, he had his
passing time of triumph ; but he saw, he felt the cost. He knew
that every farthing came from his heart ; he knew that to make
such outward show he had shrunk and dwindled to fearful
tenuity. Hence, he now slept apart ; solitary in his chamber.
He had no doubt of his vitality ; nevertheless, the principle of
his wealth might wear him to a rag, a shred ; and, at the worst,
this must be unknown. Therefore, we say, it was a new delight
to Jericho when a belief in his constitutional good luck dawned
upon and deepened in him. Men — a happy few — had carried
from the gambling table the splendours of wealth, and why should
not he be one of fortune's — or the fiend's — elect 1
Jericho, since his introduction to the Duke of St. George —
who had so handsomely circulated the plebeian among a host of
noble friends — had never played that he had not risen a
winner. Altogether, in the merest point of time, he had won
some fifteen thousand pounds. As Jericho thought of this, he
laid his hand above his paper heart, and promised a long repose
to the fund. Fortune had no doubt fallen in love with him, and
would give him all he asked. Therefore he would make the
gi'and tour, and — the Napoleon of Trumps — break every bank
in Europe.
Coidd Mrs. Jericho, bound as she was, upon the tenderest of
missions, break uponherlord in happier hour? Serene and softened
by the couAdction of his destined magnificence, he was a little
disposed to enter, by way of passing amusement, into the
sympathies and afi'ections of his people about him.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. UH
" No news of Basil," said Mrs. Jericho : " but, be assured,
Solomon, his absence was no intended affront."
" Don't name it, my dear. He was not missed." To please you,
we did honour to his birth-day. The day was a graceful excuse for
the fete — and as the fete was all that was required, why no doubt
everybody was pleased. At least I saw no disappointment," and
Jericho softly whistled.
" Nevertheless, for all his folly and perverseness — and I must
blame him for his conduct — for all his ill-mauiiers, and I
cannot wholly justify him, I am sure, Solomon, sure that Basil
loves you."
" If such is your opinion, Mrs. Jericho, I must make up my
mind to suffer it."
Mrs. Jericho thought she woiild not persevere in the theme ;
therefore, with sudden vivacity, she changed the subject. " My
dear, of course you are aware that our girls must, some time or
other, settle in life."
" Your girls, my deal", have my free permission to settle when
and where ihey will."
" I was sure of that, dear. I certainly think with our present
position we ought to have commanded something better than a
younger brother for Monica. Nevertheless, as Candituft is
your friend, and I believe a good creature — and as they seem
determined to have one another, why, why should we thwart
them 1 "
" Why, indeed ? " asked Jericho, very calmly.
" Sir Arthur Hodmadod," said Mrs. Jericho, in a tone of apology
for the gentleman, " is certainly a fool " —
" What of that ? " asked the philosopher, " Surely the family
can bear one fool — eh ? Wise enough for that 1 "
"My dear Solomon, you know best of course. To be sure,
had we been tainted with worldly ambition, there is no doubt
that we might have married our children in the very heart of the
peerage, but " —
" I'm quite content as matters stand," said Jericho.
" As I say, you know best. Well, Monica informs me — and
I thought, my love, I would prepare you — that Mr. Candituft
intends to see you to-day ; formally to ask your daughter at your
hands."
" Indeed. Well, as ftir as I'm concerned, I'll give her to him
with the greatest pleasure in life."
" Don't speak with such levity, love ; don't," said Mrs. Jericho
mildly ; " marriage is not a mere bargain."
" Certainly not. Solemn compact — very solemn compact;" and
again Jericho whistled.
150 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Well, then, Solomon, as you consent, what do you propose to
give with the dear child 1 "
" Give, Mrs. Jericho ! I'll give a magnificent party on the
occasion. More than that, — I think — nay, I'm sure that to please
me and honour you — my friend the Duke" — it was thus Jericho
began to speak of his Grace of St. George — "my friend the Duke
will give the wench away."
" 'Twill add a perfume to the orange blossoms," cried Mrs.
Jericho with a gush of sentiment. " 'Twill, if possible, add a
solemnity to the ceremony. But I mean what dowry do you
give ? "
" Dowry ! I thought, my dear, you obsei'ved that marriage
was no bargain 1 Why, you're making it quite a ready money
transaction."
" Now, my dear Jericho, I admire your wit. It is brilliant,
delightful — and I assure you, I am as proud of all your brilliant
sayings, quite as proud as if they were my own. But this is " —
Here the servant entered with the card of " The Hon. Mi-.
Candituft."
" Show him in," said Jericho with an instant decision.
" My dear, exclaimed Mrs. Jericho, hurrying to depart, " I
leave Monica in your hands. I know your noble heart ; I'm
sure you will treat her like a gentleman and — and a father."
With this confiding speech Mrs. Jericho hastened from the room.
Meeting Candituft at the door, she took his hand with the
greatest cordiality, and with the prettiest ignorance of the
purpose of his visit.
" 'Pon my life, my dear sir," said Candituft, " I never saw such
luck as you had last night."
" Why, yes," said Jericho, swelling into figure, " I think the
blind goddess smirked a little on me."
" With such luck, had you set in for play, why, sir, before you
rose you might have been owner of Zebra Park. Not but what
upon principle I detest gambling. It is a vice destitute of the
finer emotions that ought ever to exist among the family of man.
Nevertheless, if a simpleton like Lord Bezant will be ruined, I
do think he ought to fall to the lot of a gentleman and a wise
man," and Candituft bowed to Jericho. " It is devilish annoying
to see a fool flung away upon a mere vulgar brute of luck. It
jars one's sense of propriety. No, at least, gentlemen ought to
ruin gentlemen."
" A beautiful motto, Candituft. Have it written up at the
Club," said Jericho.
" Needless, my dear sir, quite needless ; 'tis in the hearts of
the members. And now, my dear friend, for you are my
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 151
friend," said Candituft, with his every-day emotion, " I have a
delicate business to open to you. An affair affecting the happi-
ness of " —
" Go on," said Jericho, quite prepared for the ordeal.
" But first let me not forget my friend," said Candituft-
"Hodmadod is, we know, a fool."
Jericho, nursing his knee, replied, " I do not think the Parlia-
ment assembled could have the face to deny it."
" Nevertheless, a very good creature, and, I dare say, will make
a good husband. Yes, he'll drive well in the wedding-ring."
" Let us hope so," replied Jericho, prepared for the best or the
worst.
" But he's bashful as — as — 'pon my life, I'm at a loss for
a simile. And as he and I are old friends, and as he knew
that I should see you — in fact, he's in the house this moment ;
came along with me — he desired me to inform you that Miss
Agatha had consented to fix the — the — what d'ye call it — the
happy day."
"Wish th.^m joy," said Jericho. "My friend the Duke shall
give her away."
" As to the young lady's dowry," and Candituft hesitated.
" I can't give a farthing. Can't afford it, my dear Candituft,"
and the Man- Tamer laughed at the declaration as an intended
jest. " Can't afford it. Besides, think of the girl's beauty, talents,
temper ! "
" They have all had their full influence upon my friend. And
Arthur — good, silly fellow ! — is not avaricious. Besides, he has a
handsome property of his own ; and I'm sure he'll be delighted,
happy to marry the young lady merely for herself.
" That's true love — Cupid, as you see him in the valentines,
without any property," said Jericho.
" Of course, my good friend, you will bestow a handsome outfit
and "
" To be sure. Half-dozen of every thing." said Jericho, and he
laughed hugely at the joke : and the Man-Tamer, as in friendship
bound, laughed his best in concert.
" Well, I have fulfilled my mission, and saved the awkward-
ness of my friend. You object not to the day, whenever it may
be ? And for the dowry, I mean the outfit, we who know your
heart, may safely leave that to you. Yes, yes ; Arthur, my good
soft friend, Arthur, is a happy man. Once I fondly thought that
my dear sister — however " — and Candituft sighed — " it was not to
be. And now, sir " —
"Yes," cried Jericho, quite prepared for what was coming,
" Yes ; go on."
152 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" You may have remarked my affection for Miss Monica. You
must have remarked it ? "
" I beg a thousand pardons," said the wag Jericho, " but it has
quite escaped me."
Candituft wanly smiled. The jest was ill-timed ; nevertheless
he could not resent it from his friend. Therefore, he smiled and
proceeded. " In a word, my dear sir, we have come to the sweet
conclusion that we were made for one another."
" Dear me ! Well, how lucky you should have met ! I dare
say, now" — and the cruel wit, with all his teeth and talons,
played with the timid, mouse-like heart of his victim — "I
dare say, now, there are thousands of people made for one
another, at the present moment wandering about the world
without a chance of coming together. Indeed, seeing how
big the world is, and how very few people are really made to
match, it's next to a miracle that they should ever meet at all.
Eh?"
" My dear sir, your views of life are always so just, — are always
clothed in such graceful and convincing language, that I cannot
answer, I can only admire and bow. I trust, my dear sir, you
do not oppose our love 1 " and Candituft shuddered at the
dreadful suspicion.
" By no means," said Jericho. " Marry, marry, and be as happy
as you can."
" A thousand thanks. You are aware, my dear sir, that my
family is rich " —
" Eh ? " cried the Man of Money.
" Kich in historical associations. The blood of the Canditufta
fructifies the fields of Cressy and Agincourt."
" Hm ! And what's the crop — what's the yield 1 I have a
great respect for blood, Mr. Candituft ; it is in this world, a very
useful, a very indispensable article. Nevertheless, blood in a field
— no matter how old — is not the best investment. I speak, you
know, as a vulgar Man of Money."
" I was about to observe," said the easy-tempered, but
withal pensive suitor, "that I have too pure, too deep an
affection for Miss Pennibacker, to make her the partner of only
the glories of my house. A bachelor, my dear sir, though
poor, receives a lustrous honour from the chivalry of his
name ; but it is an honour that, alone, will not do to marry
upon."
" You mean," and Jericho grimly grinned, " the honour that's
enough for one is not enough for two."
" Why, yes " — and Candituft hesitated — ^ " I may say that is
pretty well my meaning."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 153
" And in this marriage with Miss Pennibacker, you propose to
find the chivalry, the honour, if I — if I find the money ? Eh ? "
cried Jericho.
" Mr. Jericho " — and Candituft thought he would assert the
nobility of the blood in the grounds of Cressy and Agincourt—
" JVIr. Jericho, I do not come to deal with you for your daughter,
as I would come to a grazier for " —
" What !" cried Jericho, jumping to his feet.
" I mean, desirous of maintaining Miss Pennibacker in that
sphere which she was born to delight and illustrate, I must ask
—you force me to be plain — what will you give with the young
lady ? "
" Not a farthing," cried Jericho. " Not one farthing," said the
Man of Money with determined emphasis.
At this moment, quite casually, Mrs. Jericho entered the room.
Seeing the stern looks of Jericho, the rebuked aspect of Candi-
tuft, she innocently inquired " What is the matter ? "
" Pooh ! you know well enough," cried Jericho, " Mr. Candituft
wants to marry Nic."
" I was certainly aware of the honourable object of Mr. Candi-
tuft's ambition," said Mrs. Jericho.
" But that's not all," cried the Man of Money, " he wants to be
handsomely paid for the trouble."
" Paid ! " exclaimed the lady.
" Why, that's the plain thing. Paid. He wants a dowiy."
"My dear, we will not talk upon the subject at present," said
Mrs. Jericho. " I see you are in one of your sportive humours ;
in one of your gay moods, when you wiU make merry with the
happy state."
" Quite so, my dear lady," said Candituft. "But as you say,
we will not pursue the subject. Another time."
" By no means : better have it out at once," said Jericho.
" Don't name it," said Candituft. " In fact, my good sir,"
and the lover grew of a sudden cool and circumspect ; "I
think we had better postpone the matter tiU a more benignant
season."
" Mr. Candituft ! " exclaimed Mrs. Jericho.
" Happily," said the prudent suitor, " Miss Pennibacker is yet
in the first blush and florescence of youth ; and it may be, my
dear lady, that fortune, with an amended estimate of the maiden's
merits, may find her a nobler, a richer, though not " — and Mr.
Candituft endeavoured with manly fortitude to suppress his
emotion — " though not a fonder husband."
"I am sure of that," said Mrs. Jericho ; "I have every con-
fidence in you, my dear sir ; and so has Mr. Jericho."
154 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Any amount of confidence," said the Man of Money. " Any
amoimt."
" And as Monica has fixed her heart upon the union " —
" 'Twould be a great pity," said Jericho, determined upon his
humour, " to baulk a bold intention. Why, Mr. Candituft, the
young lady is such a treasure in herself, that, upon my word, I
think you ought, when you marry her, to remunerate us for our
loss. It has always seemed to me that certain savages — as they
are shamefully called — have the advantage of us in their habits
of marriage."
" No doubt, my dear sir, if you think so," said Candituft stiffly.
" For myself, I am in ignorance of the superiority."
" I mean in the habit that reverses the transaction : when the
husband buys his wife of her father ; and not as in our shame-
fully corrupt and sophisticated condition, when the father buys a
husband for his girl. I have always set my face against the
custom, — and I feel the time is come that I should strike a blow
at the prejudice."
" Now, my dear Solomon," — Mrs. Jericho knew it was no time
to pursue the subject, and she contemplated, with some anxiety
the deepening gravity of Candituft — " my dear Jericho, we will
say no more upon the matter. In your present merry humour
you care nothing for people's aff'ections. You play what tune you
please on people's heartstrings. Oh, you wits ! " and the wife
tapped the hard, dim face of the humourist Jericho.
" Well, well, let us have the jig out," said the relentless wag.
" Sir Arthur proposes to make Aggy Lady Hodmadod — I hear
the day is named, though with great self-forbearance I've not asked
whether it's to-morrow or next day."
" My dear Solomon," said Mrs. Jericho, " this is too much
levity."
" Not at all : and I don't see why both the birds mayn't be
trussed by the same parson. And so, after all, my good friend,"
— and the traitorous Jericho smiled.
" My dear sir," — and Candituft with his best energy smiled in
return.
" After all, let us settle the sum. Eh ? "
" Be it as you will," said Mrs. Jericho, with the best duty of a
wife, calling herself back to the subject.
" Well, then," said the Man of Money, and for his own private
purpose of humour, he still smiled and coaxed his voice, " what
sum would satisfy you ? " It was a delicate question to be put
thus nakedly. " Come, name a figure. Say five thousand pounds."
Candituft looked blank at Jericho, moving not a muscle.
"What do you think of seven?" The Man-Tamer gently
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 1.55
lifted liis eye-brows, deprecating the amount. " Come, then,
we'll advance to ten ? " Candituft's face began to thaw, and
he showed some signs of kindly animation. " At a word, then,"
cried Jericho, with affected heartiness, "will you take fifteen
thousand ? "
" From you — yes," cried Candituft, and he seized Jericho's
hand. The Man of Money looked at Candituft with a con-
temptuous sneer, and with a wrench twisted his hand away.
He then dropt in his chair, and a strange, diabolical scowl
possessed his countenance. The Man-Tamer shrank from
his friend ; Mrs. Jericho ran to her husband, but screamed
at the sudden change that seemed to blot out the human
character of his face. The Man of Money, with his own
features, looked a devil.
" And where — where do you think this money is to come from?
"Where ? " asked Jericho, and he rose from his chair, and it
seemed as though the demon possessing him would compel the
wretch to talk — would compel him to make terrible revealings.
Every word b e uttered was born of agony. But there he stood ;
forced to give out l^tterances that tortured him. " I will tell
you," roared Jericho, " what this money is. Look about you.
What do you see 1 Fine walls — fine pictures — fine everything.
Why, you see me — tortured, torn, worked up, changed. The
walls are hung with my flesh : my flesh you walk upon. There,
that — tliat " — and Jericho pointed to the diamond on Candituft's
finger — " that gem — that jewel, as bright as the sun in.heaven
— what is it ? Why, it's my blood — my blood distilled, then
hardened into stone. I am worn piecemeal by a hundred thieves,
but I'll be shared among them no longer."
By this time, the girls and Sir Arthur Hodmadod, alarmed
by the cries of Jericho, had entered the room.
"And you had a fine feast, had you not ?" cried the possessed
Man of Money, writhing with misery, and howling his confession.
"And what did you eat? my flesh — what did you drink?
my blood."
" It's impossible," cried Hodmadod, aghast. " When I say
impossible" —
" The food, the wines, the gold and silver, all — aU of me —
and so I'm shared to feed fools and make a show. To make a
show," Jericho repeated, his voice sinking, and he fell as in a fit
in his chair.
For some minutes he lay as tliough he had passed into sleep ;
and the malignant expression gradually clt-ared from his face.
" Very odd," said Sir Arthur, " very strange. Better send for
Dr. Stubbs."
(56 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Hush ! it's a fit, a passing fit ; he's better now, and fast
asleep," said Mrs. Jericho, whilst the girls exchanged strange
looks with one another. " Fast asleep."
" I congratulate you," said Candituft to Hodmadod, as they
both left the room, " he consents to your marriage."
" Does he 1 " asked Hodmadod, a little staggered by the
courtesy.
CHAPTER XYII.
A MAN may be possessed with an evil spirit, and yet be
wholly unconscious of the presence of his tenant. This may
seem, at the first blush, an impossible circumstance ; neverthe-
loss, we are upon reflection convinced that thousands of good,
well-meaning people, carry about with them fitful, moody, cap-
tious, disorderly spirits, and are, notwithstanding, the very last
folks to acknowledge the existence of the inmates. Now, it
would seem that Mr. Jericho had this ignorance in especial
strength and perfection. He was blessed with the happiest
fogetfulness of the demon that, as was shown in the last chapter,
afflicted his wife, and astonished his acquaintance. He had no
after-thought of the unseemly words, of the vulgar violence
uttered and committed by his evil spirit. Poor man ! He was
spared the pain, the humiliation of such knowledge ; hence, the
fit over, the spirit laid, Jericho was as gay and debonair as
ever — quite.
To be sure Mrs. Jericho had affectionate misgivings ; and tlie
young ladies, with a keen memory of the wildness of their
father-in-law, looked with hopefulness quite natural to the day
when they should be delivered from his tyranny by the new
benevolence of a husband. The girls, with the simple confidence
of their sex, were assured of the devotion of their lovers. Poor
things ! Now Sir Artlwir Hodmadod, with sudden treachery,
had contemplated instant flight. He was alarmed, terrified at
the thought of marrying the daughter of a man with such
strange, such diabolic notions. Sir Arthur thought of the
beneficial effect of a run through Italy. He could not disguise
it from himself, that his heart was broken : and therefore, he was
in the most interesting situation for a few months' exile. He
would forget the living beauties of Agatha in the refined abstrac-
tions of paint and marble. He had promised himself some day
to cultivate his taste for art, and it was plain, the proper time
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 157
was come. And then — and then the lover remembered — (how,
for an instant, could he have forgotten it 1) — that Agatha bore
no taint of Jericho's blood. No : she was a Pennibacker ; the
daughter of a warrior ! And with this happy thought, Sir
Arthur, wuth the mixed remoi'se and generosity of true affection,
arrayed the dear one with newer, richer graces. But a mistress
is never so captivating as when considered through the penitence
of love.
The Hon. Cesar Candituft had sterner thoughts of marriage.
Perhaps, too, he had larger views than his simple, gentle friend ;
and so, placed upon himself a corresponding value. "VYe believe
Sir Arthur — could he have been induced to think at all —
would have considered matrimony as a very pleasant little trip
in a gay little boat ; with a bright sky, a smooth sea, and now
and then a mennaid to come up, and warble a song of love. Now,
Candituft would not attempt the voyage so embarked. He was
for a secure craft, extremely well victualled, and — to be ready
for the worst — carrying the heaviest metal. Therefore had
Candituft resolved on the most guarded civility to Monica :
he would, if possible, kill the love within her by the cutting
coldness of his courtesy. For he had well considered himself :
he had sat in impartial judgment upon his own claims to a wife ;
and he was convinced that if he could be bi'ought to persuade
himself to marry into the family of a lunatic, at least he would
be well paid for the daring. Thus, if Monica's determination
towards marriage could live through the cold season that was
immediately to set in — if the hardy rose would smile through
the frost — why, the flower, like the Druid's misletoe, should only
be gathered with a golden blade.
A week wore on, and Candituft was only the more hardened
in civility. A week wore on, and Hodmadod was only the more
melted in love. But Monica would not feel the bitter season —
whilst Agatha smiled and glowed in the full flush of the sunny
time. Sir Arthur, on his part, was a little astonished that
Candituft could for a moment hesitate to seize his happiness at
the altar's foot, at the very time that he, the baronet, was to be
crowned with joy for ever. "Whereuiwn Candituft assured Sir
Arthur that, for one day, it would be more than sufficient bliss
to see his friend made happy. He doubted his strength to
stand up against the double delight of double nuptials. Hence,
for his part, he would wait. But we have a little anticipated ;
and have now to introduce a third party come upon a nuptial
errand, to the Man of Money.
Basil, it may be remembered, left Primrose Place with Mr.
Carraways, bent — as the old gentleman declared — upon business
158 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
with the captain of a ship bound for the antipodes. It
is needless to repeat any part of the conversation between the
lover and the father, as they took their way to the Halcyon, a
mao-nificent vessel, lying in the docks in all the seeming con-
fusion of outfit. We will at once come to the result of the
dialogue carried on — oddly enough — amid all the activity and
clamour of London streets. Earnest as were the words of Basil,
passionate as were his looks — was there a single passenger, of
the hundreds that passed and passed, who could have divined
that the young man was at such an hour, and in such a place,
telling the story of his heart, pleading the passion of a life ?
Yet it was even so. And the old man, in his best blunt way,
opposed the ardour of the youth ; even whilst his father's heart
glowed and throbbed at the expression. And then, as they
walked onward, the old man spoke less and less, and Basil
became more voluble. At length, Carraways stopt, and taking
Basil's hand, said in a low, thick voice — " Well, lad ; tlius it is.
If there is no objection at your home, and you ai-e sure of
Bessy, — she's yours. And, now, not another word upon the
matter ; for I see we've no time to lose."
As we are modestly convinced that every tittle of this history
will in a hundred years or more be a theme for commentators —
(the worthy folks who too often write on books, as men with
diamonds write on glass, obscuring liglit with scratches) — as we
know that this volume will be very thickly annotated, we shall
make one point clear ; namely, the precise spot where Carraways
pronounced his consent. Well, then ; it was exactly opposite
the Eoyal Exchange, under the shadow of the grasshopper. No
liad emblem of a poor yet cheerful lover, with little but hope and
blithe spirits to begin the world upon.
Nevertheless — says somebody — an odd neighbourhood for
men to ask and give in marriage. Well, it may be. Still,
Hymen has been known to have his walk on 'Change, as well as
common merchants ; and what is more, with as fine a sense of
profit and loss, as though in boyhood he had sat on the same form
and thumbed the same arithmetic with Mercury.
And Carraways, true to his promise, presented himself at
Jericho's house. The Man of Money felt a joyous revenge as
he eyed the ruined merchant's card. It was very natural to
Jericho. Gilbert Cairaways, the beggar, had treated him in
the most shameful — tlie most insolent sjjirit. The poor wretch
had, in no way, acknowledged the supremacy of his old friend's
wealth. No ; his studied silence, his absence from the house,
conveyed the contemptuous feeling of the pauper towards the
rightful majesty of money. To be sure, Jericho had not offered
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 159
assistance ; certainly not ; it was not his place to undraw liis
purse-strings, if people — ruined people — had not the due
humility to ask it. But now — there could be no doubt of it —
Carraways was come to beg for aid : he was at length taught by
suffering a proper reverence for cash. And with this thought,
Jericho armed himself to receive him. We write knowingly —
armed himself. For as carefully, as cunningly as ever knight
endued his frame with plates of steel or brass, — so did Jericho
hang upon that thin, cold, shivering soul of his, the tremendous
panoply of bank paper.
It is a curious sight — is it not ? — to see the Man of Money
sternly awaiting the advent of the nide, forgetful beggar. " Show
him in," brays Jericho to the servant. John quits the room, to
serve up the pauper. But two minutes pass — and there sits
Solomon Jericho dreadful in his arms of money : his visage
sharp and cruel, newly whetted, gleaming with scorn. The fat,
ruddy, good-tempered face — with meat and wine in the look of
it — that was wont to glow and grin at Carraways' board, is pre-
maturely old, and shrunk, and shai'pened ; the hungry outline of
felonious age.
Carraways enters the room. " Gracious heaven ! Why, what
is this 1 " For never since the merriment at the Hall, had Carra-
ways and Jericho met. Never, of course, since Carraways departed
this life in the gazette, had he seen the Man of Money. Therefore
was the merchant astounded at the thing that sat before him —
for Jericho did not rise to his old friend ; oh no — he knew the
prerogative of money better than that — and therefore, in his
own natural way did Carraways give utterance to his wonder-
ment. " Is it possible ? "
"I believe, sir," said Jericho, and contempt wrinkled his face,
and his voice croaked frog-like — " I believe I see Gilbert Carra-
ways, who was a merchant ? "
" Who was a merchant, and is Gilbert Carraways still," said
the old man.
" Late of Jogtrot Hall ? " said Jericho, with a low chuckle.
"Yes," repeated Carraways clearly, sonorously ringing the
words, " late of Jogtrot Hall of Marigolds. Now, of a second
floor, of Pi-imrose Place."
" Ha ! ha ! Well, now, I like that," cried Jericho. "I like
a man who can play with fortune. I like a man who, when the
wench — she's a queer cat, fortune, isn't she, Mr. Gilbert Carra-
ways 1 — when she spatters him with mud, can give her as good
as she sends. Ha ! ha ! Well, if you have been covered with
dirt, you are merry still. But, why haven't you come to see
me ?" asked Jericho with a sneer.
160 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Because of the dirt, Mr. Jericho. You see, you ride upon
fortune's wheel ; now I only get the mud from it."
" Very good," said the patron Jericho. " And I'm glad you
can try to make a joke, Mr. Carraways ; it must be a great com-
fort to a poor man. Why, now I can understand how a beggar
of a cold night, if he can only muster up heart enough to make
a joke, how it must be as good as a truss of straw to him ;
mus'n't it, eh, Mr. Carraways 1 "
" 'Pon my word, Mr. Jericho, I haven't yet tried the experi-
ment. And I do hope you'll never be brought to it ; otherwise,
I do think — try as you may — you'll sleep plaguy coldly. But I
didn't come here to talk in this idle fashion."
" I hope not," said Jericho, sharpening his malice with his
best might. " I hope you came to tell me when you propose to
see us at Jogtrot Hall. By the way, I'm going to change the
name."
'• I hope so," said Carraways very calmly.
'' Yes ; my friend the Duke of St. George — do you know the
Duke ? — my friend has promised to give me a new name for it.
Though I think, out of compliment to him, I shall call it George
and Garter Lodge. You know, Mr. Gilbert Carraways, there's
no telling what one may come to."
" No, Solomon Jericho," said the merchant. " Yet, just now,
you must have one comfort ; you can't come to less than you
are." Jericho called up all his thunder to his brows. " Surely,"
said Carraways tranquilly, as though he was speaking of some
monstrous abortion of nature — " surely, 'tis wonderful ! Why,
my good man " —
" Good man ! " roared Jericho.
"My good man," and Carraways doggedly repeated the
epithet, " where do you put your heart ? Why, it can't be as
big as a poppy-seed. Do you ever walk out in the air ! If so,
pray put a gold bar or so in your pockets, or some day the wind
will take you up — carry you into the sky. And who knows !
Some future astronomer — if I remember my schooling right,
the sort of thing has been done — some astronomer may make
a constellation of a bank-note."
" I see," said Jericho, with the most vigorous expression of
pity. " I see, you're a free-thinker. Bank-notes in the sky !
Poor man ! Poverty has made you an atheist."
" Not so," said Carraways placidly. " Indeed, not so. Strange
as it may seem to you, poverty has made me a believer in more
goodness than I dreamt of before. However, I didn't come to
talk of that."
" I suppose not," said Jericho.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 101
" But, bless me ! " cried the persevering Carraways, " hov/
thin you are ! Why, you can have no bowels."
Mr. Jericho said nothing. He merely drew himself up, using
a snaky motion of the head to express his silent contempt of
the doubt. And silence was best. What spoken answer would
have better met such unbelief ?
" But as I say," repeated Carraways, " I didn't come to talk
about that. I come — now attend to me, if you please, Solomon
Jericho " — and Jericho fell flat against the back of his chair,
astounded at the pauper's impudence — " attend to me. I didn't
come to talk of that. I came here, at once, to renounce all right
and title, for me and mine by gift or will now and for evermore,
— all right, I say, to a shilling of your money."
" I think," said Mr. Jericho, suddenly recovering himself, " I
think you give yourself a very needless trouble."
" Well, I hope so," answered Carraways. " Still, I would
not risk a mistake. Your son-in-law " —
" Hm ! " said Jericho, and with studied sarcasm. " Sou-
in-law ! Yes ; the law bears very hard on us, now and
then."
" Has proposed to marry my Bessy. I have consented ; and
after what I've said, I suppose, Mr. Jericho, you can have no
objection to the match ? "
" Eeally, Gilbert Carraways," replied the Man of Money,
smiling the while, " why should I ? Youi* conditions are so
advantageous, that I should be a fool as well as a monster to
come between two doting hearts. All I can say is, I wish you
joy of the young gentleman."
"I have every faith in him," said Carraways. "Perhaps,
Ml". Jericho, you will break the matter to Basil's mother 1 I
need not intrude upon the lady's better employment. We leave
England in about a fortnight."
" What ! the young couple and all ? " cried Jericho ; " and
where may you be bound for 1 "
" The antipodes," answered Carraways, very blithely.
" A capital determination, Gilbert. As you've been turned
topsy-turvy here, why going to the antipodes is, perhaps, the
shortest way of putting you on your legs again." Here the
servant answered the bell, rang by the Man of Money, " Beg
Mrs. Jericho to come to me," said the husband.
" Good morning," cried Carraways, rising. " I would rather
not see the lady. I'll leave the explanation in your hands.
'Twill come better from you. Much better. Well," — and Car-
raways paused before Jericho, and staringly read him up and
down — ''you are thin ! Why, you must have no moils blood than
162 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
a cucumber, Solomon. To think that a man should be so rich —
ha ! what luck you've had in platina, to be sure — so rich and
so meagre ! Talk of the Wandering Jew, why if you live long
enough, you'll be known as the Wandering Bank-note. Dear me !
Well, you'd be very curious under a microscope — very curious.
Good morning, good morning." And Carraways bustled from
the presence of the Man of Money, who sat speechless and
confounded by the easy insolence of the paui^er. Never, perhaps,
since the first piece of metal was stamped as the go-between of
man and man, had the dignity of wealth been so impudently
put upon. In the savageness of his injured majesty, Jericho
could have brained the offender with a bag of money — dashed
him in little pieces with a golden thunderbolt ; an article with
which Plutus often beats the iron of the bigger Jupiter.
" He is gone now — the pauper's dejiarted," said Jericho
scornfully to his wife, as she entered.
" Who is gone ? And whom can you speak of ? A pauper, and
here ! " Mrs. Jericho would as soon have thought to see a pole-
cat basking on the hearth-rug. " Pauper ! "
" That fellow Carraways," said Jericho, and his lips widened
at the name as at a filthy drug.
" Oh ! I suppose the old story with such people. Came for
money ? " said his wife.
" Not he ; an impudent, blustering scoundrel. Came here to
shake his rags in my face, and show how very proud he was of
them. Would you believe it ? He had the brazen effrontery to
come here — here — to renounce my offer of money, and that
before it was made."
" Dear me ! Poor man ! " said Mi-s. Jericho, with a look and
voice of pity. " Insane, of course."
"No — not he. Not more mad than thousands of people.
For it's wonderful to think how near conceit is to insanity, and
yet how many folks are suffered to go free and foaming with it.
Conceit, Sabilla ; mere conceit in a rabid state. Of all pride,
the worst is the pride of beggary. Of all madness, that madness
is the worst and the most disgusting that, squatted upon a
dunghill, brags of the straw and muck, as though they were
gold and velvet."
" Very true, indeed, my dear — ^beautifully true," said the wife.
" But we must make great allowances ; when a man is stripped
of everything " —
" Well, when he is, it isn't exactly the time for him to brag of
the buff he's reduced to."
"My dear ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, with the prettiest glance of
remonstrance.- " My love ! "
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 163
" Moreover, when a family is stripped of everything," cried
Jericho, " I don't think it precisely the family to marry into."
" Why, Solomon, what do you mean 1 " asked the wife,
anxious and foreboding.
"The meaning's as short and as strong as the marriage
service. Your hopeful son is going to marry Bessy."
"Impossible ! He cannot mean it," cried Mrs. Jericho. " It
is a mere folly of youth that he will outlive — that he rrnist out-
live. The fact is, my dear Jex'icho, we must send him abroad."
"We needn't trouble ourselves. In a few months he will be
directly under my foot." Mrs. Jericho stared. " At the anti-
podes, my dear ; at the antipodes," and Jericho rubbed his
hands at the prospect.
" And that Carraways — oh, it's a pretty plan, I see, to provide
for the daughter — that Carraways came here to tell you this ? "
" With his compliments, or something like 'em, that I should
open the matter to you."
" Solomon, my dear Solomon " — and Mrs. Jericho dropt in a
chair beneath her maternal feelings — " this is a great blow to our
house." Jericho looked confidently ; putting his thin hands into
his pockets, as though he would imply a conviction that the house
was strong enough to bear the shock. " 'Twill break my heart,
Solomon." Still the husband looked calm and self-possessed.
" It will bring me to a premature gi-ave." And still, and still
the hopeful spouse blenched not. " A foolish, enthusiastic child
— when there was such a path open to him ! "
"All the road clean as a whistle to the Court of Queen's
Bench," said Jericho.
" No — no. The Duke of St. George's eldest daughter ; that
beautiful girl, the Lady Malypense — he has only to ask and
have ; I am certain of it, Solomon. If I know what the human
heart is made of" —
" And what is it made of 1 " inquired Jericho ; for in the
material of hearts he had a strange interest. " What's the
stuff? People differ on the point devilishly." Mrs. Jericho
stared. " What do you think I heard ? Why, that the heart
of Lady Malypense — 'twas that bitter fellow Thrush who said it
— that her heart was like a jewel cushion ; merely a thing to
stick finery upon." Mrs. Jericho looked wounded incredulity.
" Oh, I don't believe it. I only tell you how folks gabble about
hearts. Ha ! ha ! every man talks of his neighbour's heart, as
though it was his own watch. — A thing to be seen in all
its works ; and abused for irregular going. I always laugh
when I hear a man talk of another man's heart. And if any-
body has a right to laugh, I think it's myself. Ha ! ha ! " and
M 2
164 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Jericho grinned disdainfully ; and by such scorn withered, as he
believed, the wicked rumour that now and then would gabble
against him.
" I am resolved, my love," said Mrs. Jericho, " that this boy
shall not sacrifice himself. I have fixed my heart upon a coronet
for him, and he shall have it. We deserve nothing less."
" Hm ! Do you think, my dear, that coronets hang on
pegs that " —
" Nothing more easy," broke in the wife and mother. " He
marries the Duke's daughter ; he obtains a high appointment at
a foreign court ; he enters upon diplomacy ; I'm sure he was
born for it ; he always had, as a child, such a taste for mechanics.
I only wish I'd kept the mouse-trap he invented when he was
six years old. Depend upon it, he's a born ambassador, my dear."
" Isn't marked anywhere with the name of the court, eh 1 "
asked Jericho.
" Now, my love, I adore your wit ; but do respect a mother's
feelings. Consider, Jericho. As I say, he marries Lady Maly-
pense. He is sent abroad. Our politics are in a tangle some-
where — in Egypt, or Greece, or Belgium, or the Sandwich
Islands — 'tis all the same — and Basil winds the aflair off as
cleanly as a skein of silk. Then, of course, he is ennobled ; he
has somehow saved his country ; and, choosing an estate from
the map of England, it is bought for ever and for ever for him
by a grateful people, and he takes his seat among the lords
spiritual and temporal — a peer of the realm. I'm sure of it,
from his genius ; though I never named it before. Certain."
" Well," said Jericho, satirically, " there's something in it. And
yet to consider a peer in his robes and coronet — well, it must be
confessed 'tis a mighty grand thing to come out of a mousetrap."
" Not at all," said Mrs. Jericho, " peerages have come of much
smaller matters. And, in fact, my love, this intended marriage
— this folly — this sacrifice must, at any cost, be prevented."
" As you please ; but for my part, I think you'd better let
matters take their course."
" Solomon ! " cried the wife, in the voice of reproach.
" And as for a peerage, why, where Basil's going, he may
choose the rank he best likes ; earl, marquess, duke. — And
what's more, he can have himself tattooed, dog-cheap, with
garters on both legs, and any number of orders." And Jericho
laughed at his own wit, with the partiality of a parent.
Mrs. Jericho visited the scorner with one scathing glance of
anger ; then half in pity, half in contempt, she cried — " Mr.
Jericho, you are not a mother." And it must be confessed the
Man of Money bore the information with pattern tranquillity.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 165
CHAPTER XVIII.
Poor mother ! She had a double task to do ; double and
contrary. To carry a daughter to the altai-, and to tear a son
from its perilous precincts. Monica wondered that Agatha —
but then she was always such a selfish, giddy thing ! — would
not insist upon deferring her marriage with the Baronet until
her elder sister should wed her beloved. For Candituft had
made good, seeming good, his cause of delay. He had sud-
denly discovered some dormant right to some long-forgotten
property ; and he would first secure that to lay it as an offering
at the feet of his bride. Monica, in her warm affection, would
have gladly married at once, content to wait for after prosperity
as it might follow ; but her mother thought it best to tarry.
Great good might come of a little delay ; and Mr. Jericho could
not be hurried to name the exact amount of dowry. Now, with
respect to Agatha, the case was wholly different. She had not
her sister's strength of mind ; and the Baronet Avas in the full
enjoyment of his full fortune ; moreover, with a liberality worthy
of imitation, he would have been content to marry Agatha even
with no other dowry than the first bride brought to the first
bridegroom.
Therefore Jericho's house hummed in every nook and comer
with the note of preparation ; with the tuning jsrelude to
hymeneal song. Nevertheless, in Jericho's house great and tor-
turing was the sacrifice of heart. For was it nothing for Monica
to plate her anxious face with smiles ; to hover about her sister
with looks and words of gentle meaning ; of sweet congratula-
tion, when her own breast was misery 1 Was it nothing to
gather a marriage garland for another, when she was yet smart-
ing from nettles ] Nothing to forego the robe of the bride and
to don the meaner garments — made robes of sorrow and humi-
liation by disappointment — of the bridesmaid 1
And there was another victim, another heroine who, with the
fortitude of an Amazon, would smile at self suffering. — We
mean, the Hon. Miss Candituft. Can it be believed that that
heroic young lady consented to be second bridesmaid to her
rival ? Of course, the simple Agatha dreamt not of the agony
she inflicted when she prayed such grace of her bosom friend ;
the rather that the devotion was accorded with the sweetest, \
the most touching alacrity. Agatha was to wear the nuptial
166 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
wreath, and Miss Candituft the willow. Nevertheless, the
rejected one would carry it like a martyr, turning the reproach
to glory.
Our Man of Money, absolved of the liability of dowry, was
in the best of moods. His opinion of the merits of Hodmadod
continually increased, though Candituft had somehow to pay for
the growth. The Baronet became every day a finer fellow ;
Candituft every day a meaner dog. The excellence accorded to
one was remorselessly taken from the other. Thus, pending
the nuptial preparation, Hodmadod was the favoured creature
at the hearth of Jericho, whilst Candituft was coldly allowed an
unconsidered corner. Nevertheless, Candituft had too much
benevolence, too much affection for the brotherhood of man, to
resent the neglect. Indeed, how should he, since he would not
behold it 1 Some men will not see an affront, even when big as
a street-door in their face : as there have been philosophers, so
raised above human weakness, who have not discovered when
and where they were kicked.
Now let ;is for a while leave the nuptial loves, busied with the
best and the finest, at Jericho House ; and look in upon a
certain second floor, in Primrose Place.
It is plain enough that Basil has told his story — won his wife.
The happy, altered looks of Bessy speak a new and deep content
of heart. Indeed, every person present — there are four women,
all busy, hence the room at Primrose Place may be considered
full — gives indication of a coming ceremony. Bessy is at work,
it would appear with all her heart in her sewing. — And Bessy's
mother is earnest, grave, in her appeal to the better judgment
of Mrs. Topps who, it is plain, has just returned upon her errand,
bringing a skein of silk that can in no way be made to match
with the colour of the piece to be made up. Miss Barnes is
appealed to — Miss Barnes is the young sempstress, the lodger of
the attic, who all unconsciously received the benison of Basil,
and who has come down to assist in the work — and Miss Barnes
joins her verdict against Mrs. Topps ; who, a little vexed with
herself, ties her riband strings with an angry snatch, and descends
to amend her serious error, by changing the skein.
The most innocent and the most hardened bachelor of three-
score, brought into the room, would at once divine the sort of
work prepared by those three women. He would at once know
their cutting and their sewing to be spells preparatory to the
tying of a knot that should, for the term of natural life, hold
tight together two fellow creatures. The women worked so
earnestly, so readily ; whilst unseen little loves fluttered up and
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 167
down ; now running along the edge of a hem, and now giving
a flourishing caper with some final stitch.
The room — Mrs. Carraways had a dozen times said as much
— was in a dreadful litter. Calicos and flannels, and stuffs, and
brown hoUand, and cotton webs with blue stripes, lay heape<i
about, in very homely contrast to the pretty lilac-coloured satin
cai'efully worked at by Miss Barnes ; a satin that Bessy would
now and then glance at as though she felt towards it a living
tenderness. And still looking, she seemed all the happier with
every look.
And Mrs. Carraways seemed much amended. She appeared
to have set aside her anxious aspect, and taken, as her husband
iovially said, a new lease of heart. And so, she worked with
happy zeal ; and even hummed an old, old tune, as now and
then she looked about her, and her eye rested, now upon a canvas
bag, now upon a hat of tarpaulin, — things that, telling her of
the long, long voyage to the other side of the world, made her
only a few days ago sick with apprehension.
There was a sudden pause — a perfect silence. And then a
carriage whirled up Primrose Place, and stopt short at the door.
" Who can that be ? " cried Mrs. Carraways, with a look of
dread, and laying down her work. Miss Barnes immediately
went to the window, and fluently enough described the brilliant
carriage, and the many-coloured liveries.
" I thought so," cried Mrs. Carraways, turning pale, " it's
Mr. Jericho." As she spoke the smitten knocker chattered —
for it was a modest knocker, too light and small to thunder —
through the house.
" No," cried Miss Barnes. " Not Mr. Jericho. A lady."
" Mrs. Jericho ! " exclaimed Bessy, becoming nervous — look-
ing very pale in her turn ; and casting a strange, anxious glance
at the lilac-coloured satin laid down by Miss Barnes. " Is she
alone ? "
" Quite alone," said Miss Barnes ; and without another word,
the sempstress gathered up her work, and left the room.
In another moment, Susan entered with Mrs. Jericho's card.
" Show the lady up stairs," said Mrs. Carraways in a very twitter
— "and say, we will see her dii*ectly." Susan descended upon
her mission, and Mrs. Carraways and Bessy ran to their several
rooms, liks startled rabbits to their burrows.
Mrs. Jericho slowly ascended the stairs, and with prodigious
dignity entered the second floor front. " Missus Carraways, mum,
will be with you directly," said Susan, who, in her way, was a
little flustered ; inasmuch as she had been suddenly summoned
from peeling turnips to wipe her hands for Mrs. Jericho's card.
16S A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Mrs. Jericho stood alone in the apartment which, in all its
details, she set herself with her best intelligence, to read. Very
speedily she divined the meaning of the various articles about
her ; the checked shix-ting ; the plaids ; the tarpaulin ; with here
and there some tin utensil, bright and new for travel. They
made her sad, melancholy. She could have almost wept ; for
somehow, she seemed to see in everything the loss of Basil.
Pride was sinking ; affection rising in her heart ; when her eye
glanced upon a piece of white satin — perhaps, it was for a
bonnet, we cannot say — and in that white, unspotted web, her
woman's shrewdness read a whole history. Instantly she was
herself; more than ever herself: full to overflowing with the
wrongs of a mother. In that bit of white satin, did Mrs.
Jericho read — as she firmly believed — the fatal marriage warrant
of her son, her eldest born.
Mrs. Carraways had, of course, to change her cap. Such
was her first intention ; the serious purpose that had sent her
flying to her room. However, let no woman say she will at a
pinch change her cap and nothing more. For Mrs. Carraways
had no sooner entered her room, and caught a bit of herself in
her glass, than she was convinced she must also change her
gown. She cared nothing for Mrs. Jericho ; she had ceased to
have respect or esteem for her ; nevertheless, it was due to
herself "not to be seen a figure." These thoughts engaged
Mrs. Carraways, as her fluttered hand, like the last minstrel's,
wandered among the strings. At length, however, in the best
cap and gown that fortune had left her, Mrs. Carraways appeared
before her visitor.
Mrs. Jericho did not affect cordiality. She made no attempt
to excuse her absence — her neglect of old acquaintance. Mrs.
Jericho was too wise a woman : knew too well the person with
whom she had to confer. No : she would not attempt to shirk
her ingratitude ; but — if we may say as much — at once took the
scorpion by the tail.
"Mrs. Carraways, you will probably understand why we have
not met since our mutual circumstances have so completely
changed 1 " Thus, with harde.st smile, spoke Mrs. Jericho.
" I would I could understand all things quite as well," said
Mrs. Carraways, with cold and steady look.
" It would have been painful to you, painful to myself," said
Mrs. Jericho.
" And you were quite right," answered the broken lady, " to
spare at least one of us."
Mrs. Jericho waived her head and arm, as much as to intimate
that all needful preface being done, she might at once begin the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 169
subject-matter. " Do you know what brings me here, Mrs.
Carraways 1 "
" I think, madam, I can guess," was the ready answer.
" It is this, madam," said Mrs. Jericho, with her best thunder,
raising the white satin. " This ! "
Mrs. Carraways did not for one moment affect sui-prise. No :
to the astonishment of the sonorous Mrs. Jericho, she calmly
replied — " I thought so."
Mrs. Jericho immediately disposed her soul for self-enjoyment.
The said soul felt a yearning for lofty exercises ; and with good
reason ; it had so long obeyed the soul of Jericho — aggrandised,
sublimated by money — that it longed to assert its natural
importance ; an importance that, at the commencement of this
history — if the reader recollects as much — was made sufficiently
evident. Mrs. Jericho's majesty had been confined, doubled up,
like a snake in a box ; and it was not to be wondered at that,
the occasion offering, it should desire to come out and air itself,
showing its fine proportions. The husband Jericho had some-
how been the snake-charmer ; now IVIrs. Carraways was weak
and ignorant as babyhood.
" And may I ask you, madam, what you propose by inveigling
a young man " —
" Eeally, Mi's. Jericho," said Mrs. Carraways, and even with
the most placid manner she managed to rise above the violence
of her visitor — " really, I must hear nothing of this. Mr.
Carraways has, I believe, communicated with Mr. Jericho ; and
I take it, as they are agreed " — and Mrs. Carraways was most
provoking in her humility — " as they are of accord, the less we
women interfere the better."
" That may be your degraded opinion of the rights of women,
Mrs. Carraways ; of the rights of ai mother. Happily, however,
I have other notions ; other feelings. To be sure, you may very
calmly contemplate the marriage of your daughter with a husband
of untold affluence — of untold affluence, ma'm."
" Untold 1 I believe so ; yes, untold," observed Mrs. Car-
raways, very quietly.
Mrs. Jericho would not pause in her course to notice the
sarcasm. "But, madam, it is otherwise to the mother whose
chUd, whose only son, is to be lured, entrapped, and cruelly
sacrificed to the hopeless condition of a penniless wife."
"I assure you, madam," — Mrs. Carraways' cheek tingled a
little ; but she had made up lier mind to be cool, and cool she
would be though — as she afterwards phrased it — her blood was
boiling. — " I assure you, Mr. Carraways has no thought of Mr.
Pennibacker's probable, 1 might say, his problematical wealth ;
170 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
though, no doubt, it must be immense, if all the stories be true
about the mines of platina."
" My dear Mrs. Carraways," — that lady stared at the sudden
courtesy — " let us understand one another. Mr. Jericho has,
I can answer for it, every wish to serve the family. You are
about to make a voyage ; about to begin the world anew. Just
grant us one favour, and there is nothing we will not do for
you." It was thus, without effort, Mrs. Jericho subsided from
. the imperious to the polite, when she found it best to sink to
an advantage.
" You are very kind ; very suddenly kind," said Mrs. Carra-
ways ; " but I think even noV we are so rich — yes, so very rich,
that it is impossible Mr. Jericho can assist us."
" Come, come," said Mrs. Jericho, laying her hand upon Mrs.
Carraways' hand, and the good lady smiled a little sourly at the
action — " we are both mothers ; and must consider our children's
happiness. As for Basil, he is quite a boy ; absurdly young to
take a wife. No fixed affections. A very boy."
" He is young ; very young," confessed IVIrs. Carraways.
" Do not suppose, my dear madam, that I would thwart his
affections when pronounced and real. And as for any inequality
of fortune, why, after all, I would not weigh my boy's heart
against money. Certainly not. So pray, my dear Mrs. Carra-
ways, think what I said about fortune, as so much idle temper ;
mere heat of words, with no meaning; none, I assilre you."
And then Mrs. Jericho,in the simplest manner possible, asked —
" Pray, when do you sail ? "
" In about a fortnight, I believe," was the answer, and Mrs.
Carraways could not repress a sigh.
"So soon?" cried Mrs. Jericho, and her face darkened. —
"Well, that is early — -very early. Now, dear Mrs. Can-a ways'"
— and Mrs. Jericho drawing up her chair, became impressive,
then pathetic — " what I ask for the happiness of both our children
is only this. — Leave Basil here ; let h.im remain a year or two with
us ; and then, if his affection still holds for your daughter, why,
I'm sure the young people shall have my — my blessing. Say two
years only, my dear creature."
" I can say nothing," replied Mrs. Carraways. " Gilbert has
pledged his word."
" A pledge that may be easily removed, explained ; anything.
All I ask for Basil " — cried his mother with new energy — " is the
trial of two years."
" A trial for me," cried Basil, hurrying into the room, " my
dear lady, on what account ? Ha ! ha ! Susan told me you were
here, and I lost no time to ask your blessing," and Basil bent his
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 171
head, and kissed his mother's hand. Then, he gaily asked —
« Where 's father ? "
" I thought it best to come alone," answered Mrs. Jericho.
" Oh ! T wouldn't trouble Mr. Jericho for the world ; I meant
my other fether, — father Carraways." Mrs. Jericho frowned and
bit her lip. " I thought he'd be home before me. We've had such a
ramble ; and — my dear lady — we have selected two such ploughs.
Fit to plough Elysium."
" Ploughs ! " cried Mrs. Jericho. " In heaven's name, Basil,
what do you mean 1 "
" Mean ! The noblest meaning in the -^-orld, my dear mother.
The first meaning of the first man, — work, mother ; work. Two
such ploughs ! The true philanthropic iron," cried Basil.
"My poor boy ! you must be mad," and Mrs. Jericho sighed
and shook her head.
" Not mad, my dear lady ; only wondrous happy. You see,
mother, we've been shopping. Delightful employment, you'll
own that ? Been cheapening a few of Vulcan's nick-nacks with
which we propose to set-off nature. Such ploughs, I say ; fancy
took a flight into the future, and I thought I heard the corn wave
to and fro while I looked at 'em. Such axes ! How they will
startle the wood-nymphs ! Such hoes, such rakes, such pitch-
forks ! I never felt so proud in my life, as while I handled 'em.
Every tool seemed to me at 6nce the weapon and the ornament of
independence. With such magnificent arms a true man may go
forth and conquer the wilderness ; making the earth smile with
the noblest of victories."
" Ehapsodist ! " cried Mrs. Jericho. " And you can leave
home, can quit fortune, family, every grace and happiness of life
for the whim of a desert ? " '
" Gi'ace and happiness a man may, if he will, always carry with
him. The most valuable of luggage, they pack very easily.
Desert ! Look here, my dear mother — see," and Basil took from
his pocket a map, which unfolding, he spread upon the table.
" Quite a land of plenty ! Earth is hei-e so kind, that just tickle
her with a hoe and she laughs with a harvest."
Mrs. Jericho said nothing ; but shook her head and sighed.
And here Mrs. Carraways quietly withdrew.
" Look here, my dear mother," and Basil traced the map with
his finger," see, here's where we shall disembark. Here, you see
is Port Pancake. Here is Van Dumplings Land — now we skirt
along here, till we come to Smokejack Point. Then we trend to
the left by Pudding Mount, until we break upon Sea Pie Bay.
Then we at once get into the Lavender."
"Lavender ! " echoed Mrs. Jericho feebly.
172 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Yes, a home in the Lavender is where we are bound for —
and then, you see — and then " —
For a minute Mrs. Jericho's tears had fallen upon the map ;
Basil would not see them ; at length his voice thickened, then fairly
broke, and the next moment son and mother were sobbing in each
other's arms.
" And you can leave me — you can quit us 1 " said the mother.
" Oh Basil ! can you leave us ? "
" What remains for me, — what can I do ? I shall be better
away — much better."
" Wherefore better 1 Have you not position — fortune ? All
that should make you happy ? "
" My position, splendid serfdom " — answered Basil — " my
fortune, money that would damn me."
" Basil," said his mother, startled by the passion of her sou.
" Your father's money ! "
" I would have avoided this ; I hoped to avoid it, — but mother,
I suspect your husband." The wife drew herself up ; neverthe-
less, a something in her heart seemed to baffle her. " There are
odd tales told of Mr. Jericho. Have an eye upon him. I don't
believe the words in their vulgai', nursery meaning ; but it is
said that Mr. Jericho's mine, whence he derives his wealth, is
the very mine that some da,y " —
Basil's mother grew pale. She tried to speak ; and then to
smile, as though in scorn and utter incredulity.
" I only repeat the rumour ; of course, mother, I give no faith
to bonds of brimstone. Still, I should like to be assured of
the source of his means. Why, mother, you have eyes. You
cannot, if you would, be blind to the daily, hourly waste of the
man. Like a waxen figure made by a witch, he dwindles —
dwindles. People say, too, such waste is the tribute exacted by
the devil."
" Basil ! " shrieked the frightened woman.
" And, I take it," answered the young man with solemn voice,
and saddest looks, " I take it to be so. Come, you must hear
me out. I shall not offend again ; and you must hear me. What
are the ravages of conscience but tribute paid to evil ? What the
pains, the tremors, the heartquakes that I know the man endures
— for I have watched him — what are all, but the devil's tribute ? "
" You are a dreamer — an enthusiast — a foolish boy," cried
Mrs. Jericho, laughing and shuddering.
" Well, we shall see — we shall see. We will talk no more of
it," said Basil.
" With all my heart ; I am sure I must reproach myself that
I have listened so long."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 173
'■ Yet, a word," said Basil. " I quit England in a fortnight."
•' With a wife ? " asked the mother, tremulously.
" With a wife," exclaimed Basil, and with the words his heart
shone in his face.
" Foolish, imprudent, ungrateful boy ! " and the mother wept.
" May you have no worse cause for tears, madam, till we meet
again," said Basil, proudly. " But pray hear me. We go to
make a house in the wilderness. Yet do not think, my mother,
my sisters, are forgotten. No : they shall find a home too."
"In the wilderness ? " asked Mrs. Jericho, with contempt.
" In the wilderness," answered Basil, " and bless the solitude
that gives them happy shelter from the falsehood of the dreary
finery of life. I say, in the wilderness. Once there, what a new
hunger you will feel for nature! Well, all shall be pre pared for you.'*
" No, Basil," said the mother mournfully, " we never meet
again : mother, sisters, all to you will be as the dead. I suppose
you have heard ? Agatha marries Sir Arthur, and in a few days."
" If it be so, poor wench ! " said Basil. " But I have hope,
mother ; hope."
" Of coiirse, Basil, you will come to the ceremony ? "
" And Bessy ? " — inquired Basil. His mother made no answer ;
Basil calmly continued. "Nevertheless, should the wedding-cup
slip from the lip — there are such slips, you know — Aggy shall
find that her new sister has thought of her— even, I say, in the
wilderness. I shall leave behind those who will watch you " —
" Watch ? " cried Mrs. Jericho, impatiently.
" For a kind purpose," said the son. " And you shall see what
a house we'll have for you. Oh ! you '11 need it. What a garden !
What freedom ! What a new life of happiness and honour — the
life of the husbandman, a life fed by the bounty of earth, and
sweetened by the airs of heaven. Good-bye."
" Oh, Basil ; we shall meet before you — before "—the mother
could say no more.
" Oh, yes ; truly yes," and Basil took his mother to his bosom;,
and the woman's heart flowed in tears — and pride and vanity,
and worldly thoughts were, for the moment, conquered. " Will
you see Bessy ? " asked Basil ; his mother responded with a
pressure of her arms. In a moment, Bessy — answering the call
of Basil — stood, blushing in the room.
Mrs. Jericho felt rebuked, humbled, by the sweet, frank, inno-
cence of the girl. " Bless you, Bessy," she cried ; and kissing her,
with an efi"ort smiled ; then saying, " Basil, you wiU see me to the
door 1 " hurried down stairs. In a minute, Mrs. Jericho was in
her carriage. " Home ! " cried Basil, and homewards the lady
went. And the figure of Bessy still went with her ; the good.
J
174 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
happy face of the fair creature that had smiled so sweetly at the
tyranny of fortune ; that, in the confiding purity of her heart,
seemed invulnerable to evil,— the face went with her ; and the
wife of the Man of Money for the moment blushed for her
jjossessions : felt ashamed of her wealth.
And then she thought of Basil and his young bride in the
wilderness : and the next thought sent the recollection of that
word — was it scornfully uttered by Basil ? — that word " Home "
through her brain. Never before had the sound so jarred upon
her heart. " Home ! " With what sad, sullen thoughts, she now
considered that magnificent dungeon ; that gorgeous prison, her
home. How its splendour came feverishly upon her soul ! How
little was there in that home that consecrated it from any temple
where the creed was money, and the worshipper, the world.
" Home ! " a sweet and terrible word. How often may it have
made its way into the carriage, sickening youth and beauty with
its sound — striking cold misery to the poor, aching heart ; some
sad, church-bargain, receipted by the priest. How often, the
miserable creature, begging at the carriage-door, kneading the
mud beneath his naked feet, with all his tattered wretchedness
feels no such pang as that word " Home " inflicts upon the
seeming felicity he prays to. " Home ! " How merrily the hours
dance onward ! How the heart has forgotten, thrown down its
daily load, letting itself be cheated into joy! Still the hours
glide on, glowing as they pass, and sorrow is tricked into happi-
ness. And it may be the dream lasts until the dreamer departs.
And then the word "Home " is flung, like a snake, to the victim
— the daily viper that daily stings.
And whilst we have hammered out this iron sermon upon one
kind of home, what a diff'erent home have our lovers — Basil and
Bessy — already made in the wilderness ! Basil has talked of all
he has purchased, — ploughs, axes, hammers ; all sorts of field
implements ; and Bessy has listened with an earnestness that
tried to understand their separate use. And then Basil had given
particular orders for plants and seeds. " For you see, my love,"
said he, " I intend to take as much of England as we can
with us."
" To be sure," cried Bessy. " Oh yes ! "
" And so, I've cuttings of raspberry, and currant, and goose-
berry ; and for flowering shrubs, rhododendrons, and camellias,
and roses as various, yes, as the beauty they are the type of."
"And I too have seen to a great many seeds," said Bessy.
" Above all, I've not forgotten the heart's-ease."
" That " — &aid Basil, taking a kiss as the best comment — " that,
Bessy, I may be always sure of."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 175
CHAPTER XIX.
Mr. Jericho, as in gratitude bound, was proud of the friend-
ship of the Duke of St. George. If, at any time, Solomon thought
of the peerage — and we cannot deny that his soul did now and
then hover about the House of Lords — it was his belief that to
the high party interest of the duke he should owe the strawberry
leaves. Besides, Jericho had his own personal claims. He was
religiously observant of the wishes of the Minister, and — if a dog
could vote — not even that grateful animal would have barked aye
or no with better docility ; or even with quicker intelligence.
Again, it was only too plain to Jericho's intimate friends that he
was dying for his country. "Parliament is killing that dear
man," was the frequent cry of Candituft. " He is wasting piece-
meal," was the complaint of Mizzlemist. " All his flesh," cried
Mrs. Jericho, the tears peeping from her eyes, " all his flesh goes
into those tilthy blue books." And this belief became a very
popular superstition among the crowd of folks who visited the
Man of Mone}'. His blood and brain, aye the marrow of the
senator, all was consumed to reappear in statistical details : yes,
his very soul might be recognised by friendship, sympathetic and
imaginative, sacrificed to printer's ink. And — as Colonel Bones
would ask — " What cared the people of Toadsham for the devotion
of their member 1 " Whilst Commissioner Thrush declared that
to stick by his seat vdth the tenacity of Jericho, was not to sit
leisurely and like a gentleman for a borough, but to be impaled
in Parliament. To be sure, Mrs. Jericho was again and again
promised by sanguine friends that " Mr. Jericho must some day
have a coronet." But his wife, loath to be comforted, would
again fall upon her husband's daily waste. " A coronet ! Yes ; a
coronet is all very well, but if the dear fellow dwindles and
dwindles in Parliament as he has done, why — poor creature —
when the coronet comes, he'll have no head to put in it." An
impossible case, of course ; and only to be received as the morbid
apprehension of conjugal afiection.
It was a great pity that Jericho's intimacy with the Duke did
not begin in early youth. His Grace himself sweetly confounded
Jericho by more than once protesting such regret. " My dear
Solomon," his Grace would say, and at first all the blood in
Jericho's body seemed turned into ichor by the condescension,
" My dear Solomon ; I only wish we had met at College. How-
176 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
ever," the Duke would add -vntli fortitude, "we must make the
best of the time that remains to us." And certainly, Jericho
might take to himself this comfort : at no period of his life could
his friendship have been so useful to St. George as at the very
moment of his acquaintance. The fact isj the Duke was in debt.
Debt, indeed, was his family distinction. All his ancestors, from
Hugh de Gorge — who, to give the slip to his Norman tailor, came
with William to Hastings, and cut for himself a good slice of land
with his carving sword — all St. George's ancestors were in debt.
They were all born to prodigious bills, just as other high families
are bom to thick lips and elliptic noses. Therefore, we say,
Jericho was now a cherished guest at Eed Dragon House. Two
;.days before the marriage of Agatha, the Man of Money passed
the greater part of the night there : it was four in the morning
when he returned home. Of course, Mrs. Jericho thought him
in Parliament ; wasting himself, in her own impatient words,
upon those wretches of Toadsham. " And what would they care
if he killed himself outright in their service ? Why, they'd erect
nothing to his memory. Not so much as his -statue in gilt ginger-
bread." At this Mr. Jericho would smile incredulously ; and in
his bitter way, declare a female patriot to be the rarest of
animals.
It was late, very late when Jericho appeared in his library.
The servant, waiting at the breakfast-table, eyed his master with
looks of dismay. The honest fellow's teeth chattered as though
he was compelled to wait upon a ghost. Jericho observed the
condition of the lacquey, and, affronted by his terror, ordered
him to quit the room. And the man, it was afterwards dis-
covered, rushed to his bedchamber, skinned himself of his livery;
scratched on his old plain clothes, and — as though he was making
off with the silver tea-pot — sneaked stealthily from the house.
(That man — if we may quit our story to say as much — that man
is now in Bedlam ; his hopeless madness a belief that his own
face is nothing more than a razor blade. Poor fellow ! Evidently
possessed by the sharpened visage of Jericho, as it cruelly
gleamed upon him from the breakfast-table.)
And there was good reason for this new keenness of the face
divine. Ere Jericho quitted Eed Dragon House, he had lent
upon the most satisfactory mortgage — so any way there was land
for his money — no less than five-and-forty thousand pounds to his
Grace of St. George. It was a great sacrifice ; but the Man of
Money could not withstand it. Truly an enormous sacrifice ; but
it should be the last — the last — the very last. And there was no
doubt that the money, lent at such a season, and to such a man,
with parliamentary service and the fame of wealth, would bring
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. I77
the peerage : a baronetcy Jericho had already refused. A peerage !
Nevertheless, how he had shrunk — how horribly he had dwindled
— how wretchedly small he had become to purchase it. Aye, —
how small ? He would again measure himself: he would know
the exact waste. Whereupon Jericho took the silken cord, and
passed it round his breast. Why, it would twice encircle him —
twice, and a piece to spare. With horror and loathing, Jericho
flung the cord in the fire : he would never again take damning
evidence against himself. Yet, why should he fear ? He lost no
strength. On the contrary, as his flesh wasted, his spirit became
stronger — his passions fiercer. He had waxed in dignity of soul
— in might and vigour of self-assertion. He had wholly lost the
weak, easy-tempered part of himself, and was a man of iron will ;
of all-subduing energy. And perhaps this was the tenor of the
compact ; the condition of his wealth : that, as he sloughed the
fleshy weakness of human nature, his spirit should be strengthened,
sublimated to the temper of the diviner creature. His very soul
glowed and chuckled at the thought ; and thus priding himself,
in the triumph of his folly, he sat and smiled a ghastly smile, and
rubbed togrther his long, thin, bloodless hands.
" Why, what's the matter, woman 1 " suddenly cried the Man
of Money. Mrs. Jericho had abruptly entered the room, and
shouted astonishment at the spectre of her husband. " What's
the matter 1 " The woman could not answer : she trembled ; yet
with a frosty smile tried to overcome her look of apprehension.
Somehow, too, the strange manner of the man — his eye and voice
terrified and thrilled her. " I ask, what's the matter ? "
"Nothing, my dear; nothing," stammered the wife ; " nothing
if you — you are well."
"And why should I not be well? What ails me?" and
Jericho frowned and rose erect.
" You were so late at the House, I thought, my love, you must
be tired ; that is all," murmured Mrs. Jericho. " But my love,
here is Sir Arthur," and Sir Arthur Hodmadod — the bridegroom
of to-morrow with the happy Agatha — came smiling into the
room. Instantly, the smile was struck from his face ; he let fall
his cane, and as though he had looked upon Gorgon, stood with
fixed eyes, dropt jaw, and face of whitest stone. His bride, with
instinctive trust, alarmed at the spectre, clutched the cont skirt
of her betrothed. Mrs. Jericho trembled anew at this new
display of terror ; and with heroic elTort, tried to rattle the
baronet back to himself.
" Well, my dear Sir Arthur ; here are you and Agatha, like
coupled doves. Well, bless ye both," and the gallant woman
aflFectionately patted the cheek of her future son, and gave an
17S A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
atfectlonate, but sharpish pinch to her daughter's cheek, possibly
to bring back the blood. " I only hope, my loves, that this time
twenty years you'U keep as close together. But I have no doubt
of it, none ; " and she violently shook Hodmadod's hand, and
gave another pinch to the other cheek of Agatha.
" No doubt of it," stammered Hodmadod. " Always domestic
and always together, like knife and fork ; when I say knife and
fork, of course I mean cup-and-saucer."
" To be sure," cried Mrs. Jericho very cordially.
"My dear sir," and Hodmadod looked anxiously, warily at
Jericho ; " heavy debate last night ; when I say heavy, I mean,
you spoke of course. What a shame it is, Mr. Jericho, that they
never print your speeches. Shameful. They print much worse,
I'm sure. Didn't divide till three, I perceive. And with com-
mittees and all, it's butchering work. When I say butchering
work, I mean that I look upon the House of Commons as quite
a slaughter-house. Best lives of the country sacrificed there.
Why. now, how iU you look ! "
" Do you think so 1 " growled Jericho.
" Shocking ill. If I were you, I should take the Chiltem
Hundreds. When I say, Chiltem Hundreds, I mean medical
advice ; if not. Parliament will kiU you. Kill a bullock ; when
I say a bullock, I don't mean that you're a " —
" Sir Arthur Hodmadod," roared Jericho ; and the baronet
was in a tremor, for he had not, though he had industriously
essayed, talked himself into courage. " Sir Arthur ! " ]Mrs.
Jericho was in new twitters, and Agatha, about to faint, crept
closer to her love — " Sir Arthur, I say."
" Well, sir," answered the baronet very tremulously.
" I believe you marry that young lady to-morrow ] "
" It is my rapturous destiny," said Hodmadod, afiecting a
smile. — "When I say rapturous"
" I know," roared the Man of Money, with his best brutality.
"Now, understand, once and for all, if I permit a jackass to
marry into my family, I do not suffer him always to bray to
me." And with this IVIi-. Jericho stalked from the room,
" Jackass ! " exclaimed Hodmadod — " I must have this ex-
plained. When he says jackass of course he means " —
" Oh, dear no ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, crashing the inference
in its shell — its goose-shell.
"Not for a moment, Arthur ; don't believe it," interposed
Agatha ; and, at the touch of her hand, the lion-hearted Arthur
dropt his mane, and the wrathful fire died in his pacific eyes.
"It's all the debates," cried Mrs. Jericho. "They're wearing
him to a shadow. He'll never be himself so long as he's in that
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 173
horrid Comraons. He must retire into the Upper House. He'a
losing all liis substance in Acts of Parliament. And what — what
indeed does anybody care ? Except ourselves," said Mrs. Jericho,
with self-correction, " except ourselves. And, dear Sir Arthur,
I know your friendship — I know your sympathy : that l\Ir.
Jericho, in all his trials, in all his anxieties for the country, that
he may always depend upon."
" Always," responded Sir Arthur ; with the better alacrity
that he remembered he was about to leave England for a year ;
or, as his bride had more prettily expressed it to a friend, " for
twelve honeymoons."
Mrs. Jericho left the lovers to themselves. "We shall imitate
the considerate example of Mrs. Jericho. We will not break
upon the last hour of single life left them to enjoy together.
The last hour : for when next they meet, they meet in the very
handsome and very florid structure of St. Shekel's, there to be
made one by the welding ministration of Doctor Cummin.
About to quit Jericho House, Sir Arthur thought himself
especially favoured by fortune to meet Doctor Stubbs upon the
door-step. " Sir Arthur," said the courteous physician, " I wish
you great joy, though in advance."
" You're a kind creature, Stubbs ; when I say kind, I was
just thinking of you. That is, when I say thinking of you, I
mean " —
"My dear Sir Arthur," and Stubbs looked professionally
anxious, " what is the matter 1 "
" Nothing's the matter. — When I say nothing, I never felt so
odd in my life. Never was married before you know ; and upon
my word, looking at the church steeple there, it goes up and
down, and I feel all over sea-sick. Did you feel so, eh ? " and
Hodmadod took the arm of Stubbs, and turning from the door,
the bridegroom and physician walked gently onward. " Quite
sea-sick," repeated the Baronet.
" It's nothing ; " said the physician, "merely your nerves."
"That's what I said to myself; only my nerves. Still, it isn't
pleasant, is it, going to be married 1 Not but what I shall be
happy. Eh 1 Don't you think I shall be happy 1 " asked the
Baronet ; for in all things he liked to be confirmed by another
opinion ; he had, perhaps, so little faith in his own.
" Miss Pennibacker was made to — to — to make you happy : no
doubt of it," said Stubbs.
" When you say made, of course you mean ordered for me. —
And when — but bless me ! how that steeple does go up and
down, and how my nerves — they are my nerves you say ! —
tingle too."
ISO A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Well, well, we must put that all right," said Doctor Stubbs.
" It won't do for you to take nerves with you to the altar, to-
morrow. It's the bride's privilege to have nerves. You must
be rock."
" I should like it, above all things," said Hodmadod. " Ought
to be rock at such a time, eh 1 "
" A piece of manly adamant," responded Doctor Stubbs, and
his eye twinkled. " Well, that can be done. That can be done,"
repeated the Doctor slowly, the while he wrote with pencil upon
a leaf of his pocket-book. " Here, Sir Arthur. This will brace
you up like a drum," and the Doctor, tearing the prescription
from his book, handed it to the tremulous bridegroom.
Sir Arthur cast his eye upon the medicinal Latin ; muttered
bits of the written spells — " Morph : Acetat. Hyoscyami. Digi-
talis, ^theris Sulphuric. Yes; I see" — and the patient smiled,
much comforted. " I see ; quite like a drum. Exactly."
" Tliere are two doses," said Stubbs. " You will take one the
last thing to-night ; and the other when you wake in the morning.
That will, no doubt, be early," and Stubbs laughed.
"Oh yes," cried Hodmadod, with joyous burst. "Oh yes!
Up with the first chanticleer. When I say the first chanticleer" —
" To be sure," said Stubbs. " And now, my dear Sir Arthur —
why what is the matter ?"
" Nothing. When I say nothing, you can't think how that
steeple still goes up and down. I'm always sick at sea ; but
never felt so sick as now in all my life. Up and down ! "
" Aye, aye ; your nerves. Now, pray listen. You must keep
youi-self .very quiet. Because to-morrow" — Stubbs was the
smallest of a wag — " to-morrow you have to make a great moral
demonstration."
"Very moral. Marriage, you know. Nothing can be more
moral. When I say" —
"Yes, I apprehend. Therefore, you mu-st be very quiet.
Because your temperament is excitable. You're very impulsive.
Your nei'ves are most delicately strung."
" Quite so. Often thought it. Smallest thing sets 'em tingling.
I'm quite like an Eolian harp ; played upon by the least breath.
When I say" —
" To be sure. At this crisis you must be particularly careful.
Pray attend to me" — the Doctor looked at his watch — " for I'm
past my time. When you've taken the medicine, do not on any
account suffer yourself to be disturbed. Be most particular in
this. You will then have a sweet, refreshing sleep; and you
will wake, as I say, like a drum. God bless you" — and Doctor
Stubbs shook the Baronet's hand — " like a di'um."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 161
The Doctor returned to make his call at Jericho House, and
Hodmadod took his way to his own abode ; resolved to shut
himself up until summoned by the chimes to his happy fate.
Still the church steeple, as he phrased it in his thoughts, went
up and down in his head ; and he felt an increased sense of the
necessity of quietude. With strengthened determination to be
tranquil, Hodmadod, arrived at home, summoned his valet to his
presence. " Atkins," said Hodmadod, and Atkins stared at the
soft, subdued manner of his master. What could ail him ?
" Atkins, you know what is about to happen to-morrow." —
Atkins, responding to what he thought the dejection of the
Baronet, looked grave and shook his head. " Now, it is most
necessary to my reputation as a man and a rock, Atkins, that I
should not be disturbed. You understand ? "
" Yes, sir ; to be sure, sir ; not disturbed, sir," said Atkins.
" Very well. Then you will go yourself, Atkins, and get me
that prescription," and Hodmadod gave the document to the
suspicious retainer. Yes ; suspicious. For Atkins had grave
doubts, as he took his way to the chemist's ; doubts which his
fidelity to his master soon put into language.
" May I be so bold as to ask if there's an}i,hing queer in that
physic 1 " asked Atkins, with the best unconcern he could assume.
" No ; oil no," said the chemist ; and Atkins was greatly
relieved. " Merely soothing — merely soothing."
And the evening closed in ; and Hodmadod — though he would
now and then put his hand to his head, by which it was evident
that the steeple was still there — Hodmadod felt calmer and
calmer ; indeed, on the whole, happy and resigned. And then
again he felt so dull and lonely, that he heai'tily wished the
morning was come, and all was well over. Time never moved
so heavily. And now the bridegroom ran his fingers along the
piano — now he corrected his whiskers in the glass — now he
looked at the bracelet that, on the morning, he proposed to
clasp about the wrist of his bride. Still the minutes would
lag ; time would limp, as with a thorn in either foot. Never-
theless, Hodmadod did the best to speed him along. It was the
last evening of his celibacy. He would try a little reading. In
his time, the Baronet had been a great patron of the ring ; but
that thoughtless time was over. When his faithful valet appeared
with the night-light, Hodmadod was deep in Boxiana.
" Everything's ready for the morning," said Atkins, following
his master to the room. " Veiy handsome, sir," said Atkins,
with the freedom of an old favourite ; " very handsome waistcoat.
Must make the lady quite proud of you ;" and Atkins looked
admiringly at the delicate vest. " No lady could refuse a
.82 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
gentleman in such a waistcoat. Not often, sir, the church sees
anything like that."
" Be silent, Atkins," said Hodmadod. " Blockhead ! AVhen I
say blockhead, I mean ass ; and when I say ass, I mean you —
Atkins. Do you think marriage consists in waistcoats ? When
I say waistcoats, do you think the holy and blessed state is made
up of — of — satin and — and" —
" Not at all, sir,"— said the faithful Atkins.
"Well, then, be silent, and attend to my last words, or
nearly" — Atkins stared — "as a bachelor. I must not be dis-
turbed. I will ring for you ; but on no account, and for no
purpose whatever, break in upon me. You understand me,
Atkins. I have my thoughts to compose — medicine to take —
and many things to think of. A great moral demonstration to
make, Atkins ; when I say a moral demonstration, I have to be
a rock to-morrow ; adamant — moral adamant, at the altar."
" JVIust be staggering, sir ; 'specially the first time. But you'll
go through it, sir,"— said the encouraging Atkins— "go through
it, sir ; with credit to yourself, and — and with honour to your
country."
"Blockhead, go. And you hear, if you suffer me to be
disturbed, the world's before you. When I say the world's
before you, I mean my door is for ever behind you. Go," and
Atkins with a bow and a smile departed. Hodmadod prepared
himself for rest. Yet, for a few minutes, he sat before the
glass. He took the miniature of Agatha in his hand, and kissed
it. Then his eye fell upon the soothing medicine ; and as with
a new impulse, and pressing the picture, again and again he
saluted it. Then, laying it down, he took up the anodjiie. He
read the direction, translated by the chemist — " Half to he
taken the last tiling at night ; half, the first in the morninq."
The whole was very little. Very little. A smile of self
satisfaction crept over the face of Hodmadod as his eye rested
on the bottle. He had made a discovery ; had achieved a wise
thought, and his face was illuminated in token of the triumph.
And still he considered the bottle ; and silent, his mind thus
talked.
" Very little in the bottle. When I say little, 'twould all go
in a wine-glass. Half now, half in the morning ! Why
shouldn't it be all taken now — all swallowed at once, and be
done with ? Why make two bites of a cherry 1 When I say a
cherry, I mean physic. It must come to the same thing ; must
do the same work with the nerves, whether swallowed at once,
or at twice. Then, why shouldn't it do double work ? Why not
do all the bracing now, and have it over ? To be sure. Why,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 183
what a fool that Doctor Stubbs must be — and after all, he
doesn't look so very wise — what a fool he must be to divide the
stuflF into two. No, no ; I shall not separate them ; " and
Hodmadod, with a laugh, shook the medicine — " I shall not
separate 'em," talked his mind — " what the chemist has mixed
together, let no man separate ;" and, tickled by this timely joke,
as he thought it, Hodmadod, -with a nod at the miniature,
swallowed all the anodyne, and made the best of his way to that
bed, which he was to leave on the morning a rock — a piece of
adamant — moral adamant.
Magnificently rose the sun, and with the sun rose Agatha.
" Uprose the sun, and uprose Emily."
At earliest dawn, all Jericho's house was astir ; every servant —
especially the maids — from the housekeeper to the smallest maid
of the kitchen looking upon the day as a day in which she had
some most especial interest. Every female heart beat church-
wards. We will not dwell upon the thoughts of Agatha ; how,
when she awoke, she already pictured to herself Arthur animated
and hopeful ; his face beaming with the like happiness that, she
felt it, lightened her own ; how she endeavoured to anticipate
the hours, to see through the future ; to look to eleven o'clock,
and behold her bridegroom in the vestry of St. Shekel's ; the
appointed place of rendezvous, within a few steps — and all a
path of flowers — to the altar.
And, we regret to be compelled to confess it, that at the time
the bridegroom was fast asleep ; not even dreaming of the bride
that was up and fluttering from lace to lace — from silk to silk.
Time wore on, and the family of Jericho were assembled — all
but Basil. Agatha sighed as she marked his absence ; two or
three tears came to her eyes ; and then she thought of Arthur,
and the cruelty of Basil was, on the moment, forgiven and for-
gotten. Mr. Jericho put his best face upon the day. He looked
shining and as full as he well could be, of content. If his face
was sharp, it was — for the occasion — polished. Mrs. Jericho
had resolved to part with her daughter with dignified fortitude.
Monica was all resignation to her own disappointment, and her
sister bridesmaid, the Hon. Miss Candituft, pensive but proud ;
with a furtive look of mischief in her eye, as it fell upon the
unconscious Agatha. And all the party were prepared for
church.
Atkins had twice or thrice listened at his master's door ; and
still his master slept. Atkins looked at his watch, and was
astounded at the hour. Still the bridegroom slept. Atkins
184 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
thought he would rouse his master ; and then he thought of his
master's stern command and threat ; thought too of the profits
of his place, and therefore let the bridegroom sleep.
The carriages rolled from Jericho House on their way to the
churoh. The white bows shone on the servants ; the lily for a
minute triumphed in the fiice of the bride. St. Shekel's opened
on the bridal company. The heart of Agatha beat thicker at the
church-door.
Atkins again listened at the chamber, again and again ; not a
sound. The medicine — the drugs ! A horrid suspicion — despite
of the warranty of the chemist — shot all through the valet.
Along every nerve, throughout every bone of his body — as he
afterwards declared — a dreadful doubt of double-dealincf : of
cowardly evasion of the hymeneal engagement by means of
poison. Atkins entered the chamber.
The bridal party ascended the steps of St. Shekel's. The
looks of Agatha hungei'ed for her love : hungered, though bent
upon the church stones. Expectation, to the tijjs of Agatha's
fingers, awaited the hand of Arthur to press her hand. The
bridal party entered the vestry.
Atkins stept stealthily to the bedside. The bridegroom was
in such a sweet, deep sleep, it seemed to Atkins a sin and a
shame to wake him to be married.
The bridegz'oom had not arrived. Agatha looked all round
the vesti-y ; again and again scrutinised its dimensions ; and still
refused to believe the juggling evidence of her senses. "Not
arrived ! " cried Mr. Jericho, looking fiercely at the clerk.
" Impossible ! " said Mrs. Jericho. " Extremely ungallant,"
whispered Monica. " He '11 be here in a minute," said the Man-
Tamer. " Perhaps," said Miss Candituft, " perhaps he has
mistaken the church." The bride, of course, said nothing.
" Here he is," cried Mizzlemist, the door ojDening ; and the
heart of the bride opening with it. A false alarm. It was not
the bridegroom : it was the beadle. The clerk was wanted by
Doctor Cummin.
Atkins stood at the bedside, and resolving with himself,
determined to wake his master. '• Sir, sir, it's late — it's very
late, indeed, sir," cried Atkius.
"If the bridegroom doesn't come in five minutes," said the
A MAN MADE OF MOXE^. 185
Man of Money, " I do not think I can permit the bride to stay
a moment longer." " Now, my dear," said Mrs. Jericho, " you
are so impatient. There must be some strange mistake — per-
haps, some accident." " Yes, mamma, Tm sure that's it —
some accident," said poor Agatha ; and then the tears ran freely
down her cheeks. Poor little soul ; Ler heart was breaking ;
nevertheless. Miss Candituft — cruel bridesmaid ! — smiled as in
revenge and scorn. " This is infamous ! " shouted IVIi'. Jericho,
with every moment waxing wrathful.
" You'll be past the time, sir ; you will really," and Atkins
ehook his master. " I know all about it," grunted Hodmadod.
" Steeple still up and down — still in my head," and the bride-
groom again lapsed into the depths of sleep. Atkins shook, but
shook in vain.
" This appears to me," said Jericho, " a premeditated affront.
All a plan to insult your daughter, Mrs. Jericho ; to insult the
family; to insult me. I wish the devil may" — "Beg your
pardon, aJK," said the clerk ; " but you must remember where
you are ; can't admit of such language here." Mr. Jericho
drew himself up to reply ; but could not speak. At length his
wordless scorn exploded in a burst of laughter. " This is
shameful," cried the clerk. " Brawling in church." " My dear
sir, it is vexing," said Mizzlemist with quick knowledge of the
ecclesiastical law — " but control your feelings." " And why —
why should I conti-ol them ?" roared Jericho — "I suppose I can
afford to pay for them. The bride shall not stay to be insulted ;
the young lady shall not remain a minute longer." Dear Agatha !
Then might be seen the little loves, with blubbered cheeks,
sitting squat among her orange flowers ; picking bud and blos-
som, and with sobbings, dropping them upon the vestry floor.
And every minute gave new fire to Miss Candituft's eye — new
red to her cheek — new fulness to her lip.
" Why, sir, sir," cried Atkins, again shaking the bridegroom ;
"you're to be married to-day, sir; and it's past the time.
Have you forgot, su-?" "I know all about it," suorted Hod-
madod ; " scoundrel — disobeyed my orders — leave my service —
world before you — all before you ; " and with this, delivered
very somnolently, Hodmadod rolled over upon his side, and
would not awake. " I see how it is," thought Atkins. " He
has turned the matter over in his mind ; he has thought better
of it, and this is his plan to get off the match." And Atkins
had his own reasons for apijroving of his master's determi-
lyG A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
nation : Atkins would rather serve a bachelor, than a married
man. Hence, when Candituft presented himself at the house —
sent thither by a whisper from Mrs. Jericho to seek the bride-
groom — Atkins declared that he knew nothing of his master ;
therefore, could say nothing. All he knew was, that Sir Arthur'
had intended to be married that morning ; and if he was not at
the church ; if he was not married by that time, why that was
his master's business ; and not his, Atkins's. Moreover ;
perhaps Mr. Candituft and Sir Arthur had missed one another
on the road. Now, Mr. Candituft was by no means urgent in
his inquii'ies ; he did not sift the testimony of the valet ; in fact,
asked for no particulars ; but taking the suggestion of Atkins as
the truth, assuming that the bridegroom and himself had crossed
each other, the ]\Ian-Tamer returned to the vestry at the same
leisurely rate at which he had set out upon his journey.
"Another five minutes, and 'twill be too late," cried Mizzle-
mist. Jericho said nothing ; but rocked himself backwards and
forwards in a chair, his hands in his jjockets, and grinning to
himself the most tremendous revenge. Mrs. Jericho sat frowning
and tapping her foot ; Monica looked blank and sympathetic,
she could not but feel for the distress of the bride ; Agatha wept
without attempting to restrain her tears, whilst the Hon. Miss
Candituft, calmly looking down upon the victim, held to the
sobbing maid a bottle of salts. At this moment, the Hon. Mr.
Candituft entered the vestry ; he looked about him, as though
expecting to see the bridegroom. " "Why, he's not come ! " said
Candituft, surprised ; " where can he be 1 " At this moment the
church clock struck. "It is past the canonical hour," cried
Mizzlemist, in tones heavy and sad as passing-bell. " Too late
to marry to-day," said the clerk, " if the gentleman comes now."
Mr. Jericho, without saying a word, rose. He approached the
bride ; and in the most peremptory manner offered his arm to
the forlorn one. Agatha, wiping her tears, and drawing her veil
about her scalded face, laid her trembling hand upon her father-
in-law. Mr. Candituft, with words of sympathy, led away Mrs.
Jericho, who would have despised herself to say a syllable then
and there upon the shameful transaction. Monica followed with
Mizzlemist, and as she declared, from the bottom of her heart
pitying her poor sister; with a supplementary wish, accompanied
by a spasmodic clutching of her little right hand, " that she was
only a man to revenge dear Agatha." Miss Candituft was
silent ; but as she descended the church steps, her face glowed
and her eyes sparkled with triumph.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 187
CHAPTER XX.
As St. Shekel's clock struck twelve, the bridegroom awoke.
Heavily yawning, he called for Atkins. The faithful creature,
hovering about the door, immediately entered the room.
"Atkins, what's o'clock ?" demanded Hodmadod.
Atkins, afraid to give a direct reply, said, " Clock, sir ? ha,
sii" ! don't you know ? "
" How the devil should I know ? " asked Hodmadod, still
yawning, and then sti'etchiug himself, and rolling backwards
and forwards, half stupified by sleep. "What's o'clock V
"Why, sii-" — Atkins was afraid to speak — "why, sir, it's past
twelve o'clock."
" Past twelve, eh ? Past twelve," grumbled Hodmadod, very
drowsily.
" Do you recollect, sir," and Atkins timidly approached the
subject — " do you at all recollect, sir, anything you had to do
this morning ?"
" Hm ! " grunted Hodmadod, with half-closed eyes.
Hereupon Atkins took up the bridal waistcoat, and shaking
it — quite as if he meant nothing — and smoothing it in the face
of Hodmadod, repeated the question. The bridegroom's eyes
gradually fixed themselves upon the snowy garment : light, and
with it consciousness, gleamed within them. Suddenly, Hod-
madod sat bolt upright in bed, and violently and rapidly
exclaimed — " Atkins, tell me, Atkins ! Wasn't I to be married
this morning ?"
" This looks a little like it, sir," said Atkins, at arm's length
exhibiting the waistcoat.
Then Hodmadod, with a groan, fell back in his bed, and
cried — " Atkins, Stubbs has poisoned me ; when I say poisoned
me —
"My dear fellow," exclaimed Candituft, bursting into the
room ; " how delighted am I at last to find you ! What is the
matter ? Poison ! Attempted suicide 1 No doubt, to avoid this
marriage. I always thought your heart was not in it. But
wherefore poison ? "
"When I say poison, I mean — look there" — and Hodmadod
pointed to the phial. " Stubl)s prescribed it ; two doses, one at
night, one in the morning. Thouglit it quite the same to take
18? A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
'em both at once — they were only to strengthen my nerves, aad
they've"—
" I see ; a narcotic. A double dose has been a tremendous
sleeping-draught," said Caadituft. " My dear friend — 'tis a
mercy you ever woke again. I have only just left the
Jerichos."
" There's no time to lose," cried Hodmadod ; " I feel dread-
fully stupid with the physic ; when I say stupid, I mean I'll be
up, dressed, and ready for church directly."
" Too late, my dear boy," said Candituft with touching
solemnity. " I came before to seek you — but your valet " —
" Acted according to orders, sii'," said Atkins. " Sir Arthur
knows that. He must clear me," and assured of this, Atkins,
with the fullest self-satisfaction, left the room.
" Too late ! How do you me;m tod late ? " cried Hodmadod.
" Never too late to marry."
" Too late to-day. We waited for you an hour ; a full hour in
the church," said Candituft.
" What a wretch I am ! " exclaimed Hodmadod, striking the
clothes with his fist ; " when I say a wretch, I mean a brute not
fit to see the light," and executing his own sentence, he rolled
his head in the blankets. " Not fit to see the light," he howled
through the bed-clothes.
" Come, you must be comforted," said Candituft. " Never-
theless, it was a dreadful sight in the vestry. Enough to melt a
heart of stone." Hodmadod groaned. " Mr. Jericho all colours
with rao-e. Mrs. Jericho still smiling, confident to the last."
Hodmadod, with much emotion, shook his leg; and in smothered
voice bellowed—" I don't deserve it." Candituft continued.
" Monica all tears. My sister — dear girl ! — only thoughtful of
the happiness of others ; regardless of her own sufierings — but
I will not dwell upon that — my sister, I say, doing all she could
to engage the attention of Agatha."
'• And — and — Agatha 1 " asked the culprit through the
blankets. There was no answer. — " Yes — my dear friend— tell
me all her suff'erinffs ," cried Hodmadod in muflied voice — " all."
" Well, I must say this much in her praise," answered Candi-
tuft, " she bore the delay with the greatest patience." Gradually
Hodmadod uni-oiled his head from the blankets. " She talked and
chatted away the time in the prettiest and pleasantest manner."
" You don't say so 1 " cried Hodmadod, again showing his
heated face to the light, and staring in the eyes of the cool and
traitorous Candituft. "You don't say so ?"
" It might have been to disguise her real feelings," said
Candituft. " Nevertheless, I must say, it did not seem like it.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. ISD
No ; the fortitude seemed genuine. I know your partiality —
you like women with such philosophy."
" No, I don't," cried Hodmadod savagely. " When I say I
don't like 'em, I mean I hate 'em."
" It's my mistake, my dear friend. "Well, where was I ? Oli,
■well — we waited the hour; and when the clock struck we left
the church," repeated Candituft.
" And Agatha ? " moaned Hodmadod.
" Why, the little heroine skipped into her carriage, happy as a
bird."—
"She's a flirt — a jilt" — cried Hodmadod. "I'm very much
obliged to Doctor Stubbs."
" Do you i-eally feel an obligation for that double dose ]" asked
Candituft.
" I do — I do ! " shouted Hodmadod, and he shook Candituft's
nand, and in despau- again roUed himself up in the bed-clothes.
It was a very wicked rumour ! A vile and cruel insinuation !
And when we are made to feel the combined meanness and
wickedness of such a slander ; when we are oppressed by the
power of such calumny ; when our spirit faints beneath a sense
of the poison, how apt we are to wish the world at once at an
end, that truth may vindicate its lasting triumph. " Shut the
book, my dear" — it was thus an old man spoke to his grand-
child, reading a chronicle of atrocity ; of blood, and fire, and
infanticide, and the rest — "shut the book, my child, and let us
pray for the Judgment."
Poor little Agatha ! When she was assured by several bosom
friends that it was well known throughout the world that Sir
Arthur Hodmadod had taken poison — only, happily, a powerful
constitution had triumphed over the deadly dose — poison for
the sole, determined purpose of avoiding marriage with Miss
Agatha Pennibacker, she wished at once to sink into her grave,
to be well quit of a world that could coin and circulate such a
wicked, wicked counterfeit. Nevertheless, Hodmadod did not
show himself at Jericho House. What then ? Good Doctor
Stubbs gave daily intelligence of his amendicg health. Still,
Hodmadod did not write ! Why, no ; Stubbs had forbidden him
any mental exercise soever ; his nerves were still in a jangle, and
pen and ink were luxuries, in his delicate condition, not to be
tasted, Agatha continued to be assured of the devotion, the
unalterable passion of Sir Arthur. And she was willing to
believe it. Nevei'theless — her heart would whisper as much in
her bosom — nevertheless, the smallest of notes would have been
thankfully received from the dearest of lovers, and still not a
190 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
line from Sir Arthur ! Not a syllable to give hope of his speedy
convalescence ! Not even a hint of an early day to carry out
the beautiful intention, so disastrously marred at the very foot
of St. Shekel's altar. Well ; a knowledge of the wicked truth
oppresses us, and without further delay, we will at once make
known the treachery of Candituft and the falsehood of the
Baronet. As Agatha's heart is, for a time, doomed to be broken,
the blow may as well come down at once. The earlier the
damage, the sooner the repair.
"It is enough to make a man leave civilised life, and wear
goatskins," — said Candituft, on his next visit to Hodmadod —
" to know and feel the malignity of the family of man."
"Certainly," said Hodmadod, "it's a family that will pick
one another to pieces. When I say pick " —
" To be sure. Now, what do you imagine, my dear friend —
what do you conceive to be the cause of your deferred marriage
with the beautiful Agatha 1 "
" Why, the physic — the sleeping draught. Morphine, wasn't it ? "
asked the innocent Hodmadod.
" To be sure : but the world will not have it so. No — no. The
world declares that you had thought better of the business" —
" Yes 1 " cried the Baronet, a little impatient.
"And between the bride and poison, chose the drug," and
Candituft spoke as one disgusted.
" Impossible ! It can't be ! " exclaimed Hodmadod.
" My dear friend, I will not suffer myself to tell you how this
falsehood is propped— buttressed up I may say— by other lies.
I heard it avowed — malignantly avowed — that if you should,
even now, marry Miss Pennibacker, the young lady will be
indebted for a husband, not to his own choice, but entirely to a
stomach-pump."
" But it isn't true, you know," said the Baronet.
" What matters truth to a scoffing world ? I must, however,
say that some — indeed a great many — excellent people were most
kind, most sympathetic. They entirely believed in the innocence
of your mistake : they kindly attributed your swallowing a
double dose to the unreflecting fervour of a lover. But at the
same time, they one and all declared, that in their opinion, the
finger of fate was in it."
" When you say the finger of fate, you mean, — I was sent to sleep
by the kindness of Providence 1 "
" Exactly so. In a word, it is evident "— say reflecting people
— " it is evident that Sir Arthur was not to marry Miss Penni-
backer."
And — to be brief— the people were right. For, in a few days,
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 191
Sir Arthur wedded with Miss Candituft. And, when Agatha
most needed tlie protection of a husband ! For never had Mr.
Jericho shown himself such a ruthless and intolerable tyrant. The
servants began to declare he was mad, and such sad belief every
hour gained gi-ound with Jericho's family. Mrs. Jericho thought
she would seek counsel of Basil ; and then she feared to discover
all her bodings to him. Again ; it might be only another of the
frantic fits that had of late shaken her helpmate ; although this
time the insanity took a more terrible development.
The Man of Money, though he had controlled his indignation,
quitted St. Shekel's church an enraged and wounded individual.
Yes ; wounded in his delicate sense of money. Sir Arthur
Hodmadod had shown to the world his contempt of the alliance
— had proclaimed his indifference, his scorn of Solomon Jericho !
The slight, the insult put upon the bride, was of little accoimt —
the blow was aimed at the father-in-law through the daughter.
Already the Man of Money thought of pistols ; and then, the risk
of another hole through his monetary heart made him at once
resolve upon peace. For two days Jericho considered with him-
self; brooded in silence over his new design. At length he was
resolved. At length, he made the true discovery of the true
value of wealth. The value was power — not show. Now this
great and original discovery, as his disordered brain believed it,
worked on him with the rage of madness. It was now his fond
conviction that the money he bore about him, carried with it an
immortal principle : if he ceased to exhaust his heart — his bank
of life — he should live for ever. He would, therefore, not draw
another note ; no ; not another. He would live upon what he
had. He would turn the foolish superfluities about him into
hard, tangible money. He would enjoy avarice ; for avarice was
power. The miser was the ragged king, and the finest of fools
were his merest subjects. And with this thought, Jericho
wandered throughout his house ; now muttering, now talking,
and now threatening the types and shows of wealth about him.
He would no longer feed the eyes of the world — a perilous waste
— but govern men with a golden sceptre. "Why, it was a
vanity — a miserable vanity — the stupid pride of the peacock
to spread before the world a splendid show ! Now, the magpie
was a wiser ci-eature that concealed its treasures." And then
he — the Man of Money — had had enough of public homage.
He would therefore turn miser, and make men look upon
his outside wretchedness with wonder ; make them bow and
simper to his very tatters. -Again, mystery ever hung about
the miser ; for it was the serf-like weakness of the poor to multiply
his riches.
102 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Mrs. Jericho," said the Man of Money. The trembling wife
had been summoned to receive her husband's orders. She had
scarcely power to meet the eyes of her helpmate. In two days,
twenty years seemed to have gathered upon him. His face looked
brown, thin, and withered as the last year's leaf. His whole
body bent and swayed like a piece of paper, moved by the air.
As he held his hand aloof, the light shone through it. Basil's words
again sounded in the woman's ears : it was plain, there was some
horrid comi^act between her lord and the infernal powers ; or — it
was all as one — the tyranny of conscience had worn him to hia
present condition.
" Mrs. Jericho, madam, you will instantly bring me all your
diamonds — jewellery — all. Give the like orders to your daughters;
the mincing harpies that eat me."
" My dear — my love ! " cried the wife.
" My love ! Well, well, you mean the same thing ; but the
words should not be 'my love ' — but ' my money.' "
" You are not well, Solomon. You have been vexed by this
disappointment ; you have taken it too much to heart," stam-
mered Mrs. Jericho.
" To heart ! ha ! ha ! Very well — be it so. Heart and pocket,
ma'am ; all's one."
" My dear, let me send for Dr. Stubbs." The wife shrinkingly
approached the Man of Money, and — timidly as a wood-nymph
might put her hand upon a wolf — was about to encircle with her
arm the neck of Jericho.
" Away with you ! I'll have none of it. "Woman's ai'ms ! The
serpents that wind about a man's neck, killing liis best resolu-
tions. Away with you, and do as I command. Bring me all your
treasures — all. And your minxes ! See that they obey me too.
And instantly."
"Yes, my love ; to be sure," said Mrs. Jericho ; for she was all
but convinced that Solomon's reason was gone, or going. It was
best and wisest for the time to be calm with him — to humour
him. " And why, my love, do you wish for these things ? Of
course, you shall have them. But why ? "
"To turn them into money, madam," cried Jericho, rubbing
his hands. " We have had enough of the tom-foolery of wealth —
I now becjin to hunger for the substance. I'll do without fashion.
I'll have power, madam ; power."
"Yes, Solomon ; certainly. But tell me, dearest, is not fashion
power V asked the wife, essaying a smile.
" The power of a fool. Am I a fool ? " the wife raised her
hands forbiddius: the thought. "What's all this show — all this
outside trumpery i Do I enjoy it ? Am I the master of it ? " —
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 193
" Yes, love ; of course," said Mrs. Jericho.
" I say no — no. The fools, the wretches who come about us
— 'tis theirs, as much as mine. To see it is to have it. Now
why should I rob myself to feed the eyes of asses 1 No : I'll
have all my money all to myself. I'll keep the power in my own
hands — in my own hands. I'll raise an army, an army,
madam ;" and Jericho chuckled, and his wife was more convinced
of his increasing insanity. " Now, woman, do you know what an
army is 1 "
" Of course, my dear ; I should hope so," and the wife still
tried to coax the madman.
" I mean, the rich man's army ; the miser's army, if you will.
Now I propose to raise — let me see — let me see — a couple of
million of fighting men."
" Mad ! Past hope — mad ! " thought the wife in despair.
" Do you hear me, woman 1 " roared the Man of Money, and
he shook like a green flag in the wind.
" Yes, love ; every word — every syllable. Of course ;" and
again the wife trembled.
" Two millions of fighting men. And how will I raise them 1
Why, there's your jewels ; the jewels — for I'll have every stone
of 'em — of those kittens, your daughters." —
(" If I could only manage to send for Dr. Stubbs," thought
Mrs. Jericho.)
" Then there's this house and all its lumbering trumpery. And
— and — that cursed hermitage you made me buy for the time I
was to be Prime Mini'ster of England." —
(" Oh that Doctor Stubbs would make a morning call !"
silently prayed the wife.)
" I shall turn all — all into fighting men. And such men ! Ha !
ha ! they are never killed ; no — no ; they multiply. Yes — yes"
— and Jericho bent his head, and joined his hands, "they
increase and multiply."
("He shall not be left alone," determined Mrs. Jericho, with a
shiver.)
"And these millions of fighting men are men with the
royal stamp upon 'em, Mrs. Jericho ; men who sing a
continual chorus JDei gratia ; men, who it may be, kill — kill
upon fields of parchment : kill dead, dead as the sheep that
carried the skin, — what then 1 all's clean and clear, not a drop
of blood."
" No. Oh, no ; not a drop " — said Mrs. Jericho. Poor
bewildered woman ! What could she say 1
" Now, when I make myself the general of these two millions
of golden men, I send them out — some on one campaign — some on
o
19-1 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
another. Some to do service for young heirs, and eat 'em after-
wards. Well, they return to me. They come home, bringing
prisoners ; other golden captives. Every soldier his one, or two,
or three soldiers. Eh ? "
" Yes, love ; of course," assented Mrs. Jericho.
" And therefore, madam," cried Jericho with ferocity — " there-
fore we will have no more of this trumpery to waste upon others.
No : I will have the power — the power in my own hands. I will
have my fighting millions of good gold pieces ; and — though
we live in a hovel, and all of us wear sackcloth, as we all
shall "—
" To be sure, my dear," said Mrs. Jericho, and she could not
help it — she thought of a strait-waistcoat.
" Why, even then, when folks point at me, crawling about in
outside beggary — even then the world shall acknowledge me to
be greater than Csesar, with all his legions."
"""Yes — yes — dear," sighed Mrs. Jericho.
" Ccesai-, with all his legions," repeated the man possessed : and
he poised himself in his chair as upon a throne ; and called into
his shadowy face, as he believed, an imperial look of money.
CHAPTER XXI.
Leaving King Jericho anointed, crowned with wealth; wealth,
the sceptre in his right hand ; wealth, the ball of the world, in
his left ; we must bestow our thoughts upon a few of the subject
people, who from time to time have appeared in these pages. We
therefore speed our way to the frigate-built ship. Halcyon, Captain
Goodbody, commander. One minute, reader, and arm-in-arm we
stand upon the deck.
Some dozen folks with gay, dull, earnest, careless, hopeful,
wearied looks, spy ahout the ship, their future abiding-place
upon the deep for many a day. Some dozen, with different
feelings, shown in different motions, enter cabins, dip below,
emerge on deck, and weave their way among packages and
casks, merchandise and food, lying in labyrinth about. The ship
is in most seemly confusion. The landsman thinks it impossible
slie can be all taut upon the wave in a week. Her yards are all
so up and down ; and her rigging in such a tangle, such disorder;
like a wench's locks after a mad game at romps. Nevertheless,
Captain Goodbody's word is as true as oak. On the appointed
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 19.5
day, the skies permitting, the frigate-built Halcyon, with her
white wings spread, will drop down the Thames — down to the
illimitable sea.
She carries a glorious freightage to the Antipodes ; English
hearts and English sinews. Hope and strength to conquer and
control the waste, taming it to usefulness and beauty. She carries
in her the seed of English cities ; with English laws to crown tliem
free. She carries with her the strong, deep, earnest music of the
English tongue ; a music soon to be universal as the winds of
heaven. What should fancy do in a London Dock ? All is so hard,
material, positive. Yet there, amid the tangled ropes, fancy will
behold — clustered like birds — poets and philosophers, history
men and story men, annalists and legalists, English all, bound
fur the other side of the world, to rejoice it with their voices.
Put fancy to the task, and fancy will detect Milton in the
shrouds ; and Shakspeare, looking sweetly, seriously down,
pedestalled upon yon main-block. Spenser, like one of his
own fairies, swings on a brace ; and Bacon, as if in
philosophic chair, sits soberly upon a yard. Poetic heads of
every generation, from the half-cowled brow of Chaucer to
the periwigged pate of Dryden, from bonneted Pope to
nightcapped Cowper — fancy sees them all — all ; aye, from the
long-dead day of Edward to the living hour of Victoria ; sees
them all gathered aloft, and with fine ear lists the rustling of
their bays.
Such passengers, ho'weTer, are apt to steal their transit,
paying no shilling to owners. "We have therefore given suffi-cient
— more than suflicient — paper and ink to their claims upon us.
For here are passengers, crossing from the wharf to the deck ;
good folks journeyed fi-om Primrose Place to inspect their some-
time house upon the wave. Carraways and Basil have, on former
visits, inspected every nook and corner of the Halcyon, and there-
fore tread the deck with an assured manner, as though they
already felt themselves at home. And Bessy, with happy face,
and sparkling eyes, looks vivaciously around, as though she was
truly surprised by the excellent accommodations, the comforts
and conveniences, manifest at a glance. Poor Mrs. Carraways
tries to smile, but shudders at the dirt and confusion ; and then,
casting a hopeless look at the tangled ropes, fairly sighs in
despair at the dreadful untidiness about her.
"A magnificent vessel, my dear," says Carraways. " Her first
voyage, too,"
" Very pretty, indeed, Gilbert," falters the wife.
" Beautiful, isn't she, mamma % " cries Bessy, exulting in the
positive loveliness of the ci'aft.
2
196 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" A noble ship, madam," says Basil ; " and everybody predicts
as swift as a bird."
Mrs. Carraways glances aloft, then sideways ; tlien sliding her
hand under the arm of her husband, she asks a little tremulously,
" Do you think, Gilbert, she is quite safe 1 The first voyage ! Of
course, somebody inust go the first voyage. Still, do you feel con-
fident she is safe 1 "
" Safe as the ark, my dear," answers Carraways, with a jocund
laugh, squeezing his wife's arm at the same time.
" And how long" — Mrs. Carraways had already twenty times
put the self-same query — "how long shall we be shut up in this
ship 1 I mean, how long will the voyage" —
" Oh, Captain Goodbody will pledge his name and fame as a
sailor," — cries Carraways — " not more than four months.
Perhaps, a bare sixteen weeks. Why, what's the matter ? "
" Nothing, dear ; nothing," says the wife, with a blank face.
" It's the — the smell of the tar — the pitch — it always made my
heart sink ; but — it's very strange — never so much as now."
" How very odd, mamma ! " cries Bessy ; " but you will think
me a curious creature. Upon my word, I think the odour rather
pleasant ; indeed, positively agreeable," and the bride inhaled
the pitched deck and tarred ropes as though she stood in a rose-
garden. Bessy's valorous nostril made even her mother smile
through her paleness ; and Carraways with a laugh declared the
girl ought to have been born a mermaid. Basil with proud
and glowing looks, silently listened to the enthusiasm of his
betrothed.
" I never did see a place in such a litter," said Mrs. Carraways,
looking with the eye of housewife at the crowded, scattered deck.
" And all those ropes, Gilbert ; why, they never can get them out
of tangle by the time they say."
" Never fear, lass ; sailors can do anything. All they have to
do with time is to beat it. But come, let us look over our house.
As we are to be tenants for some weeks, you'll like to see the
drawing-room and dining-room ; the parlours, the kitchens, the
garrets ; and all the other conveniences of the dwelling. And let
me tell you, it has one cajiital recommendation ; it has no taxes.
Basil, lad, show the way."
Basil, with Besoy under his arm, immediately proceeded to
make the best of the way to the principal cabin. This, through
a zig-zag path of various cargo, was at length accomplished ; and
the four stood in some dark place, in which one candle, with
funereal wick, survived sullenly in the gloom.
" This," said Basil, very boldly, " is the state cabin."
" Oh ! " said Mi-s. Carraways.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 197
"It's dark now, mamma," said the hopeful Bessy, " because
the docks aud the — the other ships are close at the windows •,
but wlien we are at sea, of course it will be beautiful. Such a
view ! "
" No doubt, Bessy," cried her father. " Here you'll sit and see
the dolphins aud the flying-fish, and the stormy petrels, and the
— the — that is, all the other sea-sights."
" Very, very interesting indeed," sighed Mrs. Carraways.
" The place, it must be owned," said Basil, " is a little gloomy
at present. In fact, cabins always are, in dock. But I assure you
my dear madam, when once wide at sea, and from the windows
here you look out and behold a wide, wide wilderness of
water, blue or green, now intermingled with the red flood of
moi'ning, now crested with the white foam of noon, now deepened
with the golden suuset — witli star by star coming out, like
angel eyes, to smile good night upon you — I do assure you, my
dear mother, that then the place will show a very, very
difi"erent aspect."
" Yes : I dare say," confessed Mrs. Carraways ; and she felt
she could confess no less.
" Oh, it will be beautiful," cried Bessy, and her hopeful, cordial
voice sounded sweetly through the miserable, musty gloom.
"Beautiful to sit here, aud work, and read ; and watch the
changes of the sea ; the albatrosses, and the coral reefs, and all
the ocean wonders. Beautiful ! "
" And now we'll go below," said Carraways ; for he felt the
contrast of the present and the future a little too glowing for his
wife ; whose only answer to the raptures of Bessy was a deeper
sigh.
" Where are we going now ? " asked Mrs. Carraways, as she
suffered herself to be led in and out of what she called the
shocking litter upon the deck. " Yes : I recollect — down
stairs."
" A very noble ship, indeed ; beautiful — very beautiful," said
Carraways, pausing, and looking about him, in his way
to the companion-ladder ; for he felt that the dreadful
moment, the fearful instant of trial was at hand ; and there-
fore ventured to deliver himself of a triumphant flourish upon
the magnificence of the floating prison in general, ere he intro-
duced his wife to her dark, close berth ; her condemned cell for
many, many weeks.
" Many more stairs 1 " asked Mrs. Carraways, having taken
about three in lier descent.
" None ; that is, none to speak of," answered her husband ; still
and still descending. " Here we are," lie cried at length. " Fine
193 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
aud roomy between decks. Nothing can be more airy," said Car-
raways, taking off his hat.
" I feel as if I should faint," said Mrs. Carraways.
" Admirably ventilated," observed the husband.
"I had no idea it could be so nice," said Bessy, and she looked
with as much hope, as much sweet cheerfulness about her, as
though she stood in her own old, early summer bower ; the
playplace of her childish days.
"Here are the cabins," and Carraways opened a door, and
showed in a sort of long box two opposite rows of boards.
" Cabins ! My dear Carraways," cried the desponding wife ;
" why, they're like kitchen shelves, and not a bit broader. I
couldn't sleep in one of them" —
" Oh yes, mamma," cried Bessy, " I'm sure they're much
broader than they look." Still Mrs. Carraways considered that
shelf whereujion for four months she was to be laid aside, with a
troubled eye — a very rueful face. " And, after all, I've no doubt,
mamma, with a little use they're much nicer than a bed."
Carraways said nothing ; but made up his mouth, as though con-
templating the enjoyment of a whistle. " Very much nicer than
a bed, especially at sea. And if the shiji should ever go up and
down — I say if it should — why, it's impossible to fall out with
this ledge to the shelf. Nothing could be more considerate ;
nothing could be more comfortable." The face of Mrs.
Carraways gradually relented at the cheerful voice of Bessy : by
degrees, too, it took a somewhat comic look ; there was, in truth,
positive fun peeping through its sadness, and breaking up its
shadow. And Bessy still continued eloquent upon the unintrusive
advantages of a shelf — as Carraways avowed to himself not much
broader than a boot-jack — over the ostentatious pi-etensions of
any bedstead soever. " I'm sure, I shouldn't wonder, mamma,
when you've become quite used to this, if you ever care to sleep
upon a bedstead again."
Here Mrs. Carraways burst into a hearty laugh. The affec-
tionate exaggeration of Bessy was not to be resisted ; and her
mother, with tears in her eyes and laughter at her lips, threw
her arms about Bessy's neck, and doatingly kissed her. " Yes,
my love ; yes, my own Bessy ; I will see everything with your
own good, glad eyes. I ought to do so ; and I will, love, from
this moment." And, in very truth, it was delightful to see with
what instant earnestness Mrs. Carraways set about the good
work. She, who went below, moping and dim, and sad, returned
to the deck with such smiling looks, that they fell like sunlight
upon her husband and the lovers. The whole party looked as
though they had come to secure berths for a voyage to Utopia or
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 199
Atlautis ; with the further delight that there were kindred and
friends gone thitlier long before, and anxiously expecting them.
The party mounted the poop of the vessel, and Mrs. Carraways
declared it would be a very beautiful place in fine weather
to bring her knitting, and to work there and watch the birds and
fishes. And the ship's deck, that, a while past, was in such
a dreadful litter, was reconsidered with a very tolerant
eye. Nay, we will not avouch that even the pitch and tar
had not, within a few minutes, contracted a sweet and flowery
odour — a whitF of lilac or violet — deemed impossible before.
In a word, everything about the Halcyon was better than
Hope — even were she a royal academician — could have painted
it. And when Captain Goodbody, in the forepart of the ship,
was pointed out to Mrs. Carraways ; the said Captain at the
time employed dancing up and down at arm's length an
infant passenger of some eight or nine months' worldly expe-
rience ; and dancing the little one, chuckling and crowing in
concert with his playmate, — when, we say, Mrs. Carraways saw
the commander of the Halcyon so genially employed, — she
emphaticaJly avowed that then she had not another care about
the voyage on her mind ; and if the luggage had only been
aboard, and the ship cleared of its litter, she would have been
quite ready for sea that very minute,
" That's a good lass," said Carraways. " Still, not this minute.
Here's a pair of doves to be coujiled, before we take ship in the
ark ;" and Bessy blushed.
" Why, of course, Gilbert," replied his wife. " I meant that
and all ;" and Bessy blushed still deeper.
At this moment, a gentleman, his wife, and — Mrs. Carraways
counted them as they came up the poop ladder — a family of nine
children ascended in procession. The gentleman approached
Carraways with a ceremonious elevation of beaver : then, with
measured syllables, began, — " I believe, sir, I have the pleasure
of addressing a brother passenger that will be ? " Carraways
bowed. " My name, sir, is Dodo : a name, I believe, pretty well
known in that place they call the world, down there," and Dodo,
as with accusing finger pointed towards the west, and bitterness
seemed to well to his lips. Basil stared at the change wrought
in the man. His face, once shrewd, earnest, yet withal honest
and good-tempered, seemed edgy, as sharpened on the world's
grmdstone. His thin hair was white as paper ; and wlien he
spoke, it was with a twitch, as though every syllable he uttered
stung his lips with a sen.se of wrong. Basil at once recognised
Dodo, although Dodo had no remembrance of Basil.
" I trust, sir," continued Dodo, " I may take the freedom of
200 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
a self-introduction, as I am to have the care of you during the
voyage. I go out as doctor of the vessel. And my best wishes
are that none of you will have any need of me." Carraways
bowed in thankfulness of such benevolence. " I go out, under-
stand me," said Dodo ; and then he smiled scornfully — " but
never, never to return. I will not take a particle of the dust of
England with me. Not a particle. When I finally step aboard,
it shall be in a pair of new shoes ; bran-new shoes. Not a
particle of that ungrateful earth," and Dodo pointed to the
west.
" I am sorry, sir," said Carraways, " you should have such
cause for new shoe-leather."
" It is no matter, sir ; no matter," and Dodo raised his hands,
and shook his fingers, as though shaking all annoyance from
them. " No matter. We go to a fine country, sir ; a virgin
country, sir. A country, fresh from the hand of nature ; a
country, glorious and flourishing with living wood ; a country
yet unburdened, sir, with heavy sins of brick and mortar. A
magnificent country. So fertile ! A crop with every quarter ;
splendid pasturage ; wonderful cattle ; beautiful flowers, and
birds, and fishes" —
" And " — said Mrs. Carraways — " and no snakes."
At the sentence. Doctor Dodo fairly leapt from his feet.
" That's it, my dear madam — that's it, my truthful lady ! No
snakes — no reptiles — no vipers ; that's it," and Dodo rubbed
his hands, and chuckled with a wildness of enjoyment somewhat
akin to ferocity. Mr. Carraways remembered the reports of
Dodo's insanity ; and began to wonder at, perhaps to regret, his
appointment as doctor of the Halcyon. "Excuse me, sir," said
Dodo ; "but it's a subject I must feel deeply. Allow me to
introduce Mrs. Dodo ; our children, with one at the breast at
home. Well, sir ; here we are, twelve of us, stung out of the
country by vipers ; bitten out of house and home by adders. Am
I wrong then, when I thank heaven that where we're bound to,
there are no snakes ? "
" Indeed, Doctor Dodo," said Carraways, " your numerous
family adds an interest to your story. What do you mean 1
Bitten, stung ! I don't understand you."
" By the snakes that walk, sir. The snakes that stiU have
speech, plainly as the first snake that ever wagged his three-
forked lie, sir. The vipers that kill a man's reputation ; the
snakes that trail their slime over his daily bread."
" My dear George," said Mrs. Dodo, soothingly.
" Be quiet, Charlotte. Stung as I have been, when I can get
a gentleman to hear me — for that's a comfort not always granted
A MAjST made of money. 201
— when I can get a gentleman with a heart in his face to listen
to me, it does my soul good to tell my wrongs — to tell my wrongs ;"
and the poor man trembled, and grew very pale. Then, puttintr
down his emotion with a strong will, he proceeded, as he believed
calmly, to narrate his injuries. And thus he now muttered, and
now gasped them — " You see, sir, there is a fellow in this town,
named Jericho," — Carraways was about to stop Dodo, but Basil
by a look, forbade him, — " a sort of man-devil, sir ; man-devil,
A fiend with bowels made at the Bank, and just smeared with a
paste of flesh to seem human. "Well, this demon was shot through
the heart. I saw it, sir. I looked through the perforation ;
could have run my cane through the hole ; a hole as clean as a
hole in a quoit ; and the devil walked away alive, and is alive
yet ; though shredding away, sir ; shredding like scraped horse-
radish. Well, sir, not to fatigue you, I proclaimed what I had
seen. I arose before the world ; and — I never denied the truth in
my life, never when I was a bachelor, and shall I do it now, with
ten children to blush for me ? — and I denounced this Jericho to
be the devil that I know he is. I made oath that I had seen the
sunlight through what ought to have been the left ventricle or
the demon's heart ; and what, sir ; what was my reward — what
my return by the world 'i Why the world called me a lunatic,
mad-man ! My patients fell from me in a day. A few hours,
and my hand was unblessed with a single guinea. The devil
Jericho threw gifts about him ; and all society turned itself into
a knot of vipers, and stung my reputation — killed my practice —
poisoned my bread. And so, sir" — and Dodo gasped for breath,
and strove for serenity, — " and so, I have resolved to leave the
land. We all go," — and Dodo smUed — " all, mother and myself,
the nine here, and the one at the breast. I've brought 'em —
dear hearts ! — to show 'em their berths. I'm afraid, I've tired
you ; good morning, si]\ Come along, Charlotte ; come along,
my loves. We go where there are no snakes — no snakes." And
poor Doctor Dodo, with his meek and melancholy wife, descended
to the deck ; and thence, followed by the nine children, dived to
the sleeping shelves below.
" Poor dear man ! " said Mrs. Carraways ; and then she
added — " but I'm so gLad he's going with us. If one is never ill,
still Gilbert, it always gives one confidence to have a doctor of
the party."
"To be sure, my love," answered Gilbert. "A doctor may be
an excellent wari-anty of health. For the very reason that he's
at hand, we may resolve to do without him, eh ? " And Carra-
ways looked waggishly in his wife's face ; and seemed to take a
new stock of good spirits from the happiness he saw there.
202 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
Indeed, all the four were in the blithest mood. And we may say
of Bessy, wherever she looked she seemed to carry light and
pleasure with the glance.
They were about to descend, when from the dark state-cabin
came a long gurgling laugh that made them all pause. " I'm
sure I know that laugh," cried Mrs. Carraways.
" Oh ! I'm certain it's she," avowed Bessy, gravely confident.
" It must be " — and it was — Jenny Topps. She ran out like a
kitten after her tail upon tlie deck, and then looking up, caught
the faces of her friends. Whereupon, Jenny bobbed a deep
curtsey, blushed, and immediately put her arm under the protect-
ing arm of Topps as he lounged out fi'om the cabin. Instantly,
Topps himself was as much confused as his wife ; which confusion
he signified, by taking off his hat, and without a word smoothing
down his hair.
" Why, Robert, what brings you here ? " asked Carraways.
descending the ladder.
" Why, sir — please, sir," answered Robert, " come to see the
ship, sir ;" and Robert looked at Jenny. — " That's all, sir ;
nothing more, sir."
" Now, Robert, you know I hate dogmatism " — Robert bowed
— " nevertheless, I must know what brings you here. Come, teU
me ; what is it ? "
Still Robert smoothed his hair ; still he answered — " Come to
see the ship, sir. Nothing more, sir."
" Indeed," said Carraways. " Well, then, Robert ; let's go and
look a little for'ard. I hav'n't seen the caboose yet, myself.
Come, Basil." And the wary man moved onward with the two,
leaving Jenny Topps in charge of Mrs. Carraways and Bessy.
Scarcely had the three men proceeded beyond the main-mast,
when the three women had plunged into the subject that, as
Carraways knew, he alone should fail to fathom.
" Well, then, dear ma'am, if you'll not tell Robert that I told
you," said Jenny, burning to speak, " we've made up our
minds to go wherever you go ; and we've come to take our
places."
"My dear Jenny," said ]\Irs. Carraways, touched by the
affectionate fidelity of the young couple, "my good girl, I hope
you have well considered this step 1 It would make us all very
unhappy, should you for a moment repent it. To leave your
friends " —
" But we've none to leave ; for father goes with us," cried
Jenny, pouring out her news. " And you can't believe how
happy the old man is at the thought of it ! He says it will be so
beautiful for him in his old age to carry reading and wi'iting to
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 203
the children in the wiklerness. For he tleehires he will have a
school there, if all his scholars learn under the naked sky, and
sit upon stumps of trees. You can't think how happy he is.
And then, ma'am " — added Jenny with graver looks — " I'm sure
it will be the saving of Robert. It will, indeed, ma'am. That
cab- work, ma'am," and Jenny raised her hands, " is dreadful."
" It must be," said JNIi'S. Carrawa3's. " Out all weathers."
"It isn't so much the weather, as the company. It 'ud spoil
an angel to be a cabman," averred Jenny — " waiting for the
people, he has to wait for, so late at clubs. But, pray, ma'am,
don't tell master, ma'am ; for Robert's set his heart upon sur-
prising him when he finds him in the ship. And it will make
Robert so happy to wait upon master all the passage ; and me
to wait upon you — and I'm never ill, never. Been up and down
to Blackwall a dozen times, and felt it no more than if I'd
been in my own room. And so, I'm sure, I can be of some use
to you."
" My good, good girl," cried Bessy, giving both her hands to
the excellent creature.
"And above all," said Jenny, very seriously, "there is one
thing in this passage that will be a great load off my mind. It is
this. The passage, they say, lasts four months. Now in that
time, I shall be certain sure to finish my patchwork quilt."
Here Carraways and Basil returned, Topps following apart.
Mrs. Topps, dropping a hasty curtsey, made off to her husband,
and Carraways regarding his wife and daughter, with laughing,
curious looks, — with Basil conducted them from the ship. The
guilty Mrs. Topps, hanging on her husband's arm, had an instant
dread that her lord would question her upon the suspected
subject of conversation with the ladies. "Whereupon* with fine
instuict, she resolved to be beforehand in the way of interroga-
tion. — " Robert, my dear," said Jenny, with the deferential air
of a scholar ; " Robert, what did Mr. Carraways mean when he
said he hated dog — dogmatism ? " Topps was puzzled. " Robert,
my dear," Jenny urged, "what — what in the world is dog-
matism 1 "
Now it was the weakness of Topps never to confess ignorance
of anything soever to his wife. " A man should never do it,"
Topps has been known in convivial seasons to declare ; " it makes
'em conceited." Whereupon Topps, wrested from his first pur-
pose of examination, by the query of his spouse, prepared himself,
as was his wont, to make solemn, satisfying answer. Taking ofi'
his hat, and smoothing the wrinkles of his brow, Topps said —
" Hm ! what is dogmatism ? Why, it is this — of course. Dog-
matism is puppyism come to its full growth."
204 A MAN MADE OF ]\rONEY.
CHAPTEE XXII.
And Jericho lived in his large house, like a rat in a hole.
Avarice had seized upon him ; and with every hour bent and
subdued every thought and purpose to coin all his possessions.
He would have his millions of fighting pieces. Hence, he loathed
to look upon the finery about him. It was a wicked, a wasteful
folly. A shameful sacrifice to the eyes of others. He had dis-
charged all his servants — had no one, save one old man ; the
paujier grandfather of one of his footmen, who had haunted the
house for ofi"al ; and, as Jericho believed, was in lucky hour dis-
covered by his master to become the most feithful of retainers.
This old man seemed of congenial wickedness with Jericho.
Indeed, there looked between them a strange similitude ; twin
brethren damned to the like sordidness, the like rapacity ; with
this difference, that the master could enjoy to his soul's triumph
the lust of wealth ; whilst the more wretched serf was ravenous
with the will alone. It was very odd. Jericho and old Plutus —
the Man of Money was a grim wag ; and in his savage drollery
had nicknamed the crust-hunting pauper Plutus — Jericho and
Plutus were in face and expression alike as two snakes ; alike in
key their voices, as viper's hiss to hiss ; though Plutus, be it
known, was the fatter and the louder reptile.
The Man of Money sat in one of his garrets ; a den of a place,
though crowning the magnificent fabric of Jericho House. The
scullion had slept there. And there remained the very bed, the
very table, the one chair enjoyed by the discarded drudge. It
was the worst, the meanest nook of the house ; and therefore,
Jericho rejoicing, took possession of its squalor. It was with one
effort, a triumph over a lingering weakness for the nice, the soft
appliances of life. He sat thei-e, in that low, slant garret, the sove-
reign of himself ; the conqueror of the spendthrift, the reveller,
and the glutton. The wretchedness that surrounded him was
the best, the seemliest pomp to declare and grace his victory.
" 'Tis a pity, Plutus — a pity, you wretch — that all the vultm*es
cannot alight in one day ; a great pity : for I'll not quit here, till
all's sold and the money bagged. A great pity. And they can't
all come to-morrow ? But I'll not leave the carcase. No. I'll
stop till all's gone — all's gone." And Jericho swathed his gown,
ostentatiously tattered, about his withering body ; and I'ubbed
together his transparent hands.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 20.5
" Good master," said the old slave, with a slavish cringe,
" good master, if the dealers could come all in one day, -would it
be wise to have them in a crowd — all in a crowd ? "
" Yes, wise ; very wise. That they might maul and bid over one
another. Nevertheless, be it as you say. But they'll all come ? "
" All ; good, kind sir," answered Plutus. " There's Israel, and
Ichabod, and Laban, and Seth, and Shem, and Issachar " —
" Peace, you old dog," cried Jericho ; and the menial bowed
and smiled at the abuse — "you needn't bark all tbeir names.
It is enough, if they will all come — all come. And when I have
melted all that's here — for every bit shall to the crucible — why
then there's that accursed hermitage — that home of vanity that
my wife made me buy. Me, poor fool ! then as fine and brain-
less as a horse-fly. Where is " — and Jericho's leaf-like body
shook, and his eye glowed like a carbuncle as he dragged the
words out — " where is that woman ? Where, those young white-
faced witches that would have me melt like wax before the fires
of perdition ; would utterly consume me, so they might live and
rejoice, and array themselves in my destruction ? What ! They
defy me in my own house 1 That woman, the mother witch, that
years long-past ensnared me with a lie ; that lured me to the
church with what seemed gold. A damned jack-a-lanthorn !
And there she stood ; her hand in mine, and a lie in her heai't.
I see her now. Her large beautiful face — for it was beautiful —
with a smile aU over it ; and that smile all a lie. Hm ! " —
said Jericho moodily, "I was a happy, careless jackass, till I
thrust my neck under a yoke, running for what seemed golden
oats — golden oats."
" Be of good heart, master," said old Plutus with a mischievous
leer, " 'tis a common case. The best of men have fallen in the
snare ; the best of women, too. Wasn't mistress herself a little
chou.sed — just a little ? "
"What of that? When two beggars marry, still the she-
beggar has the best of it : for the he-pauper — poor, damned
devil — has tatters to find for two. And this woman now defies
me. And her young tiger kittens ! Well, well, we shall see —
we shall see," cried Jericho ; and again he rubbed his hands,
warming them as with some horrid resolution. " They dare me
in my own house. They wiU not stir, they cry. They will not
— mother wolf, and young ones — they will not let go their hold.
Well, I'll sell them bare — bare. Their beds from under them ;
their clothes from off them. I will turn that woman — that lie —
ha ! 'tis a harder and a sharper lie than it was ; older and baser
looking, than when first it cheated me — I'll turn her upon the
world, without a shred, without a doit."
206 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" You can't do it," said the grimy serving-man, with a hard
grin, "can't do itj indeed, dear master. The law makes a
man provide for his wife. Such is the world. More's the
pity ! "
" Law ! "What's the law to a man with millions of mercenaries 1
With fighting yellow-boys, fighting where still they've won — are
still to win — the bloodiest of battles ; though no blood is seen 1
In law's very courts ? In the very courts ? " And then Jericho,
with his brow in his hand, sat for some minutes, silently brood-
ing ; his filthy attendant looking steadily at him ; and, it seemed
strange — growing more and more like his horrid master. At
length the Man of Money stai'ted from his meditation. " Why,
what a brain is mine ! " he cried : " sometimes I feel it fluttering
in my skull — fluttering like a bird ; and sometimes humming and
buzzing like a beetle."
" It may be want of rest," said the pliant Plutus.
"Liar!" roared Jericho : " but that's no matter. Go; get me
a crowbar. Stop. This will do," and Jericho took the poker —
the foreign luxury had been brought to the scullion's bower by
the serving-man — and balancing it, he repeated mutteringly :
" This will do. Now, follow me down stairs. This will right
me. This will punish the lie — the fine lie — the lie that first
betrayed me."
" Dear, good sir," cried Plutus, with hypocritic whine, " you'll
do no violence, you won't hai-m the dear ladies ? Consider, dear,
good master ; consider your own safety. If you consider nobody
else — and whj', indeed, should you"? — at least, consider your
sweet self Dear, dear master ! Have mercy on your own days,
and don't hurt the ladies."
" I'll have my right — I'll have my own. I'll have what my
blood, and flesh, and marrow are turned into. I'll have it all
back. You dog, follow me."
" As in duty bound, dear master," said the old slave ; and with
a smile and a light step, he followed Jericho who, as he descended
the stairs, muttered revenge against the lie — the chain of lies —
that, as he said, had bound him.
Poor Mrs. Jericho — more and more assured of the madness of
her husband — had resolved to take counsel of her dear and
valued friends. Again and again she had determined to seek
Basil, and then she faltered ; for she feared the wild enthusiasm
of his temper. He would, it was her dread, make such strange
conditions ; would doubtless insist upon her renunciation of
Jericho's wealth ; would require herself and daughters to forego
the luxuries that custom had made necessary as daily bread.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 207
Therefore she would appeal to the judgment of wise, practical
people ; of men who really knew the world ; of folks who, strong
in the religion that it was the best possible abiding-place, never
dreamt of quitting it. (Thus, whilst Jericho was raving in the
gai'ret, Mrs. Jericho was giving audience to councillors and
friends. The Man of Money saw his wife and her daughters
homeless, destitute, and enjoyed happiness, as at a draught,
meditating such misery. And at the same moment, i\Irs. Jericho
contemplated the Man of Money secure in a mad-house ; made
harmless and made as comfortable as his sad condition would
allow, Jericho, his brain the while singing with sweet music,
was reviewing his millions of golden soldiery. And at the like
instant, Jericho's wife, anticipating time, beheld her lunatic lord
in paper diadem and straw boots.)
Doctor Stubbs, combining the two noble characters of doctor
and friend, was prompt — ay, affectionately prompt — with his
best aid. And Doctor Mizzlemist united great private regard
with great public erudition, Mizzlemist had flown in his carriage
with his best consolation. Colonel Bones, in his hard, coarse
way — but solacing withal, like sugar from wood — came ready
with his counsel, though at the peril of his life. Commissioner
Thrush, filled with exotic wisdom culled from the spiceries of
Siam, attended, a comforter ; and the Honourable Cesar Candi-
tuft, though bleeding with an inward wound for the falsehood of
a friend, even Candituft at such a moment would not absent him-
self. — No ; though Agatha had been betrayed, treacherously
supplanted by his own sister, it was still his duty to suppress his
feelings, and watch the interests of Monica ; the more especially
that destiny might haply interknit them with his own.
And, at the very time that Jericho bethought him of a crow-
bar as the instrument of some tremendous deed, at the veiy time,
these councillors, with Mrs. Jericho, Monica, and Agatha Penni-
backer sat in the drawing-room ; sat solemn in druidic circle.
Indeed, the extreme caution — manifest in the looks and manner
of all, gave a strange air of mystery to the gathering. Mrs.
Jericho, though reduced to a single maid — who would not be
tui-ned out, though Jericho abused and threatened never so
lustily — had resolved not to quit the premises. No : she had
made up her mind ; and if it must be, she would die in that
drawing-room. Therefore, as her councillors one by one arrived,
they were, to their own astonishment and passing disquiet,
hushingly admitted across the threshold, and stealthily conductert
to the presence-chamber. " Gently, sir," — said Wyse, the maid,
as she admitted Candituft, the last comer, " gently, if you please :
tread like a cat ; for if the madman should hear you, I wouldn't
208 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
answer for your life." 'Warued by such intelligence, Candituft
— after an unconscious backward glance at the street door
— stept, like any dancing-girl, upon his toes to the drawing-
room.
" My dear friends," said Mrs. Jericho, " in the great calamity
that has fallen upon our liouse — upon our house — it is at least a
consolation that I can cast myself upon your sympathies."
" To he sure, certainly," said Mizzlemist. " These are the times
that try friends."
" For myself, I could endure my fate without a murmur. T
could follow poor Mr. Jericho — I could follow him to the end of
the world."
"You mus'n't think of it, my dear madam," said Doctor
Stubbs. And then not content with a single declaration, he
iterated with professional emphasis — " You must not think of it."
" But I have daughters," said Mrs. Jericho ; and for a time
she evidently felt she had said sufficient. For, she let her right
arm fall, as with a weight of emotion ; and statue-like, looked
icily before her.
" It is of course your duty, madam, to take care of yourself,"
said Commissioner Thrush. " Hapj^ily, we live in a christian
country ; where we look upon woman — lovely woman — as some-
thing divine."
" An angel in the rough. Hm 1 " said Bones.
"We can all see, my dear lady," said Candituft, "that the -wife
wrestles with the parent. But after all, what would this world
be without its trials 1 They do us good ; they are meant to do
us good."
(Poor little Agatha ! She sighed, and bit her lip ; totally
rejecting this side-wind consolation.)
"And therefore, my dear friends" — said Mrs. Jericho with
new nerve — " counsel me ; advise me. Upon your knowledge of
the world I rely. It will be a hard struggle ; but Mr. Jericho's
property must be protected ; and therefore, I fear Mr. Jericho
— as I say, it will cost me many a pang — Mr. Jericho must be
restrained."
" Make yourself comfortable, madam," said the voice of con-
solation, speaking through Stubbs ; "there is nothing more easy;
nothing more easy."
" It's done every day," cried Mizzlemist, as though he spoke
of eating a meal or taking a pinch of snuff.
"The calamity is common," said Candituft, with his miiul
made up at the very worst to endure it.
"And, in this country," remarked Thrush, much comforted
with the thought, " lunatics are so well considered."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY, 209
" Happy as kings. Hm ? " cried Bones.
" Still I have hope," said Mrs. Jericho. " I have consolation
in the belief that the poor dear creature — ha, what a heart he
has under all his strange manner ! — only wanders for a time-
And the truth is, my dear friends, it must be confessed he has
been sorely tried." The friends stared. " It is no wonder that
the strongest bi'ain should reel a little under so sudden a blow."
The friends stared anew. " To be singled out by fortune ; to
be selected from millions to suffer what he has done ! To be
called upon, at a moment I may say, to stand with such a
mountain on his head ! To be made, at a minute's notice, if I
may use the expression, another Atlas ; why, it's enough to
make a giant stagger."
" Why, what — what trial ? " asked Doctor Stubbs with pom-
pous concern.
"What blow ?" inquired Mizzlemist, looking sagely adown
his waistcoat.
" Singled out ! How, — what for 1 Singled out ? " growled
Bones.
"A mountain on his head ! What's the mountain about ?"
asked Thrush.
" Excellent, worthy creature ! An Atlas in calamity ! And
none of us to know it," cried Candituft. — " My dear madam
what is it — what has Mr. Jericho had to suffer 1 "
" Why, riches " — answered Mrs. Jericho, a little surprised at
the dulness of her councillors.
" Oh ! " exclaimed the friends, feeling at once sympathetic
and rebuked.
" The sudden load of wealth was enough to crush any brain :
and though — dear Solomon ! — for a time stood up like a hero
beneath the shock ; still, I do fear, it has been too much for
that fine web of reason as. Doctor Stubbs, I think I've heard
you call the brain ? " —
" Never, madam," cried Stubbs hastily ; " could not possibly
have done it. For the brain is not a web, but a series of con-
volutions, divided into two hemispheres, that " —
" To be sure ; that is exactly what you said," rejoined Mrs.
Jericho. " Well, then, I'm afraid of the hemispheres."
" In a word, and to come at once to business,"' said Mizzlemist,
who for some time had shifted in his chair, as though he had sat
on lumps of pounce — " in a word, madam, it is your opinion that
your husband — our unfortunate friend — is at the present time
incapable of controlling his own affairs ? "
Mrs. Jericho, placing her handkerchief before her face, said,
" That is my opinion."
210 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
"Very good," rejoined Mizzlemist, satisfied that matters were
at length shaping themselves into form. " Very good. However,
let us proceed with certainty. Let us hear the evidence. For
I need not observe, it would be very painful to poor Jericho's
family — A-ery painful to his friends — to sue out a commission of
lunacy, and after all not to succeed. Waiving my friendship,
failure would hurt my feelings as a professional man." Saying
this, Mizzlemist drew himself up to a table, whereupon were
those dangerous implements — paper, pen, and ink. Then with
pen in hand, put the opening question — " What was the first
wild symptom, my dear madam ? Yes ; as you conceive, the
first indication of Mr. Jericho's insanity 1 "
" The first 1 Oh ! It was this," answered the troubled wife
and witness. " This. He said, that as he felt himself a goose in
the House of Commons — goose, I remember was the word — he
would go to stubble in September, and never return to Parlia-
ment again."
" Hm ! " said Mizzlemist ; and a little baulked, he rubbed
his nose, and looked down upon the virgin sheet. Then, as
though taking heart, he said — " But we'll proceed, if you please.
The next ? "
" The next symptom ? It was when — when — you will recollect,
Mr. Candituft, the circumstance — when we spoke of Monica's
dowry, and — and " —
" Perfectly well," said Candituft, " and in the wUdest manner,
he refused a single penny."
" Well 1 " said Mizzlemist, still twiddling the impending pen.
" That doesn't help us. What next 1 "
"Why, then," deposed Mrs. Jericho with amended alacrity,
" the poor fellow raved and stormed, and said the house was
fmnished with money that was his blood." And still Mizzlemist
wrote not a syllable. " His blood," repeated Mrs. Jericho, with
pathetic emphasis.
" Hm ! " cried Mizzlemist, " we get no nearer to it. No
nearer. But let's proceed."
"And then I perfectly recollect" — chimed in Candituft
— " that our unfortunate friend, foaming while he said it —
foaming, my dear Doctor Mizzlemist — declared that he was
being eaten alive by society. That, in other words, people of
the best condition who came to his parties, were no better than
cannibals."
Doctor Mizzlemist laid down the pen, and with a blank stare
thrust both his hands in his pockets. " I must confess," he said,
at length, " we are all in the dark as yet. I don't see a ray of
light ; not a glimmer."
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 211
" Why, surely, all this must be madness ? Plain as the moon
at the full ? " said Candituft.
" The fact is," answered Mizzlemist, " as Mr. Jericho's friends,
we may have our own convictions. "We may not doubt his
insanity. But, unfortunately, we have to convince a jury."
" Ha ! that's it," said Monica with a sigh ; and Agatha shook
her little head and sighed, " that's it."
Colonel Bones had, for some time, been in thought. At
length he observed — " Could nothing be made out of the poor
fellow's conduct the day when — when Miss Agatha — was not
married ? "
" Oh, Colonel ! " exclaimed Agatha with a spasm of sorrow.
" Beg your pardon," said Bones. " Better luck next time.
But I was only thinking, — was there no bit of madness then ?
Laughed very wildly, didn't he ? "
" Wcai't do for a jury," cried Mizzlemist. Then, with great
zeal, he resumed the pen. " Come, we must not be beat in this
way. Can't you help us, doctor ? " and ^Mizzlemist appealed to
Stubbs.
" By-and-by ; in good time," said Stubbs. " Keep me to
the last. I prefer it."
Mizzlemist looked eloquently at Mrs. Jericho. " With sub-
mission, doctor," said the lady, hesitatingly and mournfully, " I
think the state in which you find us, is sufficient evidence of the
calamity that afflicts our house. All the servants discharged.
Mr. Jericho himself, attended by some hideous creature — who he
is, and whence he came I know not — Mr. Jericho, shut up in a
garret, like some wild beast m a cave — Mr. Jericho, I say " —
" Very true ; and bad as true," said IVIizzlemist, " but still,"
he added with a sigh, " no evidence."
*' Why, what is wanted ? " cried Monica, out of all patience
with the stupidity of law. — " Are we to wait until we are all
killed — now, mamma, I must speak — are we to wait until we ai"e
all made dreadful victims, until the law will protect us ? "
" Very good, indeed ; very well said," observed Mizzlemist,
pleased with the spirit of the maiden ; whilst Candituft a
little gravely gazed upon the flushed cheeks and flashing eyes
of his betrothed. " Perhaps, my dear young lady, you can
assist us, after all ? " said Mizzlemist. " Your mamma will, I
know, permit you to depose to whatever you know. Now ;
have you witnessed any symptoms of insanity on the part ot
Mr. Jericho ? "
"Thousands," exclaimed the impassioned and imaginative
Monica.
" Name one ; one to begin with," said the Doctor, " that will
p 2
212 A MAN MADE OF MONEY,
prove to a jury your worthy father-in-law to be wholly incapable
of controlliujr his own affairs. One instance."
"Well, then," said Monica, entering with rapture on the
task, and for one instance ready to run over twenty, touching
them like keys of music — " well, then, he's discharged all the
servants — he's locked up all the plate — he's asked for our jewels
back again — lie's going to sell the house, and turn us into
apartments —he's threatened the three of us with gowns of
sackcloth — and — and — and — he called me on Monday last — and
at the very time I was singing too — ^he called me a screeching
wild puss of the woods ! "
" Did he, indeed ? " said Mizzlemist.
" It was worse than puss," cried Monica, hysterical.
" Nevertheless," and Mizzlemist dropt the pen, " there is no
evidence in all this ; no evidence that Solomon Jericho, Esq.,
M.P., is of unsoimd mind, and incapable of managing his own
affairs."
As Doctor Mizzlemist delivered this opinion, a crash was
heard in an adjoining room. Another and another — and then a
loud, triumphant laugh from the throat of Jericho.
Wife and daughters, with jury of friends, started to their
feet. Candituft, ere he was aware — ^for had he reflected a
moment, he would as soon have unbarred a lion's cage — opened
the door. And there stoood Jericho, laden with spoil ! The
girls shrieked when they beheld their jewel cases in the gripe
of the Man of Money ; and Mrs. Jericho, when she saw all her
diamonds repossessed by their donor, felt as a mother must
feel, beholding her cherished little one — her only treasure —
criinched between the teeth of a royal tiger. Jericho said not
a word ; but stood, and leered upon the company, and with a
savage chuckle, the while shaking the iron implement — the
burglarious poker with which he had broken up cases and
cabinets — rejoicingly exhibited his plunder. Then, about to
ascend to his garret, he roared to the felonious familiar that
grinned at his elbow — " See all these robbers into the street —
the street ; and then come to me ; " and still hugging the spoil,
Jericho, with another laugh, flitted up the staircase.
" Surely, Dr. Mizzlemist," cried the impulsive Agatha, " this
must satisfy anybody ? This is madness — to steal my pearls ! "
" My amethysts ! " sobbed Monica.
" And my diamonds ! " cried Mrs. Jericho, with so deep an
utterance of wrong, that every other injury was lost in it —
straws in a whirlpool.
Doctor Mizzlemist shook his head. " Very violent ; very
selfish ; nevertheless, the fact would by no means satisfy a jury
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 21!]
that Solomon Jericlio is incapable of looking after hia own
property."
And tlie sheet of paper provided to contain a crowd of
evidence against the sanity of Jericho, remained without a
mai'k ; a virgin page. Its whiteness went to the very heart of
Mrs. Jericho, as her listless eye fell upon it. Life itself seemed
a blank.
CHAPTER XXIII.
To-morrow morning, the church of St. Asphodel — Bessy
from her window in Primrose Place, could see its spire tapering
above the distant trees — would hold within its walls a happy
couple. To-morrow, Basil and Bessy were to be writ in the
church-books one. It would be a magnificent wedding ; hopes
and affections would so adox'u and elevate the ceremony. But,
when the time arrives, we will endeavour as faithfully as we
may, to chronicle the doings of the hour. As the day before
a wedding will to some parties seem the longest day that ever
dawned and died, so to others it will appear the shortest day
imaginable ; a day that just shows itself and is gone. How-
ever Basil and Bessy may have measured the day of which
we wTite, thinking it a day without an end, sure we are that
Mrs. Carraways more and more believed it impossible that the
wedding could take place on the morrow, so much had still to
be completed.
" However I shall get through what I have to do, I can't
tell," said the good woman to her incredulous husband. " I
only hope, we shan't have to put it off." Carraways laughed.
" Yes, my dear, it's all very well. You men think that things
can do themselves ; but Bessy can't go if her luggage isn't
packed."
" Why not ? I suppose she doesn't want to take her trunk
to church," said the aggravating Carraways, and again be
laughed with such a want of considei-ation ! And here. Miss
Barnes came full of meaning into the room ; and suddenly
paused, seeing Carraways. It was of no use ; Mrs. Carraways
would at once assert her authority. Therefore she set herself
face to face with her husband.
" Now, my dear Gilbert ; you must go out ; you must
indeed. And, there's a dear, don't let me see you again
until the evening." Miss Barnes, of course, said notliiug :
214 A MAN MADE OF MONEY
but her looks eloquently and stedfastly seconded the wishes of
tlie matron.
" What ! I'm in the way ? "Well, Bessy and I are going
upon a little business."
"Bessy," cried her mother, rather astonished ; and then she
complacently added — " to be sure ; why not ? '".Ve can do
everything better without her, can't we. Miss Barnes ? And
poor thing, she's as pale, — for she hasn't been out these three
days. So, you'd better go ; both of you."
In a very short time, considering that Bessy had only to put
on her bonnet, the bride and her father had left the house ;
surrendered the field to Mi'S. Carraways and Miss Barnes made
happy by their employment. And leaving them deep in trunks,
let us accompany father and daughter.
Bessy had resolved upon carrying with her to her new
country, a very swarm of illustrious strangers : constant, untiring
laboui-ers that should fiU the air with sweetest music — music
that should murmur of her English home — still winning from
the fields the most delicious gains. It appeared that this order
of labourers — wonderful workers ; at once singers, chemists and
masons, — we mean, in a word, the honey-bee — had not yet
travelled to the Antipodes.* Honey-bee had yet to cross the
ocean to a new world. Though his great progenitors — the
Adam and Eve bees — had sung and worked in. the roses of
Eden — none of their million million descendants, to the time of a
certain lady — and let the name of the benefactress shine like a
star in future Antipodean history — had touched upon the other
side of the Pacific. The flowers and blossoms of ages had
budded and fallen, and not a bee had drunk of their honey-
cups. — This, become known to Bessy, she determined to carry
with her a swarm of colonists to her new home : to people the '
waste with millions of workers ; the toiling, happy bond-folk —
(pity there should be any other !) — of imperial man.
And the bees were of the old Jogtrot stock. Ot the family
that had worked in the gardens and orchards of Marigolds ;
descendants in right regal descent of the same line that had
sung and worked about Bessy's childhood ; that had awakened
her infant thought, had engaged her youthful care. We believe
that Eobert Topps had been Bessy's silent agent in the work ;
and with consummate skUl and secresy had conveyed away a
hive of the old household fi'om their native village, taking them
* The earliest attempt to introduce bees from England was made by
Mrs. "Wills, in May 1842; but this first colony died on the passage.
Shortly afterwards, a healthy hive sent by Mrs. Allom, of London, arrived
safely ,"aud was established at Nelson. — Handbook fur Neto Zealand.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 215
to nurse at a certain gardener's, some three or four miles distant
from Primrose Pla,:e. And thither, to learn how fared the little
ones, wended Bessy and her father. The old man, though
doubtful of the prosperity of the scheme, nevertheless entered
into it with all the cordiality of his nature. " There's always
a sure comfort about attempting good ; delight if you succeed,
and consolation if you fail." With this creed, Carraways
listened with pleasure to the plan of Bessy, who had kept the
scheme a secret from her mother and Basil.
" Won't they be surprised, when they see them aboard the
ship," cried Bessy, glowiug with pleasure. (And by the way,
in the course of the two past paragraphs, Bessy and her father
have reached the gardener's, and are now in front of the very
hive ; close to the swarm of insect colonists, the pilgriia bees,
the emigrant honey-makers.) " Won't they be surprised ! "
repeated Bessy.
"Well, I doubt," said Carraways, smiling down upon the
hive, " I doubt, if Queen Dido — yes, I think it was Dido —
carried with her more useful colonists ; and I take it, say what
they will, few so innocent." Bessy looked inquiringly. —
" I don't think you know much of Queen Dido, my dear ;
and to say the truth, my school knowledge with the lady
was at the best a nodding acquaintance. But, if you can
only preserve them ! " and the old gentleman folded his hands
thoughtfully.
" Oh, I have no fear of that. I am certain, dear father — I
feel so sure of it — they will arrive with us all safe and well.
And then "—
" And then, my love," — said the old man — " you will not
have lived in vain. No, my child, you will have done your
share in the great human work — have obeyed the behest that
lays it as a solemn task on all to share with all the good that, for
some wise end, was only meted to a few. Only land the bees
safe ; let the swarm be but well upon the wing ; let them once
set to work, making honey — the new manua in the wilderness —
where honey was never made before, — why do this, Bessy, and
you are greater than any of the men Queens that ever lived
— greater than any of the to^oping masculiue ladies out of
place in petticoats. Catherine and Christina and such folks —
hm ! very great no doubt, — but their memory is not exactly
kept in honey. And Queen Elizabeth — yes, an extraordi-
nary virgin — but what a small stinging insect in a stomacher
— how useless to the world is Queen Elizabeth against Queen
Bee ! "
" I am sure they will live," repeated Bessy ; " and 'twill be
•zl6 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
such nice employment, during the voyage, to take care of them.
And then, in a little time when they swarm and swarm " —
" Why, then, my dear — yes, I see it all " — and the old man,
with a thoughtful smile, and as though dallying with a fancy,
continued — " I see it all, and can prophesy. In some hundred
years or so, when men think it the true glory to build up, not
to destroy ; when work, not slaughter, is the noble thing ; when,
in a word, the eagles of war shall be scouted as carrion fowl,
and the bees of the garden shall be the honoured type of
human wisdom, — why, then, Bessy, — then, my child — that is
some hundi-ed years to come — ^in the city that will then flourish,
I predict that the people will raise a statue to the memory of
the woman who gave to the Antipodes the household glory of
the honey-bee."
" Oh, father ! " cried Bessy.
" If the bees prosper, why you and Basil shall in the new
country take a bee for your crest ; by the way, not at aU bad
emigrant heraldry," laughed the old man. " Let me see ; a bee
or on a thistle proper. And the motto, ' Honey from suffering ! '
A good Christian legend," said Carraways. " And then, in a
hundred years, as I predict, a statue " —
" A statue ! " and Bessy laughed.
" Well," said the father with a gentle seriousness, " I'm
getting old, Bessy. But I feel 'tis good — very good — to gain
hope for the world, even as we gain years. It makes the
sweeter sunset for our human day."
And now anticipating awhile, we have only to say that at the
proper season the hive was tenderly conveyed on board the
Halcyon, there to await the cares of its coming mistress.
Looking in — as we are pennitted to do — at the chamber-
window of Basil, we find him assorting friends and companions
for his future home. Though a wild sportive lad — bouncing
through the early chapters of this veracious history, — he was
so deeply touched by his love of Bessy ; so suddenly pulled up
to a serious contemplation of the world, by the strange events
of his family, — that, after a brief pause, he sprang, as at a
boimd, to a nobler, higher view of human dealings. Hence, he
had soon gathered some glorious books. A blessed companion
is a book ! A book that, fitly chosen, is a life-long friend.
A book — the unfailing Damon to his loving P^i;hias. A book
that — at a touch — pours its heart into our own.
And some of these friends, with looks that may not alter,
with tones that cannot change, — Basil set apart for his com-
panions in the wilds. As he chose them one by one — for
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 217
some must remain beliind, he might not take them all — he
looked gravely down upon them ; with almost a tenderness of
touch laid them aside, — his fellow-voyagers. Some twoscore
were selected ; special friends. There they lay ; motionless and
dumb. And yet the chamber was filled with lovely presences ;
was sounding with spiritual voices : the beautiful and mighty
populace, evoked by the memory of the living friend — the
friend in the flesh, the companion and the scholar of the souls
of the dead.
And this was Basil's last employment, the day before his
bridal. He marshalled a magnificent array of friends to bear
him company in the wilderness. He carried with him an
invisible host of bright spirits ; spirits of every kind and
degree ; and all friends — sound friends ; — of friendship made
in solitude ; and without patch or lacker, lasting to the
grave.
Five minutes, reader ; and your company to the once decent
lodging — now turned topsy-turvy — of Mr. and Mrs. Topps.
They, too, are in the very fury of packing-up. Or rather, Mrs.
Topps and two or three friends. For Robert and his father-
in-law — Goodman White, late and future schoolmaster — remain
passively in the way ; both of them discussing the apparent
merits of some score of young rooks ; that Bob, on his own
account, and as a special offering to his old master Carraways,
had with some difficulty and dangei', kidnapped from the high-
top elms that surround Jogtrot Hall. Bob, in his snatch of
reading, had learned that rooks were at the Antipodes precious
as birds of paradise. He had therefore obtained some twenty
nestlings, " very sarcy upon their legs, indeed." They would be
worth their weight in gold, he declared to his father-in-law, to
pick up the worms and the grubs.
" It's a capital thing for a bird or a brute," said Bob, " to be
born to be of some use. Eh 1 " The schoolmaster assented,
" Now, I shouldn't have liked to be born a magpie — or a weasel ;
it's like being born a thief " —
"I doubt, aye, I more than doubt whether anybody's born
a thief," said White.
" I'm not a scholar, — that is, compared to you ; I can't say.
But a rook is a serviceable cretur ; he earns his living ; and
nobody can't grudge it him. They are precious hearty, arn't
they ? " and Bob, with an eye of pride surveyed the nestlings.
" There's only one thing that I'm sorry about : but it's impos-
sible — and this it is ; I am only sorry we couldn't take the trees
from the Hall, too."
218 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" Ha ! We shciU find trees enough there," said "White, intent
upon the birds. " Well, they «?•€ strong ! "
" No fear of they're making capital sailors. And they'll be
quite company, won't they, to feed 'em, and watch their ways ?
And what's more, when we get reg'larly settled, why their noise
will always remind us of England. How they will caw and
caw, eh ! Rather have 'em with us " — and Bob slapt his leg
to emphasise the preference, — " rather have 'em than a band
of music."
And the sun set and rose and shone out the bridal morning.
As the good folks of Primrose Place had determined that the
ceremony should be performed with the best quiet and simplicity,
we are left but little to do as chroniclers of the marriage. We
may merely observe that Bessy flushed into a positive beauty ;
and her mother, as Carraways said, had somehow flung clean
away twelve or fourteen years from her face, determined on that
occasion only to look the bride's elder sister. Miss Barnes, the
bridesmaid — for Carraways would have none other — was, despite
of herself, sad. The event seemed to bring into her face, a past
history. Of Basil we have nothing to say ; the bridegroom is so
rarely interesting.
Topps claimed the privilege of driving the bride to church.
(The slim Mrs. Topps, with riband and bows, had burst out in
white like a cherry-tree in brilliant blossom). Topps, however,
to the passing — very passing disquiet — of Carraways, who
wished everything to be so simple, drove to the door with a
white favour in his hat, as big as a ventilator ; a favour in his
coat ; and four favours to match on the heads of the horses.
"A stupid fellow ! " said CaiTaways.
" Well, after all, my dear," said his wife, " I don't know ii
Eobert isn't right. There's no harm in a bit of riband ; and
why should we steal to church as if we were ashamed of what
we're doing ? What do you think. Miss Barnes 1 "
" It's quite right," said Carraways ; for he well knew what
Miss Barnes would think. " Drive on, Robert."
In a short time the bridal party reached St. A sphodel's church.
A short time and Basil and Bessy stand hand in hand at the altaj'.
The minutes pass ; and the lover's destinies — as before their
hearts — grow into one. The priest is silent ; and " amen " like
consecrating balm, hallows the mystery.
And then father and mother, and humble friends, gather close
to the wedded ; press them and bless them. And the spirits
that await on human trustfulness, and human hope, when
plighted to each other to make the best and lightest of the
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 219
world's journey, be it through a garden or over a desert ;
arrayed with roses, or strown with flint — the spirits that sanctify
and strengthen simple faith and all unrwoldly love, — hover
about bride and bridegroom, and as they take their way from
the church, bless them -on their pilgrimage.
Another hour, and Eobert Topps is again in attendance at
Primrose Place. Trunks are brought to the door, and packed
on the carriage ; and in a few minutes Basil hands his wife to
her seat. There has been a shower of tears within at the
separation ; though mother and daughter are to meet again iu
so short a time. I'or be it known that Basil and his bride are
westward bound, to pass the first three or four days of the
honejTnoon on the coast ; to be duly taken thence by the good
ship Halcyon calling there on the voyage out.
It may have been at the very minute that Basil and his bride
quitted Primrose Place, that a letter was delivered at Jericho
House. The letter was for Miss Pennibacker, written in the
pangs of disappointment, in the agony of a broken heart, by the
Hon. Cesar Candituft. "W^e sum up the meaning of the epistle,
gladly avoiding the fulness of its contents — gladly, too, avoiding
any attempted description of the profound astonishment, disgust,
and horror, of poor Monica. It may be remembered that the
lovei-, baulked of the dowry by the loathsome avarice of
Mr. Jericho, was fain to trust, to the successful issue of some
vague law-suit for the means of mari-ied life in it^? required
magnificence. Well, the uncertainty of the law, is a grim joke
that generations of men have sufi"ered and bled under. And —
to be brief — Candituft after his late visit to Jericho House,
discovered that, with the best of causes he had the worst of
luck, and so — and so — with a bleeding heart he released from
all her vows the betrayed Monica. He was about to leave
London, to seek consolation in the society of his brother-in-law
and his sweet sister.
"The villain!" cried Monica, " aod after t had been
brought to promise him my hand ! To leave me, and perhaps
for another ! "
" Tlie cruel creature ! " and Agatha spoke of Hodmadod —
" after I had cured his hand, to go before my face, und tiive it
to that — that little scorpion I "
220 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
CHAPTEE XXIV.
Though Mrs. Jericho had failed in her hopes of sympathetic
assistance from the friends she had summoned about her, she
would not quit the field. She would dispute the ground inch
by inch. On her final interview with Basil — she would rather
not see Bessy, she wished to be spared the trial — she declared
that, albeit Mr. Jericho was strangely wayward, it was but a
passing whim. However, be that as it might, it was her duty
as a wife and mother to remain where she was. And Basil,
having taken his measures that, at the worst, his mother and
sisters might be protected, bade them a gay farewell ; for he
felt that the separation would be only for a short time. " My
dear mother," he said, "in a while, and you'll be making
pumpkin pie in a log-hut ; as rosy as the ruddiest milkmaid."
Mrs. Jericho smiled very wanly at the picture. "Aud you,
girls, why, what hands you'll be at rearing chicks, and fattening
pigs ! " The young ladies shuddered at the thought. And
when Basil prophesied for them a brace of stalwart farmers
for husbands, why, in theii* own words, " theii- blood ran cold
at the bare idea."
Meanwhile our Man of Money hugged himself in his triumph.
He had despoiled his wife and her daughters of the costly gifts
that in his hours of ignorant weakness had been beguiled from
him. And when he looked at the jewels — when he knew that
they were his own again, — the victory was saddened by the
despairing thought that, he could by no known means, repossess
himself of all the money — all he had wasted ui30u them. " No ;
no. It is a curse to think it, but they cannot to the crucible.
They cannot yield up an ounce — nay not a grain — of the
glorious money cast away upon their pampered flesh — their
mincing appetites — their brainsick whims. No : that money is
gone ; buried in the graves of vanity, and gluttony, and show.
Gone ! Gone ! In another land I might have sold those milk-faced
witches for something to reimburse me. But there is no help for
it here — none." These savage and fantastic thoughts fermented
in the brain of Jericho ; and, still defeated in his moody musings,
he would still return to the idea of his loss, to the hope to
cover it. " To think that they — the sleek white cats ! — to think
that they should be the tombs wherein I have buried so much !
To think that they should have so devoured me ! That they
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 221
should have worn my heart ! Should have been arrayed with
my life ! Should have worn it in their ears, about their tiny
wi'ists ! Nay, should have ti-od upon it, in their damned glass
slippers ! And not a pennj^ — not a penny can I melt from
them ! " And then, as some consolation, the miser would look
at the jewels — the plunder he had secured. Any way, that was
something snatched from the wreck. Yet it was hard to gain
nothing more. Hard to know that the cost of past days, the
by-gone pomp and luxury, — was irrevocable as the departed
hours.
The Man of Money sat crouched in the scullion's gan-et. His
sordid serving-man — with his eyes fiercely bent upon his master ;
his mouth curved with a sharp grin, as though he read odd,
strange, diabolic matter in the brain laid bare to his looks — his
servant Plutus stood apart. The morning was come, and in a
while, the buyers would crowd to purchase ; to buy the contents
of the mansion bit by bit, so that — as Jericho rejoiced — he
might cai-ry them in his pocket.
" There's some of them," said Jericho, turning up his cheek
as the knocker struck through the house. The Man of Money,
followed by his servant, descended the stairs with tripping pace.
" Bring them to me— here," said Jericho, passing into a room ;
whilst the menial proceeded to the door. " Not gone, yet — not
yet ! " exclaimed the Man of Money to his weepiog wife as, pale
and trembling, she approached him.
" Mj dear Solomon," —
" "Well ? " answered Jericho, with hyena laugh, " well, my
very dear wife 1 "
" For the last time, let me supplicate you," said the woman.
" I am content, for the last time. Well, go on ; supplicate,"
answered the Man of Money.
" You win destroy us," exclaimed- the poor wife—" utterly,
utterly destroy us."
"Wein I know it — I know it," answered Jericho. "And
may I not destroy what I have made 1 You were all beggars
when I took ye, and to beggars ye shall return. The rags, with
my blood, were changed into gold-cloth. Now, I'll have my
blood again — I will — and you shall have your rags."
" Dear Jericho ! Th^ is madness," cried the wife.
"No, it isn't," answered Jericho, with a strange calmness.
" It isn't madness, my dear, dear spouse, as the wise Doctor
Mizzlemist ha.^ signified. Oh, it was a rare meetiog ! How
happy you might have been ! What rare junketmgs, here !
What a world of fashion, making this house a heaven, — and the
poor devil, the madman owner, the maniac bone of your bone —
222 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
the lunatic flesh of your flesh — fast bound, fast barred ! What
music you would have had — and he, the Bedlamite, howling
to the moon. Go ! " yelled the Man of Money, stamping his
thin noiseless foot upon the floor ; but the woman, drawing
herself up, resolved to stand her ground. " What ! you thought
because you had not yet eaten the fruit, you would never taste
its bitterness ? "
" What fruit 1 What bitterness 1 " cried Mrs. Jericho, rising
in spirit.
Jericho- gave no direct reply. Hugging his arms about him,
he swayed to and fro. "Some lies," he cried, "like some truths,
are of long growth ere they bear ; but they do bear at last.
Now, the lie you sowed " —
" I ! " exclaimed the indignant wife.
"The lie you sowed," — repeated Jericho doggedly — "fell
upon hard ground, 'tis true. The altar stone, no less. Still,
the lie has sprouted, has struck root ; has shot up, and its fruit —
like the fruit of every lie, I know that much now — is bitterness.
The wine it makes is misery, to the dregs of life — and you shall
drink your fill of it. No ; I am not mad ; even, saying this, I
am not mad ; " cried Jericho, for he marked the eloqvieut mean-
ing of the woman's looks — "not mad, but enlightened. This
is not frenzy, madam ; but wisdom — withering wisdom," sighed
Jericho, and there was such a sound of human suff'ering in the
words that, with a smile in her face, the wife looked up at her
persecutor,
" My dear, you are not well — this is " —
" Why stay you here ? " cried the Man of Money, with the
old ferocity. " Why will you not be warned ? Well, well, take
your own way — you know best ; you know best. But in a few
hours, and there's not a bed left for your fine, costly bones to
lie upon. Now, will you depart 1 " cried Jericho.
" No," exclaimed the wife. " I know my course. I am
advised. ' Jericho laughed. " Oh, do not doubt that," repeated
the angry woman. "1 will not quit the house while a tatter
remains. It shall be your work to leave me destitute, and
then "—
" Aye, destitute ; as I took you. The rich widow — the Indian
queen — the sultana " — ,
" The man of wealth — the shipowner — the holder of stocks —
the golden merchant " —
"Well, and has it turned out otherwise ?" asked Jericho,
sullenly and proudly. " Has my wealth been wanting 1 Did I
cheat you ? Have you not shared and shared ? Have you not
cursed me ? You married me for your money-drudge — your
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 223
golden slave. And still, with your speech you goaded me ; still
with that whip of asp — a shrew's tongue — you scourged me.
Money — money ! And despairingly I wished even of the fiend
for money. I have my wish " — and Jericho slowly fixed his
eyes upon his wife, whose symjjathy returned with the man's
suffering — fixed his eyes, whilst his face became ghastly pale,
though with the paleness came back something of the calmer
look of former days — " I have my wish," groaned Jericho,
spreading his hand upon his breast — "and — I feel it — I am
damned for it."
" Husband ! " cried the wife, and her arm sought to embrace
him. " Heavens ! " she screamed in terror ; and with her arm
— some time divorced — around her husband, her blood stood
frozen at the change. His body seemed as a wand — a willow
wand. The wife trembled, and did not dare to look at what she
deemed monstrous — devilish. With her heart beating thick,
her brow bedewed, her arm fell as dead to her side.
" The brain burns brightest, I have heard," said Jericho, with
moiirnful, meaning voice — with features pale and tranquil, and
with a gleam of their old expression — " biightest a while before
'tis clay — if it be so, in the running of some minutes, I was.
My God ! What do I see 1 " and Jericho stared with eyes suddenly
lustrous, " What do I see ? " he groaned. " The skeletons oi
things ! Outside beauty has departed, and here — here I stand
— in a house of dust. I know that was some fine thing upon
you — some silken rag of pride — and now it is a web of dust — of
woven dust ! I look upon your face — that fine, large, glowing,
breathing lie that was, and it is a lie no longer. No ; it is
resolved into the one truth — the universal dust, the caput
mortuum of the last day."
" My love," said the wife, with a voice of terror ; but the man
possessed would not hear.
" Why could I not see this before 1 Why, I know that thing
about your neck was gold ; is gold still to the blind ignorance of
the world. It is a piece of yellow dust ; so light, a breath must
scatter it. All dust. Your fine, proud, sweeping body ! Why,
now I see it as it is. I could crumble it with my hands. And
your heart, I see that too ! And what is called the blood j^assing
through it. Blood ! why, it is a gush of sand. And your brain ?
— as busy as an ant-hill ; as busy and as earthy."
" My dear," said the wife, struck with the change, yet fain to
play the comforter, " you are better now ? "
"Much better; for I can see through all things. Why had
I not one glance of this before ? Are we only to know what
dirt is pride and pomp, only to know it when the tongue begins
224 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
to taste the clay ? But it is no matter," and the wild look
again dawned in the sick man's face. Again, the fierce, wild,
violent spirit, grew strong within him. " It is no matter. All's
well. Very well ! As I said — as I said. 1 am rich, and I am
damned for it. I have earned hell — well earned it" —
" For the love of heaven," cried the woman in despair, for the
moment feeling a partner in the horror.
" None of that ! No cowardice ! No craven — twelfth-hour
puling. Be honest when you can't help it. 'Twas a bargain ; a
fair bargain with hell. So let the devil have his own. And
mark you ! Woman of sin — thing of smiles and fraud ! you
and your young hags take a witch's flight, and be gone. You
had best — much best. Wait another day, and there'll not be a
broomstick to fly with."
And here, introduced by Plutvis — how Mrs. Jericho shuddered
at the creature's presence ! — came certain tradesmen ; wreckers
never absent when a fortune founders. Israel, Laban, and
Tssachar stood before the Man of Money, who, on the instant,
returned to his hungry, ravenous self. Yes ; at sight of the
dealers, the face of Jericho put on its former wickedness ; and
philosophy and remorse were dumb and dead, and cunning and
avarice again active and voluble. With a contemptuous chuck
of the head, Jericho acknowledged the presence of the chapmen,
and then turned fiercely upon his wife. " Are you advised now ?
A few hours, and if you will stay here, you shall rule the mistress
of naked walls. Go ! " Ajid the poor woman, with terror in
her looks, fled from the spot. How — in that moment — she
accused the lingering, guilty pride, that had withheld her from
communing with Basil ! How willingly would she have followed
him ! With what alacrity have flung aside, like tarnished finery,
her present life, and drawn the breath of simplicity and peace !
And with tliis thought she sought her daughters. This thought
she uttered with fervent utterance ; and found no according
sympathy. But youth is apt to be disdainful. And so it was
with Monica, so even with the less courageous Agatha. Both
of them bade their mother — she herself had taught the lesson, and
now her pupils bade her not forget it — have a nobler spirit.
They were prepared to defy the tyrant to the last ! Indeed, in
a wild, passionate moment, burning with revenge, Monica laugh-
ing and clapping her hands, declared it would be noble sport to
set fire to the house, and all perish in the flames. Poor girl !
We verily believe she had no such wicked intention. She only
spoke from a desperate waywardness of spirit ; for it must not
be forgotten that the treasonous letter of the dastard Candituft
— (he married, ten years after, a tyrannous old maid, with enor-
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 225
mous expectations that ripened into nothing better l^an erysi-
pelas) — the coward letter, like a live coal, was eating up Monica's
heart. However, the mother was re-assured by the spirit of her
children ; and having gathered together all the property — body
goods, no other — allowed them by the tyrant Man of Money,
was resolved to stay to the last. Neither would she take the
judgment of the jury of friends as final. She must believe —
moreover Monica, upon the strength of her grey experience was
convinced — that the law was too kind, too just and benevolent
towards feeble woman, not to dethrone and confine for life, her
maniac despot.
In the meantime, the dealers, accompanied by Jericho,
prowled from room to room. Furniture, plate, pictures — all
that had made the glory of Jericho — were duly considered and
duly debased by the men who wished to make them their own.
For a while, Jericho endured the chaffering of the tribe. At
length, he suddenly drew up. " Look ye, here," said the Man
of Money, prepared at once to make clean work of it ; for his
impatience subdued his avarice, — " Look ye, h^re, I treat
with men of honour ; with scrupulous merchants whoee only
wish is a fair profit. I know this, gentlemen. The tone of
your voices, the clear look of your eyes, the sterling worth
of your words, as we have passed from room to room, con-
sidering the goods, — all convince me that I am safe in your
hands."
Israel, Laban, and Issachar, staring somewhat, bowed.
" Safe in your hands," repeated Jericho. " Well, then, why
should we waste time 1 I want to be quit of this. I want, at
a thought, to melt all you see and have seen, into ready money,
I know I must be a mighty loser. Oh yes ! For money never
was so scarce — trade never so very dead. This I knew before ;
so not a word about it now. "Well then, worthy gentlemen,
princely dealers, take counsel with yourselves, and to save a
public hubbub — for 1 would pass from this fiery furnace of a
house, this mansion burning with gold, to the peaceful corner
I have provided me. You understand '? " —
Again Israel, Laban, and Issachar, bowed. They understood
perfectly.
" Take counsel, I say, and make me an offer, a lumping offer
for the whole. Eh ? "
Israel, Laban, and Issachar were impressed with the com-
prehensive largeness of the thought. It would save time, and
trouble, and the liberal, the right royal Jericho would be a
gainer — there could be no doubt of it — a great gainer in the end.
"Fellow," and Jericho turned to his serf, "conduct the
Q
22G A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
merchants into every corner. And gentlemen, let me have your
offer — be it ever so rough a guess, still something like it — your
offer to-night. No later ; to-night."
Israel, Lab;in, and Issachar, with their hearts glowing in their
eyes, and smiling at their mouths, rubbed their hands, and pro-
mised. The magnificent Jericho should have their offer in the
evening. They, the merchant friends — old associates, time-tried
fellows — with one another would soon decide ; and — there should
be no miss in the matter — a plain, distinct offer should be made
in the evening.
Whereupon, the Man of Money ascended to his garret, and
the dealers pursued their occupation. There was only one
apartment shut against them. And here, Mrs. Jericho and her
daughters defied a siege. Every other place was searched, and
every article scanned by the dealers, who at length with a grave
joy departed from the house, big with the belief in a glorious
pennyworth.
The Man of Money sat alone in his garret. Evening closed in,
and the moon rose, and looked reproachfully at the miser. The
same moon that looked so tenderly upon millions ; the same
moon that shone upon the silvery sails of the Halcyon^ flying
like a sea-bu'd to its home.
The Man of Money started in his chair. " What's that ? "
The garret door opened, " You, — ^is't not ? "
" I," answered the slave Plutus.
" Well ? Has it come ? " cried the master.
" Here it is," answered the servant ; and he laid a letter upon
the table.
'' Well, now for their conscience ! " exclaimed the Man of
Money. " Go, while I read it," and the servant departed.
" Stav, dog. A light — I cannot read else. Do you hear ? A
light."
The fellow came not in ; but his voice was heard without.
" There is a candle on the table ; and paper prepared to
light it."
Most precious paper ! The heart's flesh and blood of the Man
of Money. For the devilish serving-man had folded a note —
(how obtained, can it matter ?) — a note j^eeled from the breast of
his master ; a piece of money, a part of the damned Jei'icho,
sympathising with him.
Tlie Man of Money took the paper, (the devil with his ear
uptin-ned crept closer to the door) then thrust it amidst the
dying coals. A moment, and the garret is rent as with a
lightning flash.
Yelling, and all on fire the Man of Money falls prostrate.
A MAN MADE OF MONEY. 227
with hell in his fixce. Then his lips move, but not a sound is
heard. And the fire communicated by the sympathy of the
living note— the flesh of his flesh— like a snake of flame, glides
up his limbs, devouring them. And so he is consumed. A
minute ; and the Man of Money is a thin, black paper ash.
Now, the night wind stirs it ; and now, a sudden breeze carries
the cinerous corjjse away, fluttering it to dust impalpable.
And at the moment, the possessions of Jericho — all he had
bought with his flesh, and blood, and soul— all was blasted to
tinder, consumed to ashes. The pictures dropt in dust from the
walls ; the walls crumbled ; the very gold the wretch had hoarded
became as nought.
Candituft looked at his diamond ring — the gift of Jericho —
and it was a speck of charcoal. Bones and Thrush, drawing
forth their golden snuft-boxes, found in their hands two lumps
of soot.
l^Ii-s. Jericho and her daughters were alike disenchanted, Tho
very moment Jericho passed away in flame, they found themselves
in garments of tinder.
And thus were all things of the Man mads of Money — things
of dust and ashes.
The night has passed, and day — lovely summer time — smiles
a benison upon the world. The Halcyon, with her sea-pilgrims
aboard, lies-to off the western shore. There are two voyagers
yet to come. And there — a thing no bigger than a nautilus — a
boat comes shooting out ; tussling and bounding with the breeze
and sea, and now fairly leaping from wave to wave towards the
ship, as with the instinct of some creature towards its parent
breast. " There they are ! " shouts Carraways, and his wife
cries and laughs — and Jenny Topps jumps about — and Robert
claps his hands — and Old White blesses himself — and Doctor
Dodo smiles, and Mrs. Dodo is so happy — and the nine children
Dodos — baby at the breast coimtiug for nothing — give a scream
and a shout of delight !
Another minute, and the boat is alongside. And there are
bride and bridegroom, — there is Bessy with such happiness
filling her good face, with Basil's arm around her — and Basil
looking proud of his treasure ! Another minute, and Bessy is
upon the deck in her mother's arms ; and Basil grasps the hand
of father Carraways.
Captain Goodbody's eye — he sees all but says little — glistens
at the meeting. The boat's cast off — all's right.
Q2
228 A MAN MADE OF MONEY.
" 'Bout ship ! " cries the Captain. The yards swing round ;
the canvas fills as with the breath of good spirits. May such
await the trusting and courageous hearts our vessel carries —
await on them and all who, seeking a new home, sail the mighty
deep !
END OF A MAN MADE OF MONET.
.-..-^-^^-^ ^.^-r^y--; -■•', — - - . T i . -l a M^rf ^-T l^ Tl i T iW A- a a ftV^
THE
CHRONICLES OE CLOYERNOOK
\
THE
CHRONICLES OF CLOVPJRNOOK;
WITH SOME ACCOUNT OP
1^ Irrrait nf f^rlliffullr.
TVe have yet uo trutliful map of England. No offence to the
publishers ; but the verity must be uttered. We have pored and
pondered, and gone to our sheets with weak, winking eyes, having
vainly searched, we cannot trust ourselves to say how m.any
hundred maps of our beloved land, for the exact Avhereabout of
Clovernook. We cannot find it. More : we doubt — so imperfect
are all the maps — if any man can drop his finger on the spot, can
point to the blessed locality of that most blissful village. He
could as easily show to us the hundred of Utopia ; the glittering
weathercocks of the New Atlantis.
And shall we be more communicative than the publishers ?
No ; the secret shall be buried with us ; we will hug it under our
shroud. We have heard of shrewd, short-speeched men who were
the living caskets of some healing jewel ; some restorative recipe
to draw the burning fangs from goiit ; some anodyne to touch
away sciatica into the lithesomeness of a kid ; and these men
have died, and have, to their own satisfaction at least, carried the
secret into their coffins, as though the mystery would comfort
them as they rotted. There have been such men ; and the
black, begrimed father of all uncharitableness sits cross-legged
upon their tombstones, and sniggers over them.
Nevertheless, we will not tell to the careless and irreverent
world — a world noisy with tlie ringing of shillings — the where-
about of Clovernook. We might, would we condescend, give an
all-sufficient reason for our closeness : we will do no sucli thing.
No : the village is our own — consecrated to our own delicious
232 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
leisure, when time runs by like a summer brook, dimpling and
sweetly murmuring as it runs. We have the most potent right
of freehold in the soil ; nay, it is our lordship. We have there
droits du seigneur ; and in the very despotism of our ownei-ship
might, if we would, turn oaks into gibbets. Let this knowledge
suffice to the reader ; for we will not vouchsafe to him another
pippin's-worth.
Thus much, however, we will say of the history of Clovernook.
There is about it a very proper mist and haziness ; it twinkles
far, far away through the darkness of time, like a taper through
a midnight casement. The spirit of fable that- dallies with the
vexed heart of man, and incarnates his di-eams in living presences
— for mightiest of the mighty is oft the muscle of fiction — fable
says that Clovernook was the work of some s,prite of Fancy, that
in an idle and extravagant mood, made it a choice country seat ;
a green and flowery place, peopled with happy faces. And it was
created, says fable, after this fashion.
The sprite took certain pieces of old, fine linen, which were
torn and torn, and reduced to a very pulp, and then made into a
substance, thin and spotless. And then the sprite flew away to
distant woods, and gathered certain things, from which was
expressed a liquid of darkest dye. And then, after the old, time-
honoured way, a living thing was sacrificed ; a bird much praised
by men at Michaelmas, fell with bleeding throat ; and the spi'ite,-
plucking a feather from the poor dead thing, waved and wavel
it, and the village of Clovernook grew and grew ; and cottages,,
silently as trees, rose from the earth ; and men and women came
there by twos and fours ; and in good time smoke rose from'
chimneys, and cradles were rocked. And this, so saith fable, was
the beginning of Clovernook.
Although we will not let the rabble of the world know the
whereabout of our village — and by the rabble, be it understood,
we do not mean the wretches who are guilty of daily hunger, and
are condemned in the court of poverty of the high misdemeanour
of patches and rags, — but we mean the mere money-changers, the
folks who carry their sullen souls in the corners of their pockets,
and think the site of Eden is covered with the Mint ; although
we wiU not have Clovei-nook startled from its sweet, dreamy
serenity — and we have sometimes known the very weasels in
mid-day to doze there, given up to the delicious influence of the
place — by the chariot-wheels of that stony-hearted old dowager,
Lady Mammon, with her false locks and ruddled cheeks, — we
invite all others to our little village ; where they may loll in the
sun or shade as suits them ; lie along on the green tufty sward,
and kick their heels s,t fortune : where they may jig an evening
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 233
dance in the meadows, and after retire to the inn — the one inn
of Cloveruook — glorified under the sign of " Gratis ! "
Match us that sign if you can. "What are your Georges and
Dragons, your Kings' Heads, and Queens' Arms ; your Lions,
Ked, "White, and Black ; your Mermaids and your Dolphins, to
that large, embracing benevolence — Gratis ? Doth not the word
seem to thi'ow its arms about you with a hugging welcome ?
Gratis ! It is the voice of Nature, speaking from the fulness of
her large heart. The word is written all over the blue heaven.
The health-giving air w'hispers it about us. It rides the
sunbeam — (save when statesmen put a pane 'twixt us and it).
The lark trills it high up in its skyey dome ; the little wayside
flower breathes gratis from its pinky mouth ; the bright brook
murmurs it ; it is written in the harvest moon. Look and move
where we will, delights — all " gratis," all breathing and beaming
beauty — are about us ; and yet how rarely do we seize the
happiness, because, forsooth, it is a joy gi-atis 1
But let us back to Clovernook. We offer it as a country
tarrying-place for all who will accept its hospitality. We will
show every green lane about it ; every clump of trees ; every bit
of woodland, mead and dell. The villagers, too, may be found,
upon acquaintance, not altogether boors. There are some strange
folk among them. Men who have wrestled in the world, and
have had their victories and their trippiugs-up ; and now they
have nothing to do but keep their little bits of garden-ground
pranked with the earliest flowers ; their only enemies, weeds,
slugs, and snails. Odd people, we say it, are amongst them.
Men, whose minds have been strangely carved and fashioned by
the world ; cut like odd fancies in walnut-tree ; but though
curious and grotesque, the minds are sound, with not a worm-
hole in them. And these men meet in summer under the broad
mulberry-tree before the " Gratis," and tell their stories — thoughts,
humours ; yea, their dreams. They have nothing to do but to
consider that curious bit of clock-work, the mind, within them ;
and droll it sometimes is, to mark how they will try to take
it to pieces, and then again to adjust its little wheels, its levers,
and spiings.
Some of these woi-thy folk may, in good time, be made known
to our readers. But our first business is to introduce to them a
most wise, and withal jocund sage, dwelling, about a mile and
three quarters from Clovernook, and known to the villagers as
the Hermit of BellyfuUe. It was a happy chance that brought
the anchorite and ourselves together. Thus it happened.
An autumn day had died gloriously in the west ; darkness
came rapidly upon us, and to be brief with our mishap, we had
234 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
lost our way. We had travelled from , a market-town,
and as our saddle-bags — for we were upon our cliolee gelding —
were, strangely enough, stuffed with the lawful golden coin of
the realm, our fears rose with our sense of property. Again and
again we thought of our gold, and thinking, sweated. To our
apprehension, the gelding's legs became as eight ; for though we
saw no horse following us, yet could we certainly distinguish the
sound of eight hoofs. We kept up a sharp trot, and oddly enough,
the gelding that half an-hour before showed signs of weariness
and distress, trotted, trotted on as though fresh from a night's
rest, corn and beans. As we went on, everything seemed strangely
changing about us. The sky that had been black as coal, broke
into a mild, clear grey ; star by star came twinkling out ; the
cold, autumn wind blew soft and warm ; our spirits became
suddenly lightened, when our gelding — it is a most sagacious
beast — made a dead halt.
The creature stood fast, and we looked vainly about us. We
saw nothing — heard nothing. The animal still stood as upon a
pedestal. And now, it pricked its ears— and now, snuffed, snuffed
the air. Then the truth, in truth's best sweetness, came upon
us. We were close to a human dwelling-place ; we were in the
neighbourhood of some of the units of the large family of man.
Hope could not have deceived us : no, the truth was plain ; for
we smelt a smell of eggs and bacon.
Now, the gelding had merely paused to awaken our attention
to the odorous fact. This opinion we carry, fast as a clenched
nail, within us. For we merely took a deep inspiration, jerked
our right knee against the saddle, and Bottom — for such is the
beast's name — immediately understood that we had taken his
meaning, and with mended step, went ambling on, as though his
soul danced to the music of the fiying-pan. A most rational
beast is Bottom.
Still, we trotted on, down close, winding, mossy lanes — with odd,
large, gnarled trees, throwing their arms across the naiTOW road,
and sometimes meeting and hugging one another, like Titan
wrestlers. There was something strange in the trees ; something,
as we thought, half-human : now and then they looked like
giants ; and now, we thought we saw the red goat-like noses of
satyi's among the branches, with a quick jerking of their horned
heads. Once or twice, thinking of our saddle-bags, we should
have fainted from sheer cowardice ; but as Bottom ambled
onward, there was an increasing, a sustaining smell of bacon
and eggs.
At length. Bottom stopt in a sort of triangular nook. There
was no outlet. V/e looked ; was it a glowworm glimmering
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 235
through that mass of green ? No : it was tallow, delicious,
household tallow ; or if not, oil from leviathan. We dismounted,
and groping our way, at length, through a wilderness of woodbine
and ivj, found the door. We knocked.
" Come in," cried a voice, loud as a trumpet.
Melodious sj'Uables ! Sweet accents of sweet hospitality !
Harmonious to tlie traveller on the outside, glorifying to the man
at the hearth ! He has escaped somewhat of the smitings of this
single-stick world, who, when he hears knuckles at his postern,
can throw himself back in his chair like a king upon his throne,
and without a qualm of the heart, cry — " Come in ! "
In darkness, we clawed about the door ; at length we found the
latch. In a moment we were at the hearthstone of the greatest
animal in the scale of creation — an animal that cooks.
" And who are you ? " cried the master of the mansion.
What a pert, every-day asking is this ! Vv^hat a query to
answer ! Eeader, did you ever, for one moment^ say to your own
soul, — " Who are you ? " You know that you are a something,
but w/i-at thing ? You know that there is some living power,
some knack within you, that helps you through life ; that enables
you to make a bargain with an eye to a good pennyworth ; that
even urges you to pick a wife from a few millions ; that walks
with you in your business walks, that broods with you at home
over your ledger — but what is it ? Did you ever try to bring it
face to face with yourself ? Did you ever manfully endeavour to
pluck, for a moment, this mystery from your blood, and look at
it eye to eye — this You 1 It may be a terrible meeting ; but sit
in the magic circle of yoxir own thoughts, and conjure the thing.
It may be devil — it may be angel. No. You will take the
chance ; you are not curious : you are content to jog on ; you
know that you are you ; but for the what you, whether perfect as
the angels, or scabbed like Lazarus, why should you seek to
know ? Eather, dwell in the hopeful sweetness of your no-
knowing.
"And who are you ? " again asked the man we had elected for
our host, ere we had time or thought to answer.
" We are travelling, and have lost our way," said we.
" Sit down and eat," said the master of the mansion. " And
then, if the world has left you a light conscience, you can, if you
will, sleep."
" We'll first see to Bottom, and then have with you," said we :
for there was a ring of truth and good-fellowship in the man's
voice, that, as we felt, made us old acquaintance. We crossed
the threshold, and taking saddle and bridle from Bottom, sent
him to his supper of sweet grass. We then returned to our host
236 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" And what brought you here ? " he asked, offering the dish.
" Bacon and eggs," said we, helping ourselves to the glorious
condiments bearing those names.
The man paused, looked down upon us, scratched the nape of
his neck, and walked to a corner of his habitation. He then
returned with a blushing gammon, which he sliced with the
potent hand of a master. Smiling upon our appetite, he cracked
a dozen or two more eggs, and flung them singing into the
pan.
We would give a hundred guineas from the aforesaid saddle-
bags, we thought, if we could carry away with us a lively portrait
of our host. We shall never forget him : he will to our mind
always be a stirring presence ; but how — how shall we ever fix
him upon paper 1
" You don't eat," said our host, seeing our knife and fork for a
moment idle, as we mused upon the difficulty. " Eat, eat, if you'd
be welcome to the Hermit of BellyfuUe."
" Are you a hermit ? " we asked, with a wondering look.
" Have I not said it ? The Hermit of BellyfuUe, and this ray
Hermitage ; this the Cell of the Corkscrew," cried the anchorite ;
and he then turned to the pan, his eye melting on the
frying eggs.
The Hermit appeared between fifty and sixty — nearer sixty.
He would have looked tall, but for his breadth of shoulder and
bow of belly. His arms were short, thick, and sinewy ; with a
fist that might have throttled a wild boar or a keen attorney.
Altogether he was a massive lump of a man, hard and active.
His face was big and round, with a rich, larder look about it. His
wide, red cheeks were here and there jewelled with good living.
As gems are said by some to be no more than a congelation of
the rarest essences attracted and distilled from mother earth, so
were the living rubies burning in the cheeks of the Hermit, the
hardened, incarnated juices of the deer of the forest — the volatile
spirits of the vine. The Hermit had no nose ; none, ladies, none.
There was a little nob of flesh, like a small mushroom, dipt in
wine, which made its unobtrusive way between the good man's
cheeks, and through which he has been known to sneeze : but
impudence itself could not call that piece of flesh a nose. The
Hermit's mouth had all the capacity of large benevolence ; large
and wide, like an old pocket. There seemed a heavy 'uuctuousuess
about the lower lip ; a weight and drooping from very mellowness
— like a ripe peach, cracking in the sun. His teeth — but that he
had lost one, as we afterwards learned, in active service on a
Strasburg ham — were regular as a line of inf^^ntry, and no less
dangerous. His forehead was large : his black hair waning into
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 237
grey, save that one lock which grew like the forelock of old Time,
was raven still. His eyes were small, and so deep in his head,
no man ever saw the whites of them : there they were, like black
beads sunk in scarlet flesh. Such is the poor weak picture of the
glorious living face : and then every bit of it shone, as though it
had been smeared with sacrificial fat. The Hermit's voice was
deep and clear ; and he had a sweet, heart-warming chuckle,
which came like wine gurgling from a flask. The very pope of
hermits was the Hermit of Bellyfulle.
This worthy anchorite wore no weed of gi"ey — not he. He had
a capacious gown of faded scarlet damask, worn — much worn :
yet there were traces in it of past beauty ; goodly bunches of
grapes, antique flagons, and Cupids flajiug a buck. This robe
was gii'dled about the waist with a thick silken rope ; a relic, as
he told us, picked up in a pilgrimage. It had been a bell-rope in
the best hostelry of Palestine. The nether anatomy of the recluse
showed, as we thought, that all the vanity of the world had not
died within him, for he wore black velvet breeches : and, more-
over, seemed to throw an approving glance at his leg, cased in
unwrinkled silken hose of ebon black. His feet were easily
lodged in large slippers of cramoisy velvet, with here and there
a glimmering of old gold lace.
A hermit would be no hermit without a skull. The anchorite
of Bellyfulle was fitly provided with such tangible aid to solemn
reflection : for he had the skull of a heathen Paladin, in the
which — for the top had been curiously sawn off, and hinged, and
a silver box contrived in the cavity — in the which the Hermit of
Bellyfulle kept his best tobacco. He moreover showed his horror
and contempt for heathenism by sinking the basanet of a Saracen
knight into a spittoon.
The Cell of the Corkscrew revealed the magnanimity of its
hermit indweller. Its walls were tapestried with sides of bacon,
with hams smoked over fires of cedar and sandal- wood. Festoons
of sausages hirng from the roof, dazzling the eyes and melting the
heart of the beholder. Frequent peering forth, with death -grim
snout, a boar's head would show itself, to the ear of fancy grunting
for the knife. And now, the eye would wander to a squab of
flesh — a bufialo's hump — delicious to rest u}X)u. And then there
were tongues, as many as at Babel, hanging on all sides ; tongues
of deer, of antelope, of Indian ox, smoked and cured by Indian
cooks. Glowing and beautiful were a himdred vitreous jars of
pungent pickle, disposed about the cell with the finest considera-
tion of colour and eS'ect. There, too, was the delicious olive,
in its mild, immortal gi-een, for Bacchus in his after-dinner horn-
to dally with.
238 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
It was not iTiitil the next morning that the Hermit discovered
to us all the riches, the stores, the conveniences of the Cell of the
Corkscrew, and its adjoining messuages. But as we have opened
the matter, we will not put it off to a future page, but at once
make an end of it. We found that the room wherein we supped
was made sacred to knife and fork. By the way, let us inform
the reader, that those instruments, of huge dimensions, surmounted
the mantel-piece. The Hermit, raising his small jet eyes towards
them, mildly said, with a slight chuckle, " My lares— the guardian
angels of my fire-side."
An adjoining room was fitted round with shelves, on which
were pots and packages of preserves and spices, and baskets of
candied fruits, and here and there a case of heart-consoling
Curagsoa— soft and subtle noyeau— biting absinthe ; nay, all the
cordials refined by the inquiring spirit of man from nature's raw
materials. " What a delicious smell ! " we cried. " I call it my
phoenix' nest," said the Hermit, and he said no more. He then
took us down into his cellar. We descended some fifty steps
into a place of vast extent. " Cut by some good-natured people
of the olden time," said the Hei-rait ; " cut out of the living rock.
And now, sir, the sun shines on no sort of grape that is not
bottled here ; " and the Hermit spoke with a voice of triumph,
and gently waved the lamp in his hand to and fro, its beams
falling upon a thousand and a thousand bottles, that to our excited
fancy seemed to laugh like negroes in the sun.
" Simple, thoughtless man would not think it, but there is much
knowledge to be taken from this cellar," said the Hermit.
" With the help of a corkscrew," said we.
" Eight ; with the blessing of a corkscrew," cried the Hermit.
"But for a time treading on the carnal man, thei-e is other,
hio-her knowledge. You will observe, sir, that I have laid out
my bottles geographically ; from the cyder of Devonshii-e to the
rice spirit of China. In this way, I manage to go eutii'ely round
the world once a year."
" Is it possible ] " we asked, and we fear it, in a voice of
incredulity ; for the Hermit drew himself up, and spoke very
solemnly.
" Man," said he, " a lie in any place is a poor sneaking thing ;
still, a lie may be better or worse by its locality. Now the man,"
and here the anchorite trembled with emotion, " the man who
would tell a lie in a wine-cellar, is a wretch unutterable. His
heart's-blood, at the best, is bad vinegar."
" It is— it is," said we, feeling the rebuke. " And this is a map
of the world, done by Bacchus 1 "
The Hermit of BellyfuUe, smiling benevolently, gently nodded
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK= 239
his head. " You will perceive it. Here, as I said, is the cyder,
the ale of Englaud. There, Champagne, Eurguudy, Bordeaux,
There, the Johaunisberg. At the present time, I am in Hungary,
drinking Tokay."
" It is delightful," we said, " to meet you in so favoured
a place."
Leaving the cellar, the Hermit took us to his farmyard.
Instantaneously we were surrounded by all sorts of poultry. AVe
were particularly pleased with a bi'eed of fowls, of enormous size,
and of the whitest and most dazzling plumage.
" You like them 1 " said the Hermit, observing our look of
admiration. " So do I. Were it not that I am almost dead to
fleshly affections, I should say they were my passion. They are
capons, sir. It is a strange weakness, but I love them deai'ly ;
especially with pork, judiciously pickled. I call them, sir-," and
the Hermit faintly smiled, "I call them my monks."
We next visited the fish-ponds. " Here, sir," said the Hermit,
" are my trout."
" How very large ! " we exclaimed, as some huge fish darted
from under the weeds.
" Now, sir, though you will not venture to doubt my word,
othei's might. I have a great moral experiment going on among
these fish. They are eutii-ely fed upon artificial flies."
" Is it possible ? " we asked. " For what purpose ? "
" To show the sufficiency of the imagination to the satisfaction
of the belly," replied the Hermit.
" It will be a great political discovery," said we. " Have you
tried the system on yourself ? "
Either the Hermit did not hear us, or hearing," disdained an
answer ; for he walked on, we following. " My orchard," said he,
pointing to a very forest of trees, loaded with the fruits of
autumn.
" Are you not frequently robbed 1 " we asked. " Have you no
spring-guns, man-traps " —
" Look," said the Hermit, and he pomted to a written board
fastened to one of the trees — there were twenty such about the
orchard — which board contained a notice, inviting in the prettiest
and most paternal words all little boys who might pass that way,
to come into the orchard, and eat their fill. They were warned
upon no account to take the smallest fruit, but to carefully pick
the largest, the ripest, and the best. There were likewise ladders
provided that the boys might not injure the boughs, or rend their
lareeches by climbing. Or if they should chance to tear their
garments, there was an oilskin bag hanging from a large walnut
tree in the middle of the orchard, in which bag were needles and
240 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
thread, to repair for the nonce any gash that might else scan-
dalise the out-door world.
" But do not the birds plunder you 1 " we asked.
" My cherries, for two or three years, suffered grievously from
the rooks," said the Hermit ; " but they ai-e sensible birds, sir ;
very sensible. I bought the cast-off coat of a Jew money-lender,
and stuffing it with straw, I hung it upon the highest tree. The
rooks are clever birds, sir — they never perched again."
Having shown to the reader the cell and grounds — we have
purposely omitted all notices of bed-rooms, pantry, and out-
houses, of the Hermit of BellyfuUe — we must bring the said
reader back to the first hour of our introduction to the
anchorite. Be it remembered, that we are still tired and joint-
sore with our journey, and that we have only eat^n three rashers,
and swallowed half-a-dozen eggs.
To say nothing of the external dignity of the Hermit, it was
evident to us, from one single circumstance, that he was a man
of superior mind. He never uttered a syllable until we both had
supped. In an afterchange of thought, the Hermit confessed
that he admired his guest upon the same high principle.
^' A man, sir," observed the sage, " who gabbles at his dinner,
jnay be said to swallow, not to eat. Eating, sir, is as much a
mental, nay, more so, than a physical task. There is, sir, a
wonderful sympathy between the brain and the palate. Talk
destroys the exquisite harmony between them. All the nobler
functions of the soul should be present during every mouthful ;
iind so sublimating it, the wise man eats with his brain, the fool
with his mouth."
" You have studied these things curiously," said we.
" It was my prime object in quitting the world. I resolved,
•upon the death of my fourth wife, to shut myself up from the
vanities of life, and write a cookery book — an encyclopaedia of
the kitchen."
" It is to be hoped," said we, " you have not repented of your
magnanimity ] "
" No, sir ; no. I have been hard at work — but it is the labour
of a life. I have toiled ten years, and only got to ducks."
"Ducks!"
" Ducks, sir. Ten years, and only finished four letters : but
hope is strong : I have no doubt I shall live to see Z. By that
time the ignorant world will begin to feel its mouth water for a
sirloin of Zebra ; and I am the only man who can tell the world
how to cook it."
" A sirloin of zebra ? Was there ever such a joint put upon a
spit ? "
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 1>41
'' I have partaken, sir, of hundreds ; but those feasts were in
the blessed region of As-you-like."
" As-you-like ! AVhere may that region be ? " we asked.
Tlie Hermit's eyes filled with tears, and he answered, with a
broken voice, " I cannot tell — I cannot tell ; though I have lived
there — have children there — I know not where it is, know not
how to seek it."
" How," we asked, " did you first find it out ? "
" That, sir, is the strangest story of my life ; though I have
many, many stories in that box," and the Hermit pointed to a
large cedar chest in the corner, " that may some day puzzle the
printer. However, sir, all I know, you shall know. Brandy or
Hollands ? " asked the Hermit, pushing the bottles. " Both
smuggled, upon my honour," said the sage, laying his hand upon
his breast. "Do you take lemon ? Here, sir, is a squeezer made
of true eremite maple. Sugar ; water, hot and cold. And now,
sir, you shall have my story. I call it —
" Z\jt jFlstng Bottlr .
" I have been a traveller, sir — a great traveller. It was my
fortune, when about five-and-twenty, to sail to the Indian Seas.
We dropped anchor close to one of the islands to be found in
those blissful waters. I went ashore, and everything about me
seemed new and strange, but beautiful, very beautiful. I had
wandered from my party, and was alone in a field overgrown
with hyacinths, when a bottle suddenly sprang up beneath my
foot ; and as I walked, the bottle — a black wine-bottle, no more
— hopped, hopped like a bird, before me. J ran after it ; but
the faster I ran, the quicker it hopped. At length, mustering all
my strength, I ran until I fairly ran the bottle down. Then,
smelling at its mouth, for there was no cork in it, I smelt a most
delicious odour ; I raised the bottle to my lips, and drank.
Instantly my hands seemed riveted ;tround the vessel, and two
wings sprang from the sides of the bottle. In a moment, I was
raised from the earth. I tried to let go the bottle, but my
hands were as a part of it ; and still the bottle flew and flew like
an eagle to the sun ; and I swooned, and knew no more until I
awoke in a region which the inhabitants told me was tho
kingdom of As-you-like.
" I looked about me, and I could have sworn that I was in
some street in London ; for in my boyhood, I had once visited
that wonderful and wicked city, taken thither by my grand-
father. The houses were familiar to me ; the character of the
people, their clothes, nay, their language, all seemed known to
me ; but when I said as much, the worthy folks about me smiled
R
242 THE CHRONICLES OE CLOVERNOOK.
at my delusion ; and further, when I told them the story of the
bottle, they shook their heads, and said they doubted not I
should soon discover my mistake. And very soon I did so.
That I should know the language of the people of A s-you-like as
perfectly as themselves was only a part of the mystery of the
bottle. I had di-unk it from its mouth.
" It was plain that I was considered a curiosity by the folks,
who, indeed, looked upon me with that sort of pity and forbear-
ance which I have known displayed by soft-hearted people
towards a Hottentot. It was plain they felt that I had much in
common with them all, but was nevertheless of a much lower
degree of sensibility and intelligence. It is right, however, that
I should confess that this opinion arose from my own coarse
habits — from my education, and my manners contracted in my
previous life. To me, they seemed the simplest, the most foolish
of created things ; whilst, as I afterwards discovered, they at
times looked upon me with so much aversion, that, had they not
been the tenderest, the gentlest people in the world, they would
have cast me forth to perish in the streets. But I am foi-getting
myself," said the Hermit — " I am falling into the common talk
of the world about us : it was impossible that even a dog should
perish in the streets of As-you-like.
" Before I descend to my own particular adventures in that
glorious region, I will endeavour to give you some idea of its
government, its religion, its laws, and the social habits of its
people. Pardon me, sir," said the Hermit, wiping his eyes and
emptying his glass, " but I cannot touch upon this theme without
feeling my heart m(^ like butter in my body. Whilst I talk of
As-you-like, my spims sink ; I am heavy, to very dumpishness."
Pausing a moment, and clearing his throat, the Hermit pro-
ceeded.
" And first, sir, for the order of government. As-you-like is a
monarchy ; a limited monarchy. At the time I dwelt there, the
crown was worn by King Abdomen, almost the greatest man
that ever walked. His natural accomplishments were many :
he was held to make a more melodious sneeze than any man in
the universe. He invented buttons, the people of As-you-like
before his time tying their clothes about them with strings. He
also invented quart goblets. He was the son of King Stubborn,
known as the King of the Shortwools.
" After the king came the nobility ; that is, the men who had
shown themselves better than other men, and whose virtues were
worked into their titles.
" Thus there was the Duke of Lovingkindness ; the Marquis
of Sensibility ; the Earl of Tenderheart ; the Baron of Hospi-
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 243
tality, and so forth. Touching, too, was the heraldic of As-you-
like. The royal arms were, charity healiug a bruised lamb, with
• the legeml, Dieu et paix. And then for the coach-panels of the
aristocracy, I have stood by the hour, at holiday times, watching
them ; and tears have crept into my eyes, and my heart has
softened under their delicious influence. There were no lions,
griffins, panthers, lynxes — no swords or daggers — no short
verbal incitements to man-quelling. Oh, no ! One nobleman
would have for his bearings a large wheaten loaf, with the
legend — Ask and have. Another would have a hand bearing a
purse, with the question — Who lacks ? Another would have a
truckle-bed painted on his panels, with the words — To the tired
and footsore. Another would display some comely garment, with
— ^etv clothes for rags. Oh ! I could go through a thousand of
such bearings, all with the prettiest quaintness showing the soft,
fleshly heart of tlie nobleman, and inviting, with all the brief
simplicity of true tenderness, the hungry, the poor, the weary,
and the sick, to come, feSd, and be comforted. And these men
were of the nobility of As-you-like ; nor was there even a dog to
show his democratic teeth at them.
" The church was held in deepest reverence. Happy was the
roan who, in his noon-day walk, should meet a bi.'ihop ; for it
was held by him as an omen of every manner of good fortune.
This beautiful superstition arose, doubtless from the love and
veneration paid by the people to the ministers of religion, who,
from their tenderness, their piety, their affection towards their
flocks, were looked upon as the very porters to heaven. The
love of the people placed in the hands of their bishops heaps and
heaps of money ; but as quickly as it v^ heaped, was it scat-
tered again by the ministers of the faitn^ who were thus per-
p'etually preaching goodness and charity at the hearths of the
poor, and the poor were every hour lifting up their hands and
blessing them. It was not enough that the bishops were thus
toilsome in their out-door work of good ; but in the making of
new laws and amending of old ones, they showed the sweetness,
and, in the truest sense, the greatness, of the human spirit.
During my stay in As-you-like, what we should call the House
of Lords, but what in that country was called the House of
Virtues, debated on what some of their lordships deemed a very
pretty case to go to war upon ; and, sooth to say, for a time the
House of Virtues seemed to forget the active benevolence that
had heretofore been its moving principle. Whereupon the
bishops one by one arose, and from their lips there flowed such
heavenly music, in their eyes there sparkled such apostolic tears,
that all the members of the House of Virtues rose, and with one
R 2
244 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
accord fell to embracing one another, and called all the world
their brothers, and vowed they would talk away the raisuuder-
standing between themselves and neighbours ; they would not
shed blood, they would not go to war.
" And this was ever after called the peace of the bishops.
" The second deliberative assembly was called the House of
Workers. No man could be one of these, who had not made
known to the world his wisdom — his justice — his worship of
truth for truth's sake. No worker was returned upon the mere
chance of his fitness. He must be known as an out-door worker
for the good of his fellow men, before he could be sent, an
honoured member, to the House. The duty of the assembly was
to make laws ; and as these were to be made for all men, it was
the prime endeavour and striving of the workers to write them
in the plainest words, in the briefest meaning. They would
debate and work for a whole day — they always assembled with
clear heads and fresh spirits every morning at nine — to enshrine
their wisdom in the fewest syllables. And whereas, here with
us we give our children Goody Two Shoes and Jack and the
Bea.n Stalk, as the easiest and simplest lessons for their tender
minds to fasten on, in As-you-like the little creatures read the
Abridgment of the Statutes for their first book ; so clear, so
lucid, so direct was it in its meaning and its purpose.
" Nevertheless, as there were some dull and giddy folk, who,
after all the labour of the House of "Workers, could or would not
know the laws, there were certain meek and loving-kind pro-
fessors called goodmen guides, answering to our attorneys, whose
delight it was, for the very smallest imaginable sum, to interpret
and make known tli^ power and beauty of the statutes. And
whereas, among us, physicians and surgeons — may the spirits of
charity and peace consecrate their fire-sides ! — set apart a portion
of the day to feel the pulse of stricken poverty, to comfort and
solace the maimed and wasting poor — so in As-you-like, did
these goodmen guides give a part of their time to the passionate
and ignorant, advising them to abstain from the feverish turmoil
of law ; showing them how suspense would bake theii- blood and
eat their hearts, and wear and weigh down man's noble spirit.
And thus, these goodmen guides would, I may say, with a silken
string, lead men back to content and neighbourly adjustment.
When men could pay for such counsel, they paid a moderate cost ;
when they were poor, they were advised, as by the free benevo-
lence of the mediator,
" The people of As-you-like had, a thousand years or so before,
waged war with other nations. There could be no doubt of it,
for the cannon still remained. I saw what at one time had been
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 245
the arsenal. There were several pieces of artillery ; the swallows
had built their nests under their very mouths. As I will not
disguise anything, I own there were a few persons who, when a
war was talked of, the war so happily prevented by the bishops,
strutted and looked big, and with swollen cheeks gabbled about
glory. But they were smiled at for their simplicity ; advised,
corrected by the dominant reason of the countiy, and, after a
time, confessed themselves to be very much ashamed of their
past folly.
" Perhaps the manner in which the As-you-likeans transacted
business was strange ; it may appear incredible. I was never
more surprised than when I first overheard two men dealing for
a horse. One was a seller of horses, the other seemed a com-
fortable yeoman. 'That is a pretty nag of yours,' said the
yeoman. 'Pretty enough outside,' said the horse-dealer. 'I
will give you ten lumps for it,' said the farmer (the lump signi-
fying our pound). 'No, you shall not,' answered the horse-
dealer ; ' for the nag shys, and stumbles, and is touched a little
in the wind. Nevertheless, the thing is worth four lumps.' —
'You have said it?' cried the yeoman. 'I have said it,'
answered the • horse-dealer. Understand, that this is-the only
form of oath — if I may so call it — in As-you-like. ' You have
said it ? ' 'I have said it.' Such is the most solemn protesta-
tion among all people, from the king to the herdsman.
" The shops in As-you-like are very beautiful. All the goods
are labelled at a certain price. You want, let us say, a pair of
stockings. You enter the shop. The common salutation is
' Peace under this roof ' — and the shopkeeper answers — ' Peace
at your home.' You look at the stockings, and laying down the
money, take the goods and depart. The tradesman never bends
his back in thankfulness until his nose touches the counter ; he
is in no spasm of politeness ; not he ; you would think him the
buyer and not the seller. I remember being particulai-ly
astonished at what I thought the ill manners of a tradesman, to
whom I told my astonishment. ' What, friend,' he said, ' should
I do 1 My neighbour wants a fire-shovel — I sell a fire-shovel.
If I ought to fling so many thanks at him for buying the fire-
shovel, should he not first thank me for being here with fire-
shovels to sell ? Politeness, friend — as you call it — may be very
well ; but I should somehow suspect the wholesale dealer in it.
Where I should carry away so much politeness, I should fear I
had short weight.' A strange people, you must own, these
As-you-likeans.
" Taxation was light, for there was no man idle in As-you-like.
Indeed, there was but one tax : it was called the truth-tax, and
246 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
for this reason. Every man gave in an account of his wealth and
goods, and paid in proportion to his substance. There had been
other taxes, but all these were merged into this one tax, by a
solemn determination of the House of Virtues. ' Since Provi-
dence has given to us the greatest measure of its gifts, it has
thereby made us the chancellors to poorer men.' Upon this
avowed principle, the one tax was made. ' Would it not be the
trick of roguery to do otherwise ? ' they said. ' Should we not
blush to see the ploughman sweating at his task, knowing that,
squared by his means, he paid more than we ? Should we not feel
the robbers of the man — ^not the Virtues banded together to
protect him 1 ' And thus, there was but one tax. In former ages
there had been many ; for I was shown in the national museum
of As-you-like, several mummies, dry and coloured like saddle-
leather, that in past centm'ies had been living custom-house
officers and excisemen.
" There were prisons in As-you-like, in which the idle and the
vicious were made to work, and taught the wickedness, the very
folly of guilt. As the state, however, with paternal love,
watched, I may say it, at the very cradles of the poor, — teaching
the pauper, as he grew, a self-responsibility ; showing to him
light and wrong, not permitting him to grow up with, at best,
an odd, vague notion, a mere guess at black and white, — there
were few criminals. The state did not expose its babies — for the
poor are its children — to hang them when men.
" So dear were the wants of the poor to the rulers of As-you-
like, that, on one occasion, in a year of scarcity, the monarch
sold all his horses — the beautiful cattle went at 70,000 lumps —
and laid out the money in building school-rooms and finding
teachers for pauper babies.
" And the state, believing man to be something more than a
thing of digestion, was always surrounding the people with
objects of loveliness, so that a sense of the beautiful might be
with them even as the colour of their blood, and thus might
soften and elevate the spirit of man, and teach him true gentle-
ness out of his very admiration of the works of his fellow.
Hence, the museums and picture-galleries, and abbeys and
churches, were all thrown open to the people, who always
seemed refined, subdued by the emanations of loveliness around
them.
"There were very many rich people in As-you-like, but I
never knew them to be thought a bit the better off" for their
money. They were thought fortunate — no more. They were
looked upon as men, who having put into a lottery, had had the
luck to draw a prize. As for the poor, they were always treated
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 247
with a softness of manner that surprised me. The poor man in
As-you-like seemed privileged by his poverty. He seemed to
have a stronger claim to the sympathies of those in worldly
substance over him. Had a rich man talked brutally, or domi-
neered over, or ill-used a pauper in As-you-like, he would have
been looked upon as we look upon a man who beats a woman.
There was thought to be a moral cowardice in the act that made
its doer despicable. Hence, it was as common in As-you-like to
see the rich man first touch his hat to the poor, as with us for
the pauper to make preliminary homage to wealth. Then, in
As-you-like, no man cared to disguise the smallness of his means.
To call a man a pauper was no more than with us to say his eyes
are grey or hazel. And though there were poor men, there was
no famishing creature, no God's image, sitting with Lis bony,
idle hands before him, like a maniac in a cage — brutalised,
maddened, by the world's selfishness.
" For ten years I lived in As-you-like. Ten happy years. I
married, became a father, and " —
"And what," — we asked of the Hermit, — "what made you
leave so blessed a spot 1 "
" I was one day in my garden, strolling about, whilst they
were laying dinner. I paused to look at my melon-bed, when out
hopped the black bottle. Without a thought I ran after it — woe
is me that I did so ! — and caught it in my grasp. I felt the
bottle mount ; I became instantly dizzy, and I know not what
passed, but when I came to myself, I was lying on a truss oi
straw in an English farm-yard."
" A most extraordinary adventure," said we.
" Yes, I 've seen a few things in my time," said the Hermit ;
" but they must remain for future talk between us."
Worn with our last night's journey, and beguiled into the
sweet sin of late hours by the curious liquor and alike curious
discourse of the Hermit of Bellyfulle, it was not until the clock
struck nine that we became conscious of our new resting-place.
A bright day shone upon us reproachfully through the case-
ment ; flowers shook their heads impatiently at the panes ;
cocks without crowed, as we thought, in angry note, at their
master's guest, and the clock — a pretty piece of Venice work
upon the mantel-piece — ticked remonstrance. With a jump, we
leapt from goose feathers to the floor.
We flung open the casement, and the sweet, fresh, nimble air
came, like God's blessing, into the chamber. Sinking in an easy
chair, with a stocking in our right hand, we made stern ques-
tioning of our memory. It was all true — true as adamant. We
248 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
were the guest of the bounteous Hermit of Bellyfulie ; we sat,
at that time beneath the roof-tree of the Cell of the Corksci'ew.
How, indeed, could we question the sweet reality? All
thino-s about us revealed the taste, the mellow heart, of the
anchorite householder. The chamber was small — the bed a
primitive truckle ; but there was an Indian carpet, soft as
lamb's-wool, on the floor ; there were books, not many, on a
shelf ; and the black oak wainscot was carved with fruit and
knots of flowers, with here a flask and there a flagon. Above
the mantel-piece was this sentence, in letters of ruddy gold : —
JEiapps is tile man tofio map ttll all i)is Breauis.
In a compartment of the wainscot, over the head of the bed,
was also written: —
faafte pour liEli as a cotEin,
aiiD 90UT cofSn iDiU te as a iieO.
As we pondered on the philosophy of these lines, we looked
dreamily about us, and for the first time saw in a corner of the
chamber a little door. Above it was carved a small delicate
hand and arm in the action of beckoning, with what seemed to
us a string of pearls about the wrist. Throwing down our
stocking, we opened the door, and heard distinctly the sound of
running water. We descended two or three low steps, and
following our ear, went through a narrow, vrinding, sloping,
passage, cut, as it seemed, out of rock, the floor covered witii
rushes and moss. In half a minute we stood beside a brilliant
fountain, tumbling and glittering in a large natural basin — a
hollow of the rock. The sky was sapphire blue, and flowers,
carefully tended, gi-ew around the edge of the spring ; and there,
too, was short greensward, tender to the feet. Towels, dried on
beds of thyme, were spread on a sort of garden-seat, with slip-
pers, dressing-gown, and other covering. We at once appre-
hended the meaning of the beckoning hand, and with short
preparation plunged into the spring.
In due season we returned to our chamber. Touching was the
care of our host ! A small tankard of hot spiced wine stood upon
the table, filling the room with aromatic sweetness. Was not
this the very heart of hospitality ? As we hastily prepared
ourselves to meet the eremite, we heard voices ; and, as we
thought, the sweet, low voice of woman. Could it be the
Hermit's wife 1 He had said nothing of so blissful an appendage
to Corkscrew Cell ; nevertheless, it might be. We quickened
our speed; for, thought we, Madam the Hermitess may be
waiting breakfast.
We hastened to what we will call the refectory. The Hermit
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 249
was seated in his chair ; the breakfast — it would have put a
stomach into a mummy — was laid out, widely and bounteously.
As we entered, the Hermit raised his face, scarlet with eating,
from a platter ; and his httle black eyes twinkling welcome, he
nodded, and gasped from his full mouth — " Salve ! Sit and eat."
One hour at least had run to the past, ere another word was
spoken. " That brawn, sir, was cured in Paradise," were the
next words uttered, as the Hermit pushed away his platter, and
fell like a pillow in his chair. " The hog, sii-, is a wonderful
philosopher."
" Philosopher ! " we cried, for the moment inattentive to the
truth delivered.
" Philosopher ! We call him filthy, ugly names ; brand him
as a foul and doltish thing. It is like the hurried ignorance of
men. I look upon the pig, sir, as the philosopher of brutes — yea,
the Diogenes of four-legged creatures. Consider, sir. Contemplate
the doings of a hog. See him, sir, with his frank stupidity ; or
what, to skin-deep thinkers, seemeth stupidity. Mark him
wallowing in gutter-mud ; see him in the haunts of men, even
where fever comes, sometimes, alas ! as kindest handmaid to
poverty. See him, with his broad, quivering snout snuffing at
the thresholds of very beggars. With what gust will he munch
a cabbage-stalk ! With what a grunt of gratitude will he take
unto himself the leavings of the veriest poor ! There is nought
that tooth can pierce, that goodman hog will turn aside from.
He will get fat and flavour from a dunghill ; nay, in hopeful
discovery, shove his snout into a cinder heap. These are bad
habits ; nasty, foul, degrading practices. And yet, sii', what
comes of them ? Why, this, sir — this ;" and the Hennit struck
the flat of his knife on a huge wedge of brawn. " Your philo-
sopher considers, and takes experience of man ; and only as he
is curious in all the doings, from noblest to basest of the animal,
is he, the said philosopher, worthy of his gown. He elaborates
and refines his experience, gathered from highway and alley,
and hovel, and cellar ; and then out of the very juices of this
digested wisdom, he leaves an oi-al system, or a written scroll.
Now, sir, what the brawn is to the hog, is Plato's book to Plato ;
a sweet and unctuous lump, drawn and rarefied, and elaborated,
from even the foulest doings of the world for the world's better
wisdom. When my lady sees Master Pig munching and wallowing
in a ditch, she curls her nose and lifts her shoulders at his
nastiness. And lo ! when the same pig's leg, fra^-ant with sage
and patriarchal onion, smokes upon the board, — the same lady
sendeth her plate three times. It is even so with philosophers,
and the true men of the world. They have lived and died
250 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
despised in alleys ; and afterwards are fed upon in tapestried
chambers. I never look upon a hog, even in his foulest plight,
but I consider him tenderly, affectionately, as the living, pauper
laboratory from which in good season men may carve most
melting sweets. It is in this spirit, I — as I take it— judiciously
class philosopher and pig."
" True," said we ; " there may be affinity." Then resolving to
know if it was the voice of woman we had heard, we returned to
the swine-flesh and the lady glanced at by our host. "Your
figure of the lady and the pig's leg," said we, " reminds us of a
question we had to ask. Pardon us, if we are bold ; but heard
we not, ere we entered, the small, musical pipe of the other
sex ? "
" My laundress, sir," answered the Hermit ; " she lives in
Clovernook. In the wicked, noisy, topsy-tm-vy world you come
from, she was a lady in her own right, with broad acres and
sacks of gold."
" And now a laundress," cried we. " How came such change
about 1 What cruelty of fortune ? "
" A touch of conscience — a sweet touch, sir. The Countess, it
was her belief, had killed two milliners."
" Killed them ! " we cried.
"Not a statutable, Tyburn-killing," answered the Hermit;
"not what would be called killing by twelve men bolted in a
box ; but what, sir, a jury of angels may look very grave at, and
more, return a most uncomfortable verdict upon."
" Pray, sir, explain the case," we said.
" Phoo ! the story's as short as short cake," said the Hermit.
" Her ladyship would take no answer : it was a birth-day, or a
court-day, or a gad-about of some sort ; and her ladyship, at a
short notice, was to be very fine indeed. There were three girls,
milliners, all sick and wasted at the time, with fading eyes, hectic
faces, and deep coughs — death, sir, croaking and wheezing in
their throats. The last work two of the girls did was for Lady
Swandown. She went to the show, whatever it was, with almost
the last sigh of the girls in her fine dress. The two girls died,
and her ladyship — she is yet a fine woman, sir, in the rich
fulness of some forty-five — forswore the drawing-room world,
and coming here to Clovernook, brought the surviving sister
with her."
" la it possible 1 " we asked.
" You shall see the Countess Swandown ; though in Clover-
nook she is simply called Dame Diaper. Ha ! it is a pretty sight
to see her tending Mabel, as we call her here, the last of the
sister milliners : to see the Countess petting and nursing her,
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 251
and walking with her down the green lanes ; and when the poor
thing is too weak to walk, it is indeed pleasant to see the
Countess drawing the sick milliner in a little, light, easy sort of
a coach."
"A sight indeed !" we cried.
"Yes," said the Hermit, with a grave look ; "when we think
of the poor things already killed, and the creature yet sufiFering,
it is a sight, I think, to please the very cherubs. You shall see
them both, sir ; both Dame Diaper and Mabel."
" But you said the Countess — that is, the Dame — was laundress
here ?"
"I should say, a sort of lady-laundress ; a clear-starcher. She
has taken the work by way of penance ; and bringing all her
genius to bear upon it, has elevated a mere knack into fine art,
sir. My cravats and ruffles are very pictures. You heard us
talking 1 Ay, six-, the old story — the old gi-ievance, sir, 'twiit
man and woman," said the Hermit.
" And what is that, sir ? " we asked.
The Hermit, shaking his head and groaning, cried —
" Buttons."
" Buttons ! " said we.
The Hermit drew himself closer to the table, and spreading
his arms upon it, leaned forward with the serious air of a man
prepared to discuss a grave thing. "Buttons," he repeated.
Then clearing his throat, he began : " In the course of your long,
and, as I hope, well-spent life, has it never come with thunder-
bolt conviction upon you, that all washerwomen, clear-starchers,
getters-up of fine linen, or under whatever name Eve's daughters,
— for as Eve brought upon us the stern necessity of a shirt, it is
but just that her gii'ls should wash it, — under whatever name
they cleanse and beautify flax and cotton, that they are all under
some compact, implied or solemnly entered upon amongst them-
selves and their non-washing, non-starching, non-getting-up
sisterhood, that by means subtle, and almost mortally certain,
they shall worry, coax, or drive all bachelors and widowers
soever into the pound of irredeemable wedlock 1 Has this
tremendous truth, sir, never struck you 1 "
" How — by what means ? " we asked.
" Simply, by buttons," answered the Hermit, bringing down
his clenched fist upon the table.
We knew it — we looked incredulous.
" See here, sir," said the Hermit, leaning still further across
the table. " I will take a man, who, on his outstart in life, set
his hat acock at matrimony — a man who defies Hymen and all
bis wicked wiles. Nevertheless, sir, the man must wear a shiit ;
252 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
the man must have a washerwoman. Think you, that that shirt,
returning from the tub, never wants one — two — three buttons ?
Always, sii- — always. Sir, though I am now an anchorite, I
have lived in your bustling world, and seen, ay, quite as much
as any one of its manifold wickedness. Well, the man — the
buttonless man — at first calmly remonstrates with his laundress.
He pathetically wrings his wrists at her, and shows his condition.
The woman turns upon him her wainscot face, and promises
amendment. The thing shall never happen again. The week
revolves. Think you, the next shirt has its just and lawful
number of buttons ? Devil a bit ! "
Starting at the word, we looked, we fear, reproachfully in the
Hermit's face.
" Pardon me ; let it be as it had never been said," cried the
anchorite — a deeper tint dawning in his face, and his eye looking
suddenly moist. " Pardon me, but the heart has strange chords ;
even buttons may sometimes shatter them."
We bowed, and begged the Hermit to proceed.
" Well, sir," said our host, after an effort, " week after week
the poor man wrangles with his washerwoman : from the very
gentleness of even maidenly complaint, the remonstrance rises to
a hurricane of abuse ; and still the washerwoman, as it would
seem bound by her oath to her unmarried sisterhood, brings
home no shirt complete in all its buttons. Man — the fiercest of
his kind — cannot always rage. He becomes tired — ashamed of
clamour. He sighs, and beai'S his buttonless fate. His thoughts
take a new turn. In his melancholy, his heart opens ; he is
softened — subdued ; and in this, his hour of weakness, a voice —
a demon voice^whispers to him, ' Fond, foolish man ! why trust
thy buttons to an alien ? Why heli)lessly depend upon the needle
and thread of one who loves not thee, but thy shilling 1 Take a
wife ; have a woman of thine own, who shall care for thy
buttons ! ' The tempter is strong. The man smiles distrustfully,
but still he smiles. That very night — it so happens — he goes to
a house-warming. He is partner at cards with Miss Kitty. She
never did look so toothsome. And then her voice — 'twould coax
a nail out of heart of oak. The man thinks of his buttons ; and
before he leaves the house, Kitty has been brought to confess
that she doesn't know what she mat/ do — she may marry, or she
may not."
" Is it possible V we cried, with a laugh.
" Sir," said the Hermit, " 'tis not a thing to idly laugh at.
Take fifty matches, and be assured of it, if you sift 'em well, out
of forty, at least, you'll find buttons in some shajDe at the bottom
of 'em."
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 253
"It may be," we said.
"It is," cried the Hermit with emotion. "Asses are led by
their noses ; men by their buttons."
There was a dead pause. The Hermit had us in a clinch. We
felt ourselves beaten, and therefore tlung our discourse once
more upon swine's flesh. " It is delicious brawn," we cried.
" Blessings have fallen upon the man who reared it."
" Perhaps," said the Hermit, with a faint smile, " the fellow
knew well how to feed hogs. Understand me ; I am no unbe-
liever in the efficacy of blessings : potent are they, sweetly potent
where they fall. Yet, sir, like all goodness, they are sometimes
terribly libelled in the world. I have known men by the veiy
lithesomeness of their backs, and bronze of their faces, get fat
and golden. Well, sir, to what have they sworn they owed all
their grease and prosperous yellowness ; forsooth, to the blessings
that fell upon them — blessings rewardful of their piety. These
men, sir, I know it, have in a business way picked pockets, yet
have they declared they owed their substance to the untiring
fingers of their saints."
" Very like," said we.
" Sir, it is," said the Hermit ; " and the brawn ]jefore us
brings to my memory a little story that may shadow forth this
truth. I have noted down the tale, and 'tis there — in that cedar
chest, as I have said, with a hundred others. Do not stir ; I
think I can remember the little history, without I'ummaging the
papers. I call it —
■a Sfjort Storg of a CTofo anft a 5o&j.
" You were never at Naples, sir ? — No ? Well, I will not
commiserate you ; I will not triumph ; I will spare your
feelings. Naples ! If, sir, there be a place where a man may
forget taxes and all the tribulation of what with great gravity we
call civilised life, it is — always excepting my own Clovernook —
it is Naples.
" Saint Anthony is a great fellow at Naples : a saint, sir, of
the first water. Perhaps, I am wrong in the epithet : water
being rarely a test of saints ; monks, who are to saints what
porwiggles are to frogs, for the most part abominating that
pauper fluid. No matter. Saint Anthony is a great gun at
Naples, whatever he may be elsewhere : for saints, like fox-
hunting lords of the manor, though they may make a ten'ible
clatter in their own neighbourhood, are sometimes held dii't cheap
in other places. Well, sir, Saint Anthony in his mortal days had
a kindly yearning, a love, a gentleness, a pity towards everything
that lived; beasts, birds, fishes, reptiles. What Atticus was to
254 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
Cicero, Saint Anthony's pig was to Saint Anthony. Great was
his power over animals ; most melodious, most convincing his
speech ; as was proved by his sermon to the fishes, which
touched them all alike, the hard roes and the soft. Saint
Anthony died — but to this day Saint Anthony lives in Naples.
Once a year, with reverent care, people bring to him their
various four-footed chattels ; yea, the two-legged birds, to boot,
that they may be soused with water blessed at the shrine of
Saint Anthony ; the said water being fatal to measles, mange,
glanders, pip, and every other malady that walks or flies. Do
you laugh, sir 1 I am sorry for it. Call it superstition if you
will; superstition hath uglier blotches than this. There is, to
my mind, a fine spirit of humanity in this custom ; nay, a
beautiful piece of natural religion. Men, who acknowledge its
sanctity, thereby acknowledge in the very hog that grunts about
them, a something cared for by the Divine Schemer of things : it
is a creature, part and parcel of the wondrous whole ; a thing to
be used tenderly by men, seeing it is not despised by a saint.
The water of Saint Anthony, thus sprinkled and falling upon
brutes, must cool the pride of human-kind, showing, that
although it is the highest piece of heaven's work on this earth,
it is not the sole piece. And thus, the peasant taught by the
love and benevolence of Saint Anthony towards his horse, is
taught a tenderness for the creature which otherwise he had not
known. He, Pietro, has his saint to guard and bless him, but —
to Pietro's mind — so have Pietro's cows and sheep : and so, the
saintly care about all brings all into a narrower circle.
"Therefore, at Naples, great is Saint Anthony. Fine ladies
send their lap-dog.s to be sprinkled, and they yelp back with
blessings about them. Parrots are soused, and lo ! they scream
defiance at the pip ; and if limited before in their vocabulary,
have full soon in their throats a very dictionary.
" Gano was a Neapolitan farmer ; a heavy, stupid, yet withal,
a most religious man. Not an animal that called him master,
that was not sprinkled, once a year, with the water of Saint
Anthony : and thereupon, the ewes yeaned twins, the hens never
failed of eggs, and multiplication was ever triumphant in hia
dove-cote ! Though Gano could not drive all his stock to the
shrine of Saint Anthony, he never failed once a year to purchase
of the priest a sufficiency of water, wherewith to sprinkle his
property at home : and all things throve with him accordingly.
"Gano had bought a young sow; a spare thing, — but, with the
blessing of Saint Anthony and plenty to eat, the sow, it was the
belief of Gano, would plump and fatten. Gano failed not to
drive the sow to Saint Anthony's water, where, at Gano's special
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 255
iutercession, it was doubly sluiced. Gano drove the sow home ;
aud thoughts of ham and bacon, and savoury sausage, sang
sweetly in his brain as he meditated upon the blessings of Saint
Anthony. Weeks passed away, and nevertheless the sow did not
fatten ; no, it somewhat pined and shrunk. There was some devil
in the pig ! So, at least, thought Gano.
"A short while after, Gano bought a cow. Had she been
sprinkled by Saint Anthony 1 No. It was almost no matter ;
she was so fine a cow, without aspersion. Her black skin was
like Genoa velvet ; and then so sweet, so gracious a look about
the head ! More than all, every day she gave a flood of milk.
Leagues about there was talk of Gauo's cow.
"As it sometimes happens with men, so did it happen with
Gano's cow. Just as her fame had spread around, and brought
many folks to see her, her merits became less : she began to
shrink ; and for milk, less and less was drawn from her night
and morning. It was well for the faith of Gano that it was so :
for looking, as in his infidel moments he had looked, upon the
sleek carcase of the cow, the animal unblessed, unspriukled by
Saint Anthory, and comparing it with the spare condition of the
sow that had been washed almost from snout to tail by the
efficacious water, Gano — the saints forgive him ! — began to
consider within himself, wheither, after all. Saint Anthony was
so indispensable to the health of a farm-yard. Weak, wicked
Gano !
" Still the cow dwindled, and as it dwindled, still — it was
strange, or rather it was by no means strange — still the sow
increased. The cause was plain. The blessings of Saint Anthony
were working in the marrow of the swine; the saint was covering
its bones with flesh ; aud in a short time, the wonder and admi-
ration before bestowed upon the cow — were offered to the pig.
It was prophesied by some that the cow would die ; but it was
no matter : the added value of the sow would more than make
good the loss ; it was so wonderful in its frit — so beautiful, yet
mighty in its proportions. Still the sow fattened, and still the
cow gave no milk.
"'See you not,' said old, pious neighbours to Gano — 'see you
not the blessings of good Saint Anthony ] How have they
descended upon the swine ! whilst for that unblessed, misbe-
gotten cow — cut her throat, burn, consume her ; otherwise she
will bring a curse upon your cattle, and blight upon your crops.'
Gano felt the rebuke ; acknowledged the evil dwelling in the
cow, the goodness fattening in the swine. If the cow should die,
it would be a just punishment on her presumptuous owner.
" Matters went on, and even the fame of Saint Anthony
256 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
increased with the fat of the sow. Never had the saint's water
been so highly prized. At length, the true cause of the sow's
fatness was discovered ; and thus it was.
" Very eai'ly one morning, Gano rose, and going to where the
cow was stalled, saw the sow lying on its fat belly beneath the
cow, with the teat in its mouth, milking, milking with all its
might, and grunting complacently at the larceny !
" Gano, though astounded, and on the instant suspicious of
the truth, said nothing to his neighbours. It might have been
the first time that the sow had so behaved itself. He would
wait and watch. He did so : and six mornings, at the same
hour, he saw the sow in the same jilace, milking, milking, and
grunting the while ! Almost every ounce of swine's fat was due
to the cow. The neighbours had sworn that the sow had
prospered by the peculiar blessings of Saint Anthony. Alas !
the sow had flourished upon stolen milk.
" Now, sir," said the Hermit, " is there no lesson in this little
story ? Teaches it nothing ? "
" We think we apprehend its drift," was our answer.
" Sir, in your world — for in Clovernook we know no such
animals — many are the fat swine, and only fat at the expense of
poor, defrauded cattle."
" It may be," we replied.
" May be, sir ? Ha ! I know it is," said the Hermit ; " and of
all sorts of fatness, that is the vilest, the coarsest, which owes its
grossness to hypocrisy. You shall see a man rich in pocket and
poor in soul. He goes to his church, and owns himself, to his
passing condescension by the way, a miserable sinner ; he
returns homeward, and proves himself to be so, albeit the proof
never strikes him, by spurning the Sabbath-beggar at his
threshold. This man was never known to do a large goodness.
Neither was any positive, legal wickedness proved against him.
No : he never grumbles at the church rates, for once a week he
is decorously placed in his comfortable pew. He pays his way,
and can show stamped receipts as vouchers for the good-will he
bears towards all men. He is a Christian ; for one of his god-
fathers now alive can testify to his baptism; nay, he has the
register among other precious family documents. Hence, if he be
•wealthy, why, riches have descended upon him as the bounty
rewarding his virtues. His own goodness has been turned into a
benison. And he has oppressed no one 1 He has wronged no
one ? He has not armed himself with an imjust, though an
allowed usage to add to his hoards — to increase his wealth 1
Alas, sir, alas ! " cried the Hermit, " against how many such men
may the accusing spirit some day thunder forth, ' Stolen milk ! ' "
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 2/i7
We were about to venture some rejoinder when the door was
gently opened, and a negro child, as he appeared, about ten years
old, glided in, and made up to the Hermit, presenting to him a
velvet cap, and a staff of the whitest ivory.
"My little boy, sir," said the Hermit; and the child gently
nodded to us, as pleased with the words of his master. " This is
my hour for a walk : will you use your legs ? Or, if it please
you better, will you stay and read ? Bezoar will show you my
book-room." We at once preferred to accompany our host.
" Farewell, child ; and let me hear good words of you," said the
Hermit, tenderly laying his hand upon the little woolly head.
Saying this, the Hermit donned his cap, grasped his ivoiy staff,
and courteously showed us from the cell. Our curiosity was
immediately aroused by the little negro. Our host observed this
in our looks, and said — " Yes ; a fine little boy, and from a
curious place too. You shall hear something of him as we walk.
This way, by your leave : it is a solitary by-road, and winds to
the top of yonder hill ; whence you may look down upon
Clovernook, lying lamb-like and quiet at the bottom." Saying
this, the Hermit turned to the left from his orchard, a large
sheep-dog bounding after him, and leaping about him, and
barking loudest gladness. " Gently, Colin, gently," said the
Hermit ; and the dog thrust his nose into his master's hand, and
taking a deep snuff, was on the instant quiet, and falling behind,
walked gi-avely as a court follower.
"And the little black boy's name is Bezoar 1 " said we, urgino-
the promised story.
" Bezoar," answered the Hermit ; who, after a pause, continued.
" He is older than his looks ; and his brain is still the oldest part
about him. He comes from a curious place, unknown I believe
to any traveller, but myself Do you know much of geography
sir?"
We answered, and, we fear, without a blush, " Nothing."
"Your ignorance will spare me some description. Let it
sufiice to you, that the birthplace of Bezoar is an unknown tract
— unknown to all but myself — somewhere in Japan. At one
time of my life, I drove a large trade in Dutch dolls. I travelled
to Japan with my merchandise, and making my way to the
Emperor's court, became an especial favourite by means of uiy
ware. The poor people had never before beheld a doll : and as
my dolls were the first sort fashioned to open and shut their
eyes, and emit certain sounds from the mouth — the invention has,
I have heard, been shamelessly copied in France — they were con-
sidered in that strange, uncivilised country, as things of almost
greater worth than mere men and women ; henceforth, they who
25S THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
would prosper in the siglit of the Emperor, became as nearly as
was allowed to them, like unto dolls. The greater the doll, the
finer the courtier. I soon disposed of all my goods, which being
limited in supply, carried any price. I really believe, so great
was the passion, that some wives would have parted with their
husbands for dolls ; and am almost convinced that husbands
might have been found who would have changed their living,
ogling, talking spouses, for mere machines of painted wood that
only opened their eyes, and sounded a few sounds, when the
wires were pulled for such purpose. I became a great favourite
with the Emperor ; and protected and authorised by his letter — •
it was embroidered in letters of gold on violet-coloured satin —
roamed everywhere."
"But what we want" —
The Hermit stopped dead at the unseemly interruption. With
a sweet smile on his face, he shook his head, and leaning on his
staff, looked in our eyes. " Once upon a time, do you know what
Patience wanted 1 " asked he of Bellyfulle.
We confessed our ignorance.
" She wanted a nightingale. Well, su', Patience waited, and
the egg sang."
We bowed to the soft rebuke, and promised to hold our peace.
The Hermit continued.
" As I said, I roamed where I would. In my wanderings, I
fell among a strange sort of people ; strange in this way. Though
the people were divided into an equal number of white and black,
there was no pride of colour in the fair, no humiliation Ln the
sooty. All were alike."
" And how was this compassed 1 " we asked, unable to suppress
the question.
" There ran a legend in the country that it had not always
been so, but that the blessing — for so the people called it — had
been brought about by one of their demi-gods as I could
understand, a sort of Japanese Prometheus. The blacks — people
win tell you there are no blacks in Japan ; you have my full
authority to contradict them — had been hardly used : stripped,
mutilated, sold, made merchandise of, as in other places black
flesh has been, and is. The land was cursed with the wicked-
ness : on one side there was stony-hearted arrogance ; on
the other, agony, debasement. Well, the Japanese God
changed this ; and how 1 One morning — a time answering to
GUI- 1st of May — all who had gone to bed as negroes, rose as
white men ; and the white got up blacks. For a whole
twelvemonth, sir," said the Hermit of Bellj'fulle, "I was
myself a black man."
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 269
" Impossible ! " we cried ; but a glance from the Hermit
subdued us into a look of belief.
"A black man," repeated the anchorite, gently striking his
ivory staff upon the ground ; " and, the year past, I became of
my first colour. And this, sir, is the case with all the dwellers
in that country. Each party takes the colour of each for one
twelvemonth. One year black, one white."
" When the change was first ordered," said we, " it must have
astounded the better people."
" It was a fine lesson, sir ; a fine practical teaching of humility.
And after all, what is it at this moment going on in that very
remote province of Japan, what is it more than you figure to
yourselves in the world you come from 1 The Japanese divinity
did but anticipate the work of the future. Men, I mean Chris-
tian men, do not imagine to themselves angels of different
coloured skins : they do not conceive the notion of black cherubim.
Grave-dust, that truest fuUers'-earth, surely takes out the negro
Btain. I take it, sir," — and the Hermit paused in his walk, and
closing his hands, let his staff fall in his arms, — " I take it, sir,
we all rise alike ? "
We said nothing ; and for a few minutes the Hermit, resuming
his pace, was silent. He then observed, and we thought in a
somewhat pensive tone, " The pretty boy at the ceU — ^yes, sir, I
call him pretty — was a native of the strange land I have spoken
of. I have seen that jetty boy white as the whitest English
maiden. He was an orphan when I brought him away ! "
"And at that time in his year of black 1 " we ventured to ask.
" Yes, sir," answered the Hermit ; not observing, or not con-
descending to obsei-ve, a tone of levity that, struggle as we would,
broke from us : for sooth to say, we thought the Hermit — as
doubtless the reader will think — either pleasantly jesting or
pleasantly mad. " Yes, sir," said the sage of Bellyfulle, " he was
then black. He has never changed since."
" We can well believe it," was our avowal.
" It was my hope — otherwise I had never brought the dear
child from his delightful land — the paradise of the world, sir !
every single grape there is big as a walnut : it was my hope, had
the change from black to wliite gone on, that the world might
have been instructed. As it is, sir, were I simply to publish
the truth, 'twould be taken as a traveller's story."
" Just so," said we. " For there are some distant truths that,
however beautiful, will not bear a voyage. You may carry ice
to the Indies, if you carefully stow it ; but travellers, sir, some-
times find their best of truths melt by the way."
Ab we came to a tm-ning of the path, we met one of the
s 2
260 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
villagers of Clovernook ; as I afterwards found, an old man, who,
in the outside world, had been a planter, and the owner of a
thousand slaves. He had left nearly all his wealth behind him,
and by the greatest luck had escaped to the village ; there, in
its sweet serenity, to peep into the holes and corners of his soul,
and blow the worldly dust out of them, as the housewife blows
and dusts her best china. And, indeed, such care had been most
necessary. He was, as the Hermit afterwards told me, a sharp-
faced, wan, edgy kind of man when he set out for Clovernook,
with a restless anxiety of eye, and quick, whistling kind of
speech. When we saw him, there was a look of gentleness, in
his old face, and his eye shone deeply, yet tranquilly, and he
spoke with a sweet cheei-ful gravity — the natural tone of good
old age.
" A good day and many," said the Hermit to the old man.
" You will find your scholar at the Cell, Master Simon." And
the old man, smiling, and gently bowing, without a word,
passed on,
" "WTiat scholar do you speak of, may we ask ? " said we.
"Bezoar, the black boy," answered the Hermit. "Master
Simon teaches him chess."
" Chess ! a planter, and an owner of a thousand negroes, teach
a black boy chess ! " we cried.
" 'Tis a pretty game," said the Hermit, not attending to the
contrast we had ventured, — " a pretty game ; and serves to
remind us, here in Clovernook, that there are such things as kings
and queens, and blazoned braying state. That there are — or
have been knights, sworn to do manly service, and alack ! too
often forgetting the vow. That there are — yes, still are — castles,
strongholds of wrong — prison fastnesses for feeble innocence.
That there still exist — we know them not in Clovernook —
worthy, pious bishops, pulpy and rich as pine-apples. Kings,
queens, knights, bishops, and castles ! " cried the Hermit. "How
few the syllables ! Yet in this world what an uproar have they
made ! How much wickedness and suffering, and violence, and
stone-blind bigotry — if we read the history of this dear old
mother earth — Gracious Heavens !" cried the Hermit lifting his
hand, " what daily Neroes are we to her ! What multiplied, and
Etill multiplying evils may all be written down in five small
words ! Kings, queens, knights, bishops, castles ! What a sig-
nificant short-hand is here, my master," said the Hermit, and he
shook his head, and stalked freshly onward.
We followed him in silence along the path that, with gentle
acclivity, wound around the hill. Beautiful was the way !
Myrtles, geraniums, and a thousand odoriferous shrubs blossomed
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 261
and breathed about us. No dead leaf was seen ; no withered
twig deformed the place ; no slug, no snail, crawled in the path-
Barefooted Venus might have trod the grass, it was so soft, so
clean, so delicate. Seats, and banks, and mossy green alcoves
were formed at various distances, along the way ; places of rest
and shelter from the sun and shower. " Here," said the Hermit,
pausing — " here is the Grotto of the Cup and Cake ;"' he then
tm-ned aside, and entering what seemed to us the mouth of a
cavern, bade us follow. We obeyed, and in a few moments stood
in a circular grotto, into which the light through various crannies,
cunningly fashioned, found its way ; falling upon a myriad of
shells of rainbow tints, that flashed and glowed about us, burning
in the air. We heard the creeping of a spring, and guided by
the sound, saw it falling in a thousand silver threads from a
corner of the roof. An old man, clothed in white linen, received
us. We shall never forget the benignity of his aspect. He was
above the middle height ; his face was pale as moonshine ; his
eyes of a bright grey, and his hair and beard were white as
thistle-dowTi. " Here is a man," thought we, " whose life has
been a long task of holiness." He approached us, with a large
shell-goblet in one hand, and a small basket of cakes in the other.
" Drink," said the HeiTuit, handing us the vessel.
" Is it water 1 " cried we.
" Almost : mere noontide tipple," answered the Sage of Belly-
fulle. " I call it the Etcetera Cordial. Harmless as mouse's milk,
sir. A nun might see the bottom of the cup, yet see no worse
for't. We are now at half-way distance from the summit of the
hill. Here every villager halts, and takes the cup and cake.
Then, with strengthened hams, plods onward. Some cakes ? "
and the Hermit presented the basket. " They are made by a
French Duchess ; a dweller in the village below. She bought
the secret at, I cannot say what price, from a cardinal, her
confessor.
" Have the cakes any name ? " we asked.
With a slight movement of the left eyelid, the Hermit answered
— "Maids'-lips."
We drank and ate, then followed the Hermit fi-om the Grotto
of the Cup. " And who may be our host ? " we asked. " Some
man of lifelong piety and worth, no doubt ? "
" In the outside world," said the Hermit ; " for 'tis thus we ever
speak of the cannibal country you fome from ; he kept a gin-
shop, in close propinquity to the Old Bailey. In his time he
has been thrice fined by the excise for having, accidentally
no doubt, certain compounds in his house, to give, as the
wickedness of mankind imputed, an unlawful vivacity to his
262 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
liquors. That man has seen much of the world, and from an
eminence not enjoyed by all men."
" What eminence 1 " we asked.
" The pillory," answered the Hermit. " For one hovir did he
twirl before the faces of a mocking, egg-flinging generation ; and
at length descended from his altitude a changed man."
" No doubt," said we.
" He was set up a false-swearing piiblican, and came down a
philosopher. In one hour did he see the vanity, the folly, the
wicked violence of the world. In the midst of men he was apart
from them : his moral feelings drew themselves inward like the
horns of snails. Whilst twirling round like a pig at the spit,
with abominable odours at his nostrils, and the hubbub of vulgar
malice in his ears, the poor man's soul retreated into itself, and
shutting his eyes upon the mob about him — he had good reason
for that, sir — he saw with the better vision of penitent hope, an
abiding-place like this of Clovernook ; a sanctuary from his
world of adulteration and short measure. Released by Mr. John
Ketch — ha, sir ! we have a hangman in Clovernook " —
" Is it possible ! " we cried in great astonishment.
" One who was a hangman. Here, his duty is to prune trees,
and kill pigs. Released, the publican turned his heels upon the
world, and — his lucky star guiding him hither — he became the
host of the Cup and Cake. His office is to supply the villagers
of Clovernook with bite and sup, when it pleases them to I'est at
the Grotto. Employed in this duty, he never speaks ; but at the
' Gratis,' sir, he is a talking fellow, and will chirrup a song like a
cricket."
" How beautiful ! " we exclaimed ; for the Hermit's talk had
carried us to the top of the hill. High bushes had, for some
distance, shut out the view of the village beneath, so that making
a sudden turn, the scene burst in all its unfolded loveliness upon
us. At the summit was a wide, long marble seat canopied with
trees of willow and acacia. We sat down, and revelled in our
very heart, as we gazed about, below us.
" You are now," said the Hermit, " on the top of Gossip Hill ;
and there at our feet, sparkling like an emerald in the sun, lies
Clovernook. Now, sir," cried the Hermit, and his face fell into
shadow, " I have seen nearly all the granite and marble triumphs
of the world : all the structures set up by the vanity of man to
dare time to do its worst. And I have never looked at those
mighty conquests of stone — those altars where men may venerate
the might and gi-andeur of human labour — that I have not been
saddened by the thought, the idle fancy, that the very blood and
marrow of men, victims of lawless i-ule, cemented the blocks
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 263
before me. I have looked at the Pyramids, aud seen ten thousand
thousand ghostly faces staring on me : yea the whole mass has
seemed to me the petrified bones of a thousand, thousand slaves.
Antiquity cannot take out the blood-mark : philosophy, or what
has quicker vision, sympathy, may still behold the stain ; the
winds of centuries cannot bleach it. I have galloped over the
Appian Way, and my horse's hoofs have spurned what to my
eyes was once the flesh of outraged man."
" Kindred thoughts," said we, " might give expression, anima-
tion, to every brick of every city."
" Certainly," said the Hermit, " if men would so consider it.
What is Saint Paul's ? A mass of stone, no more, to the tens of
thousands that crawl, or lounge, or jerk, or hurry by it. Such it
seems : but what is it, looking with thoughtful eyes ? Why, a
multitude of building activities. We look again : labour has
ceased ; the fabric is done ; and the harmony of the work steals
into our brain like the voice of a sweet singer."
" Even so," said we. " And thus the quietude of the scene
about us takes possession of the soul, and soothes it down to
gentleness and peace."
" Sir," cried the Hermit, " Corinth, BabylorK Palmyra, what
city you will, was never so fair a sight as that village at our foot.
A handful of its thatch is more than worth the brazen gates of
Thebes. Its vei-y chimney smoke rises to my nostrils, like the
sweet odour of a sacrifice. And wherefore is it thus ? What
should make that little span of earth, with its few cottages,
simple as swallows'-nests — what should give to that village worth
and majesty not found in cities ? Why, sir, the human goodness
that sanctifies it. There the hearth-gods are gentleness and
truth. There, man is not a lie to man ; a daily shufiler, an
allowed hypocrite, who, ostrich-like, hides his head in a bush of
expediency, and thinks the angels see not his plumes of vanity
fluttering about him. There, a creed is not a best coat, to be
only worn upon certain days, lest it should be worn out ; no sir,
it is the every-day working-garment ; and odd enough to say —
a strange thing not credible in your outside world — the more the
said coat is worn, the better and the brighter it becomes ; and so,"
said the Hermit with a grave voice and an upwai'd look, " and so
xo the end, until it is so bright, so beautiful, it seems to catch a
lustre from approaching heaven."
The Hermit paused, and for some moments we both sat in
silence contemplating the scene around and beneath us. A.t
length we observed, gazing down upon the village, — " Its beauty
seems to grow upon us."
" Yes," said the Hermit ; " fur the two devils, Hypocrisy and
264 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
Selfishness, those evei-ywhere fieuds of your world, have never
entered there."
" Indeed they travel," said we.
" Why, with you," cried the Hermit, " they are as the universal
Pan. Take me — in fancy, only, mark me — into your world, and
tell me a sound that is not mixed with their voices, even though
it may be a bishop's whisper : show me a thing they will not
spot, even though it be a bishop's lawn. Why, they are the twin
deities, or devilries of your earth ; they shout from the house-
tops ; they creak in carriage-wheels ; they ring in the change of
the shopkeeper : and with placid faces, I much fear it, they lay
their hands above their fungus hearts, and cry ' content ' and
' non-content,' and ' ay ' and ' no,' in Lords and Commons."
" Indeed, sir," said we, " this is bitterness."
" Ha ! ha ! " and the Hermit laughed ; " that's an old com-
plaint." Then turning full upon us, the Sage of BellyfuUe, with
a twinkling of the eye common to him when hit by some quaint
thouglit, asked — " When the world was vei*y young, do you know
where Truth lived 1 Doubtless. In a weU ; that is a story, old
almost as the stars. And there she dwelt, and the water of the
well was in such high repute, men would use no drop of any other.
And so they drank it, they washed their faces with it, cooked
and scoured with it. There was no water like that from the well
of Truth. Time plodded on, and the knaves, and the knaves'
puppets, fools, vowed that the water became worse and worse,
unfit for man or beast. It was brackish, foul, filthy, sulphurous ;
indeed, what was it not ? Men refused even to wash their hands
with it. No housewife would boil her lentils in it. Men, tem-
perate men, qualified their wine with it ; and after, swore it was
the water that gave them the headache. Shepherds watei-ed
their flocks at the well, and, as the shepherds declared, the sheep
fell into the rot. No man could say a good word for the water
of the well of Truth : it was so bitter no man could stomach it.
Whereupon the people took counsel, and determined to expel
Truth from the well, some old varlets declaring that they knew
the time when the well was most sweet and medicinal ; but then
it was before Truth had been permitted to take up her abode in
it. It was Truth, and Truth only that had made the stream so
shockingly bitter. And so, with one accord, they hauled Truth
by the hair of her beautiful and immortal head from the well,
and turned her naked upon the earth, to find shelter where she
might. Of course, in her nude condition, she could not appear
in cities. Nevertheless, though she herself was abused and
driven to rocks and desert places, her well has maintained her
name ; and so for thousands of years men have drunk at what
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 265
they called Truth's Well, only Truth was out. Certain it is, now
and then she comes and takes up her old abiding-place ; and then
do good people, who have unwarily taken a mouthful of the
water, spit it out again, and with wry faces, and shuddering ana-
tomies, cry, — ' How very bitter !' Sometimes, too, Ti'uth, to get
the poor devil a bad name, will wander like a stray gnat into his
ink-bottle ! Miserable scribbler ! Branded, tattooed worse than
any New Zealander with his own goose-quill. Virtuous, honest,
benevolent people who love their species, that is, the Adam an> I
Eve of the printing-office, the race of men and women in good
bold type, for they care not so much about the living -vmlgarities ;
they scream like a lady at a loaded pistol, or rather like a thumb-
sucking baby at aloes, at the man of bitter ink ; it is so very
bitter."
" Truly, sir," said we, " 'tis not a profitable liquid to him who
uses it."
" Sir," cried the Hermit, " I have much to say upon ink ; but
for the present, I will give you some brief advice. I know not
your condition, nor do I seek to know it : you may be in the ful-
ness of wealth and felicity. Nevertheless, sir, fortune, to try you,
may compel you to be an author. You may, sir,'iive by self-con-
sumption."
" How, sir 1 " we asked.
"Did you ever see a crowd of monkeys in a cage ? Answer ;
and I will tell you what I mean by self-consumiation. You have
seen the animals ? "
" Often," we replied.
" There is, I believe, a disease among monkeys : a horrid,
morbid appetite which pricks the creature to nibble^ and bite
away his own tail."
" We have observed it," was our answer.
" Sir," cried the anchorite, " I've seen monkeys that have had
the fit so very strong upon them, that their tails have been bitten
short to the buttock — left with scarcely a stump for pity to weep
over. What, think you, among the tribe of monkeys, were these
animals with self-eaten tails ? "
We could not teU.
"Alas! sir," cried the Hermit of Bellyfulle, "they were
authors. And now, sir, let me for a moment speak of ink. I
will, for an instant, do you the injury to imagine you an author.
Now, sir, if you would keep a fair rejjutation, and not have dirty
water thrown upon you, in the name of virtue, by moralists from
attics — not be squirted at in the cause of benevolence by sensitive
folks, who can scarcely spell the syllables that stand for the
virtue, avoid bitter ink as you would shun the small-pox. No
r66 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
sir ; dip your pen in a mild, sweet fluid ; and if you will attend
to my instructions, in this manner you will make it."
The Hermit cleared his throat, and seizing our right hand
between his palms, and looking intently at us, sjioke with an
earnestness that played along our heart-strings. He began : —
" A way to make profitable ink : — Seek a she-ass, with a week-
old foal, that has been foaled at the fall of the moon, for the moon
is much to be considered in this matter. Go out at midnight,
and milk the ass into a skillet that hath never been tainted with
aught but oatmeal poi'ridge. Whilst you milk, softly carol,
'Sing a song of sixpence,' ' Little Jack Horner,' or any other
innocuous ballad. Put the milk by, and in the morning stir it
with a pigeon's feather. Add to the milk the yolk of three
phoenix' eggs. Boil it over a fire of cinnamon sticks, and then
put to it an ounce of virgin honey, made by bees that never had
a sting. Be particular in this, or the ink will be spoiled. When
this 'is done, put by the mixture until the first of April. It
matters not how long it may be till then, for the phoenix' eggs,
when you have obtained them, will keep the milk sweet for ever.
Well, on the first of April, before breaking your fast, take the
milk and strain it carefully through the nightcap of your grand-
mother. If you have not a grandmother of your own, borrow a
neighbour's. In three days the ink will be as good as ever it will
be for use."
" And this," said we, " is the way to make a profitable
compound ? "
" You perceive," said the Hermit, " there is nothing bitter in
the ingredients. Some of your critics might drink of the ink, ag
though it was their own mother's milk. Profitable, did you ask ?
Why there is sweetest sorcery in the ink. You have only to dip
your pen into it, and whatever you write will be all that is mild
and beautiful. There will be no wrong, no wickedness in this
world — at least, by the grace of the ink, there will be none in
your picture of it, — but it will be a world of unmixed virtues.
Your ink will never then be led into the unprofitable knack of
calling selfishness and villany by their proper names, but you
will wink and let them ' trot by.' Every man will appear to you
— at least your ink will make you swear he does — like Momus's
man, with a pane of glass in his breast, and behind the glass, a
ruddy angel ! All the injustice of life — the wickedness that man
in his sorry ignorance inflicts upon his neighbour, will be
instinctively avoided by you ; the while the injustice grows, and
the wickedness triumphs, and you, with your sweet and profitable
ink, have helped to cast no shame upon the abomination ! And
you will put all the world in holiday attire ; the beggar-girl will
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 267
be dressed in sarsnet and tiffany, and ploughmen themselves
wear smock-frocks of white satin. And so doing, you will win
the good word of those who never think for themselves — a large
class, sir ; and of those — almost as large — who think falsely for
other people. You will be amiable, good, kind, far-seeing, deep-
seeing, and you will not be bitter ! "
" Truly, sir, the ink that will do this," said we, " is a golden
gift."
" It has been found so," said the Hermit. "And now, sir, let
me show you Clovernook and its population. Place these upon
your nose, and look about you." With this, the Hermit gave us
a pair of spectacles.' The glasses were in a fi-ame of heavy brass-
woi-k, curiously overwi'ought with strange, odd marks. Looking
at them, we asked, " Wliat may these denote 1 "
" I cannot tell," answered the Hermit. " They were the work
of a Portuguese philosopher. The Inquisition found a gallantee-
show in his house, and bjirnt him for a wizard. I bought the
spectacles of his Avidow : she was blind, or, I take it, had never
sold them. You wdl find them curious glasses."
Marvellous, in truth ! Putting them on, the whole of the
village was brought in wonderful distinctness to us. Though
Gossip Hill was of exceeding height, and at least two miles
distant from Clovernook, yet so strong was the power of the
spectacles, that we could distinguish the white throats of the
young martens thrust from the nests built beneath the cottage
eaves ; could see the tints of the houseleek on the cottage roofs,
the colours and small threads of lichen on the church tower,
" Wondei-ful — wonderful ! " we cried.
" They are good glasses," said the Hermit — " very good.
I have sat here, and looked through them so often, that I know
every flaw and weather-stain on every roof and wall. Yet, some
eyes they will not suit. Can you see the hour by the church
clock ? "
" The hour ! " we cried. " Nay, we can see a fly upon the
minute-hand."
" What is the fly about 1 " asked the Hermit, musingly.
"Nothing," we answered. " It is motionless."
" And the hand moves towards the hour 1 Is the fly stUl
there 1 " asked the sage.
" Still there," said we.
" And still idle ! Ha, my son," and the Hermit sighed. " how
many of us are no other than lazy flies upon the hand of time ?
What other thing do you see 1 "
" A pair of daws. One of them haa just flown up with stolen
goods in its beak."
268 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOYERNOOK.
" The wicked one ! " said the Hermit with a laugh. " Eobs
poor villagers, and yet lives in a church. Thej- are old sinners,
sir, those daws ; I know them. They'd take tithe of wool from
a day-old lamb, and the one chicken from a widow's one hen.
yet there they haunt and roost in their grave black, and bring
scandal upon our dear old church by the rapacity of their ways."
And then the Hermit smiled, and was silent. After a j^ause he
asked, " "What think you of our church of Clovernook 1 "
" Very beautiful," said we, " in its sweet simplicity ; " for the
doors were open, and we could see the whole interior of the
building. " It looks the abode of peace and truth."
" Ay, it does, sir. Yet there is an old legend that in former
times there was fierce strife in that little chvarch. The quarrel
is known as the schism of the Blue and Black. It was thus,
sir : — The parson died ; and when another parson was to be
chosen, many of the congregation declared they would give ear
to no preacher whose eyes were not Jalue. No grace could flow
from a pastor with black eyes. Other of the people were as
resolute on the contrary. They held blue eyes to be heretical,
unbelieving, and typical of burning sulphur : hence, they would
have black eyes in the parson, and none other."
" And how," we asked, " was the dispute accommodated ? "
" In this wise : as neither party wo^^ld give way, two persons
were chosen. Wlien Blue Eyes preached in the morning, Black
Eyes held forth in the afternoon. Thus both congregations were
equally satisfied, and, let us hope it, equally blessed."
" Do you believe this foolish tale 1 " we asked.
" There are people who call it fabulous — the gossip of fiction.
I cannot say what happened in Clovernook, but I will tell you
what I once saw in the land of the Mogul. There, sir, there
were certain bonzes or priests, who, like the twirling dervises
you may have heard of, were wont to show their devotion by
spinning, like tops, in white gowns. Suddenly there came other
dervises, who spun in black gowns ; then others came, who spun
in yellow raiment ; others in scarlet ; others in purple. And
every colour had its champions and apostles ; and there were
many foul words, and a little foul play, exchanged among them.
The tumult convulsed the land — every party vowing to fight to
the death for the one colour. When I left the country, it was
torn to pieces by the separate factions of the separate coloured
gowns. After some yeare I returned, and found the whole land
in peace ; and how, sir, think you, was amity restored ? A great
man — a man of genius and benevolence — arose, and he com-
bined all the opposite colours into one stedfast, admiring body of
himself ; for he, looking upon any colour as of no matter, if the
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 269
twirling were good — if the spinning were sincere — he, the meek
and easy man, spun in something very like a harlequin's
jacket."
" A pagan philosopher," said we,
"There was some thought, some suggestive wisdom, in this
harlequin humour. The light that blesses us, is poured upon us
in one white stream from the everlasting fount ; and yet it is a
light of many colours. Alas, my son ! " cried the sage, " what a
place would this be, if the many-coloured creeds of this world
did not, by Almighty goodness, make the white light of the
world to come ! "
The Hermit paused, and we continued to sui-vey the interior
of the church. " Beautifully simple," said we ; " no stained
glass : no gold-fringed, gold-tasseled pulpit cushion ; and no
pews."
'•' Why, no," said the Hermit, " no pews. In your world,
I have puzzled myself to think what kind of place your stickling
pew-holders must paint to themselves when they imagine
heaven ? A place with pews 1 With a better sort of velvet —
softer seats — more harmonious hinges to the doors — white,
cloud-like hassocks ? "
" They can have no such thoughts," cried we.
" Why not ? " asked the Hermit briskly. " Xay, they must,
What is, or should be, a church to the mind of the worshipper,
but as the porch to eternity ; wherein he stands, pondering the
terrible mystery within him : a place set apai't from the sordid
cares and crimes of the world, where, shaking the dust from his
soul, he hopes, fears, dreads, prays for an angelic change 1 — He
is at the outer door of the dread Future ; and shall he there
whine' like a canting beggarman at the threshold 1 Tell lies of
sores and wretchedness ? shall he call himself a worm, yet, in
the pride of his maggot heart, enshrine himself in a cabinet,
shrinking from the neighbourhood of brother crawlers ? Think
you," said the Hermit, " that men will rise in pews ? I fear
me not."
Again the Hermit paused. " What think you of our chiirch-
yard ? " he asked. " You see, there are no cypresses ; no
weeping willows ; no undertaker yews ; but sweet, odorous
shrubs and orange trees, with bud, blossom, and the ripe fruit t
types of those who lie below,"
" And no epitaphs ? " said we.
" Nor naked skulls, nor cross-bones carved in stone ; nor
cherub cheeks, with marble tears ; nor aught of the gimcrackery
of woe that libels death, making the deliverer horrible.
Beneficent death ! In the churchyards of your outside world
270 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
he sits like a blood-smeared Indian, counting his scalps. And
then, your tombstones ! What a multitude of contrary counsel
— of creed-denying misery is there ! I have walked among
them ; and fancy has given to them features, expression ; the
embodied voice and feeling of the written thing. Why one
howls, ' worms and darkness,' in the desolation of despair ; one
with wailing, shivering voice, cries — ' the cold, cold grave ; '
another gnashes its teeth at the ' tyrant death.' And are these
the looks, the voices, the words of hope — the words of the faith
the men professed to die in 1 It would be more than curious,"
said the Hermit, in a solemn tone, " if the spirits of the dead
might write their own epitaphs."
The deep earnestness of the Hermit's manner made us gaze at
him. It was strange ; but he appeared to us almost a double
man. His face seemed to lose its fleshly, full-fed, laughing look,
when he talked in this wise — and was refined and animated ;
wholly redeemed from its vinous aspect by the seriousness of his
discourse. At his cell, he seemed to us the champion and the
genius of creature-comforts — the true and doughty Hermit of
BellyfuUe ; and now discovirsing of death, his wrongs, and the
fopperies cast upon him, the Hermit appeared as one who had
castigated his sjjirit in the wilderness.
" Is it not strange," asked the Hermit, " that men should seek
for skulls and bones, and turned-down torches, to make them
feel the true solemnity of death ? These things are to the
imagination what strong liquors are to the blood. They confuse
the sense of truth. Can there be a more beautiful or more
hopeful memento of the dead, than the mere heap of earth that
covers them ? Lovely, pregnant earth ! Teeming with life !
Holding in its dusty bed the colour and the sweetness of the
future amaranth ! And yet in your world, you place a skull and
cross-bones over dead men's clay, and write up desolate
sentences of worms and darkness ; of terror and the fell
destroyer ; as though the wailing spirit of the dead cried from
beneath. Verily, sir," said the Hermit, " the tombstones of a
Christian churchyard do at times jangle with the sweet spirit of
Christianity. I have looked at them with pity ; may I be
pardoned the emotion ! sometimes with slight resentment."
" The graves beneath us are covered with herbs and flowers.
None osier-bound," said we.
" Look at the wall, there, to the right," said the Hermit.
We looked, and saw a long row of bee-hives. " Bees hived in
a churchyard ! " we cried, astonished.
" Every grave," said the Hermit, " is planted with thyme and
other herbs ; with flowers, that the bees most love. The whole
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 271
village is supplied with honey, sucked, elaborated from the
churchyard. There, my bones will lie. And there the bees will
work, aud working, sing above them. To my heathen mind a
sweeter,' a more hopeful music, than dolorous words of worms
and darkness, chipped by stone-cutter."
" Bees hived in a place of graves ! " we repeated. " 'Tis a
strange fancy."
" Call it what you will," said the Hermit, " we leave it to your
outside world to seek for sighs and groans, and tribulation, in
your burying places. The villagers of Clovernook — great
happiness is it that it is so — seek nought but honey from the
churchyard."
" Who is that — the sexton 1 " we asked, seeing an old hale
man, with mattock and axe, enter at the gate.
" Our sexton," said the Hermit. " In your world, he was a
man of pills ; a most potent, money-seeking quack. His penance,
here, is to dig graves. With you, it may be said, he employed
journeymen."
" He was known as the sexton's friend. But," said we, " you
have several times spoken of penance. Are all the dwellers of
Clovernook vowed to penance for the foUies ^ the worse guilt
of their former lives 1 "
" Assuredly," said the Hermit. " Save the few childi-en born
here, nearly all the men and women of Clovernook take some
self-imposed task, to cleanse themselves of past foulness, jsast
folly. I had forgotten," said the Hermit, rising, " I ought first
to have shown you The Valley of Naps."
" The Valley of Naps ! " we cried ; " what place is that ? "
" It lies on the other side of the Hill, between this and the
village. By that valley all who come from your world to end
their lives in Clovernook, are made to enter. Here," said the
Hermit, turning his back upon the village, and following a
narrow, winding path — " here you may see something of it.
Look," said the Hermit, and he pointed downwards to a dark
speck of wood. " Your spectacles will serve you little here.
That black blot of trees — that is the entrance to the Valley of
Naps. When the traveller arrives there, he puts up at The
Warming-Pan — the only hostelry in the Valley. The landlord
is said to have been a Lord Chancellor in his day ; and his
servants customs and excise officers. The traveller is shown to
bed, and after a nap of some six months, he rises, puts on new
clothes, and having left his old face at the Shrine of the Looking-
Glass, sets forward to Clovernook."
" Dear sir," we cried, " explain all this. What do you mean ?
How can a man leave his face 'I "
272 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" Why, sir," asked the eremite, " think you that Clovemook
would be the Paradise it is, if its villagers had brought their
worldly visages with them 1 Oh, most beautiful and most foul
is the human countenance ! A page, writ with sunny characters
— a greasy, dirty, dog's-eared leaf ! Are there not faces, with
every trace of divinity thought out of them 1 Faces, with quick,
hungry, subtle eyes ; and cheeks and brows, lined and cut as
with the sharp edges of sixpences 1 Have you walked the
streets of cities and not beheld such faces 1 If so, believe it, you
have dull eyes. Well, the people bound for Clovemook leave
the raiment of the outer world at the Warming-Pan ; and with
it their natures as deformed and warped in the world they have
quitted. Then they call at the Shrine of the Looking-Glass, and
take a last peep of their worldly faces. They look into the
mirror, and looking, leave all the black lines, the wrinkles of
calculation, the pallor and sallowness of sorrow in the glass, and
step forward with faces happy, bright, and beaming as from a
talk with angels."
" And, of course, never again visit the Yalley of Naps ? "
said we.
" Yes, indeed," said the Hermit, " and have solemn sport
there. I have told you, that every traveller leaves at the
Warming-Pan his coarse and sordid worldly nature with his old
clothes. Well, every New Year's Eve, these past natures, these
phautasma of the world without, appear in the cast raiment, and
are invited by the purified villagers of Clovemook, their past
owners. There is, I have said, much sport there ; and it
happens after this fashion. Although everybody beside knows
the shadow, the ghost of the past, to be the past property of the
man upon whom the spectre fixes itself ; yet does the amended
man himself deny the phantom ; endeavouring by ail means to
put it ofi" upon any other of his fellows. It is strange sport to
see how ghosts are bandied about ; like unacknowledged paupers
in the world you come from."
" But the villagers of Clovemook," said we, " do not forget
their former doings 1 "
" On the contrary," replied the Hermit, " they have a quick,
most curious knowledge of their past lives, save on the solemnity
of New Year's Eve ; and then, for the time, do they forget all
things. You see our sexton there " — for by this time we had
retm-ned to our seat, looking down upon Clovemook, — "there
was rare sport with him at Shadow Fair."
"Shadow Fair!" we echoed. "Is that the name of the
festival held in the Valley of Naps 1 "
"It is ; and the sexton went, with others, last New Year's
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 273
Eve. He was immediately owned by liis ghost, the phantasm,
the slough of his moral self left at tlie Warming-Pan. The ghost
was a long, thin-f;iced ghost, with a bit of mangy hair on the
upper lip. The ghost made up to the sexton, who immediately
took to his heels, the ghost following him, and pelting him with
the spectres of his own pills, as folks pelt one another with
sugar-plums at a carnival. There was great sport, I can tell
you. The pills — the ghost seemed to have myriads of them in
his coat-pockets, — fell in showers about the sexton, the ghost
straining its thin voice, and calling out that the sexton could not
take too many of them. Where the pills fell, poisonous fungus,
smaU toadstools, with bolus heads, came up, killing everything
around."
" And will the poor sexton suffer the same pelting next New
Tear's Eve 1 " we asked.
" Assuredly," said the Hermit.
" May he not have better wisdom than to visit Shadow Fair ?"
said we.
" He cannot choose," replied the Hermit. "It is the inevitable
fate of every villager of Clovernook, to go every New Year's Eve
to the Valley of Naps."
" What ! is death in the village ? " we asked, seeing the sexton
doff his coat, and begin delving.
"Yes. A villager died three days ago. He was ninety-three,
and this day week — yes, this day week — he played at cricket."
" And who is that old man," we asked, " with long white hair,
at the bottom of the hill, peeping and prying into the hedge ? "
" He, sir, was a shai-p attomoy ; a very keen tool, indeed, in
your world," said the Hermit ; " but here he spends his days
picking cotton blight and canker from the trees, and freeing flies
from cobwebs."
" And here comes a gay, thin-faced old man, with a wooden
leg."
" He was a great general — a very mighty general ; he has
killed his thousands, and knocked down cities by the dozen.
And now, what think you, does he in Clovernook ? Why, every
evening he waits in the skittle-ground of the ' Gratis ' to set up
the nine-pins. The rest of his time he employs snaring I'ays,
daws, and magpies ; and when lie has taught them to cry 'Peace,
peace, peace T he lets them fly, as he says, to instruct their
ignorant brethren."
" And now the general meets a tall, lusty man."
" I know him. He was a prime minister for years. Here he
turns humming-tops and other nick-nacks for children."
" And who is this,—? "
T
274 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVEKNOOK.
" Patience," said the Hermit, with a smile, as he rose from his
seat, " you will know all the villagers in good time — shall meet
them all, and hear their stories, too, at oui" only inu, the
'Gratis.'"
With growing reverence for the Sage, we attended the Hermit
BellyfuUe back to his cell. " In half an houi-," said he,
graciously smiling, " it will be dinner time. Half an hour," he
repeated with musical emphasis, as he passed into his chamber
Having profitably employed the time with cold water, we then,
refreshed, yet hungry, sought our host. The Hermit awaited us.
He had put aside his cloak of the morning, and was again
wrapped in his old damask gown. He perceived that we
observed the change. " My custom, sir," he said ; " I never yet
could dine in full dress. The digestive organs, sir, abominate
close buttoning ; and do their work sulkily, grumblingly. No,
sir ; a man in full dress may chew and swallow, but he never
dines. The stomach cannot honestly perform its functions in
state." We smiled : whereupon the Hermit with a grave, sly
look, asked — " Will you answer me this question 1 " We bowed,
" Do you think it in the jjower of mortal man to give a fair,
wise, learned judgment upon any dish or sauce soever, the said
man being, at the time of tasting, in tight boots ? Sir, it is
impossible. The judicial organ is too delicate, too exquisitely
nerved, to vindicate its sweet prerogative, unless the whole man,
morally and bodily, be in a state of deep repose. And, therefore,
can there be a greater wrong committed upon the cook, than the
common injury of dining to music ? It is abominable. Once —
I well remember it — I chewed to the clangor, and crash, and
thunder of a military band. Well, sir, the dinner was excellent
— admirable as a dinner ; but I have no more judgment than a
beast, if I had any other taste in my mouth save the brass of the
trumpets, and the tough parchment of the drum-heads. Silence,
profound and solemn, is due to the first hour of dining. One
minute before that time the finest jest is but a presumptuous
mipertinence. In my encyclopaedia of the kitchen I have
treated of these things— philosophically and at large. For the
present "
Here the Hermit upraised his forefinger, and at the same time
the door was opened, and a man, drest in snowy white, followed
by Bezoar, brought in the first dish. Placing it upon the table,
the man disappeared, Bezoar taking his place behind the Hermit's
chaii-. And then the Hermit rose, and baring his head, said
gi-ace. " Thanks be rendered for this : and may no man dine
worse ! " With this short ceremony the Hermit entered ujion
his serious task. He dined as though he was fulfilling a devout
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 275
exercise of his life. Not a word escaped him, as dish aftei* dish
was levied upon, then taken away. We confess our ignorance of
the many delicious things set before the Hermit, they had been
so disguised, so elevated by the art of the cook. As, in silence,
we watched the doinsrs of the Sage — for soon we sat with idle
knife and fork, whilst still our host cut away — we marvelled
that a man so capable of solemn thoughts — a man who could
discourse, as he had done, upon a churchyard — and the pride,
the guilt, the empty foolishness of life — should be so curious, so
eager in his food. With his strange quickness of mind, he
jumped at our thoughts, and said — " I doubt not I can guess
your meditation. I, myself, with the wings of my soul, have
tried to escape from this mound of flesh," and he glanced at his
stomach ; " but the soul is, at best, as a trained hawk ; let it fly
as high as it will, there is its master for the time, with his feet
upon the earth ; and straightway it drops from the clouds at his
call." Saying this, the Hermit pushed away his final plate. He
had dined — for he had spoken.
" This wine is miraculous," said we, filling a glass of tokay.
" Yes ; I shall remain some time in Hungary," answered the
Hermit, sipping the liqiior with educated lips. " This," said the
Sage, holding the wine between him and the light, " this is the
true blood of our dear mother earth. I have often wondered at
the sneaking ingratitude of astronomical men. In the name of
grapes, why should not Bacchus have a star to himself 1 We
have only to reflect upon the characters of the Pagan deities
siderally honoured, to feel the indignity done to Bacchus. There
is Saturn, a tyrant and a child-eater, — he must be set in a ring,
and nominally h\mg in the sky. Mars, a bully, and nine times
out of ten no whit better than a highwayman or burglar, — he,
too, must twinkle insultingly upon men, made fools and rogues,
tyrants and victims, by his abominable influence ; yes, he, the
recruiting sergeant of the heavens — must stare with his red face
upon us ; — and Mercury, thief and orator to boot, may wink
through the long night, all having their admirers and worshippers ;
whilst for Bacchus, he, with all his great bounty, is starless
and unhonoured. 'Twould be a pleasant, yea a proper thing,"
said the Hermit with a laugh, " to find a fire-new planet for
him."
" Indeed," we answered, " in these days, it is not likely that
Bacchus will meet with so bountiful an astronomer. In the out-
side world — to use your own words of Clovernook — his godship
is in sad disgrace. His bottles are broken ; his pottle pots shivered ;
his name anathematised. Boys and girls, scarcely forgetful of the
taste of mother's milk, renounce him and his ways ; and more,
t2
276 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
by the potent eloquence of childhood, compel father and mother
to forswear the worship of the frantic god. Drunkenness itself
has lost its blotched and scarlet face, and, like the hart, pants
only for pure water."
" Can it be ? " asked the Hermit. " I never knew a drunkard
so reformed, unless, indeed, he had been to the Land of Tur-
veytop."
" The Land of Turveytop ! " we cried : " where may that
be 1 what people inhabit it, and what wonders may be done
there ? "
"As for its latitude," said the Hermit, "why, I will not
puzzle your geography with it. The peoi:)le are of gigantic
stature, at least forty feet high ; yet mild and benevolent — the
nurses and pastors of the ordinary race of mortals."
" And is the land far distant ? " we asked.
" Some hundred leagues, no more, from Clovernook. I was
brought up there : understand me — brought up, after the fashion
of the Turveytopians. The truth is, when T had arrived at man's
estate,! found myself in possession of a bit of nearly every vice that
blackens the sons of Adam. I will not run over the list, but to
save your time and my breath will merely desire you to think
me at that time knowing in all the rascally accomplishments
generally shared among a crowd of sinners. And yet, though
wild and lawless, and hotly pursuing all sorts of mad delights, 1
never felt a touch of happiness. My pleasure was at best
delirium that left me spent and heavy-hearted. It was in one of
those moods, when the whole world about me was, to my moral
vision, coloured like so much browii paper, that walking at the
base of a high mountain, it suddenly opened before me. Sir,"
said the Hermit, with a grave look that rebuked our gaze of
incredulity, " I say the mountain opened. A narrow passage,
adown which the sun shone with intense brightness, and whence
I heard delicious sounds, as of distant music, was before me.
Without a thought I entered it ; when having run a few
paces, I turned round, and — the marrow froze in my bones — I
saw the mountain had closed again behind me. I was trapped ;
swallowed ; a miserable lump of breathing mortality in the bowels
of the earth. Great was the anguish of my heart ; yet, strangely
enough, light, like sunlight, streamed down the long passage
before me, and the sounds of the music became louder and
louder. By degrees they carried peace and fortitude into my
soul, and I began to walk rapidly forward. As I walked, the
passage became wider, and at length ended in an open country ;
where, save that the grass, the flowers, the trees, and all things
a.bout me, were of gigantic proportions, all in form was the
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 277
same as the things of the world I had left. I walked uutil I saw,
what at first appeared to me, huge rocks. Continuing to
approach them, I discovered them to be houses. My heart
dropped within me, for I feared that I was in a land of giants.
As the thought fell upon me, I turned round and almost
swooned to the earth with fear. A giantess of nine-and-thirty
feet three inches high — as I afterwards discovered — stood
before me. Instantly I believed I was destined to be eaten
alive. Thougli constitutionally gallant towards the sex, I was
yet so wayward, that I would rather have fallen into the jaws of
a tigress or any other female beast, than have formed the meal
of the giantess before me. She saw my terror, and a smile broke
upon her broad, good-humoured face, like a sunbeam on a rose-
garden. A few strides brought her to me. I fell upon my knees,
and lifted up my hands imploringly to her. Never did man drop at
the foot of w^oman in more earnestness of soul. Never could he
pray moi'e fervently to be taken in marriage, than did I suppli-
cate not to be chewed alive. The giantess, with a laugh that
almost stunned me, bent over me ; chucked me under the chin ;
playfully nipped the end of my nose ; indented the tip of her fore-
finger in both my cheeks, and shrilly crying kluJcklukUulc, —
which answers to our homely catchy, catchy, — took me in her arms
like a raw, red-feced, hour-old baby."
" A strange place this Turveytop, and a strange people," cried
we. " And amongst these folks you say you were brought up ?
Brought up ! Why, you were of man's estate when the mountain
opened and received you."
" True ; but it is the benevolence of the Turveytopians to take
in men and women to nurse : to bring them up anew ; and to
this philanthropic end, every new-comer is treated as a new-born
babe. Bless you ! I have seen a philosopher, who had made a
great noise among his brother pigmies on the outside of the
mountain, I have seen him sent back to nurse's milk and pap.
The one great principle of the Turveytoj^ians is this, to take no
knowledge for granted on the part of those they nurse. May this
tokay, sir," — cried the Hermit, about to quaff — "may it turn to
train oil in my gullet, if I have not seen a Chancellor made,
whether or no, to suck his thumb, because the little varlet would
affect precocity and quarrel with his nurse, as if to suck his thumb
was an act below his consequence. I have seen, too, a Lord
Chamberlain taught again to walk : yes, seen him toddling after
a sugar-stick held temptingly, encouragingly, 'twixt his nurse's
fingers."
" And for what pui-pose," we asked, " this teaching over again ?
Was it not a waste of time and pains ? "
278 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" Assuredly not," answered the Hermit gi-avely ; and then
fixino- his eye upon us, he asked, " Have you not known folks in
the outside world, who — standing it may be within a few years
of their grave — seemed, nevertheless, as if they had learned all
their worldly knowledge the wi-ong way ? As if, to he aught
good, wise, and morally dignified, they should learn the lesson of
life again ; yea, beginning in the nursery, should sprawl and roar
in the nurse's lap 1 You cannot think this 1 It matters not :
the honest Turveytopians have this belief, and therefore take
weak and wicked men and women, of every age, as younglings,
from the womb : they are called the babes of the mountain —
children of earth ; and for the many vices and faults which they
bring with them into Turveytop, why, they ai-e considered as
spots and flaws inseparable from their former condition. " Oh !
the men I have seen there," cried the Hermit, with a laugh —
" the kings, lords, bishops, lawmakers I have seen, all put
into second swaddling-clothes, and brought up again as gentle,
wise, charitable, sagacious folk, doing good ci-edit to the
beautiful earth, which, in their former days, they so grievously
scandalised."
" But surely," said we, " it was to take the training a little too
far back 1 We cannot, we repeat, but think it loss of time and
trouble."
" Certainly not," cried the Hermit. " Consider, sir, how
delightful it must be, by a strong effort of the soul, to lose
and forget all that we have mislearned of life, and so begin
the lesson again — with clear heads and ruddy hearts. To
compass this with the reprobates of the world is the purpose
of the Turveytopians — wise, gracious, wonderful giants that they
are ! mighty only in their goodness, superhuman in their sweet
charities."
"Pray," we cried, "tell us your history whilst in Tur-
veytop."
" You shall hear it, sir," said the Hermit, " and the brief
histories of many others."
We drew close to the table, and waited the story with
imj^atience,
" Though trembling violently in the arms of the giantess, I
became gradually self-assured by the sweet good-humour of my
nurse. She gazed and nodded smilingly at me, like a girl with
a new doll; and although I felt distressed and humiliated,
I nevertheless smiled — though I fear a wan, sickly smile — in
acknowledgment of her tenderness. Then she threw me up in the
air, and caught me again in her arms. Never before had I been
so far from earth. My head swam, and my stomach — I had that
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 279
day dined oif eel-pie and goose — threatened treachery, when I
lieard a loud voice exclaim in the very purest English, — for the
Turveytopians know all the languages of the earth, — ' Slut !
baggage ! Is that the way to toss and jolt a new-born babe ? '
Holding me in her arms, my nurse turned round, and T beheld
in the speaker a matronly giantess, with a kind, motherly coun-
tenance. ' A pretty skittish thing you are to trust babies to,'
she cried. 'Poor poppet,' — and the benevolent gentlewoman
wiped my nose, — ' it doesn't look half an hour old ; and yet here
you are, throwing it up and churning its little bowels like
butter.' 'La, grandmother ! ' cried the girl, ' it doesn't mind it.
See, if it doesn't laugh ! ' T certainly did grin. * Laugh ! ' said
the old dame ; ' you know-nothing hoyden ! laugh ! Poor little
heart, it's wind.' At this, I couldn't help it, I chuckled vigor-
ously. ' There ! if the dear lamb isn't choking,' cried the woman ;
' away with it to the nursery, or you'll have its precious life upon
your soul' Instantly the girl hugged me to her bosom, cast her
apron over me, and ran — I thought she flew — with all her legs.
I saw nothing until the girl carried me into a spacious lofty
room, which m a moment I knew must be the nursery. Thci-e
were about twenty other infants, from a day to a week old •
infants I must call them, though all of them were older than
myself. Some were screaming, shouting, swearing in the
most shocking manner that they were not babies, that they
were men — wise, learned, authoritative men — and would shake
the pillars of the heavens ere they would be treated as sucklings."
" And what said the nurses ? " we asked.
" Oh, sir ! what nurses usually say at such a time. They
bawled and shouted too. Then they called the babies ' precious
ducks,' ' darlings,' ' apples of theii' eyes,' ' plagues,' and then
' precious ducks ' again. There was an old dowager from the
outside world — how she had ever wandered into Turve}i:op I
know not — who, screaming like a catcall, begged to ask the
wretches if they knew what they were about. Declared that she
had a son lord chief justice, and then desired to know if she was
to be treated like a baby ! "
" And what was the answer ? " we inquired.
" None, sir," said the Hermit — " none, save that the woman
who was swathing and dressing her, shrilly sang a nursery song,
and tossed her about like so much pie-crust. From this, I found
that no big words, no struggling of mine, would prevail, and
therefore meekly resigned myself. And, sir, I had my reward ;
for having been properly powdered and swaddled, my nui'se
declared that I was the quietest dove of a babe she had ever
handled — quite a lamb."
280 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" And, pray forgive the question, did they really give you to a
wet nurse 1 "
" They did, sir," — answered the Hermit smiling, " and a very
comfortable woman she was. It was wonderful how soon I
accommodated myself to a milk diet. In a short time I seemed
to have sucked in a serenity of soul. Recovered somewhat
from the amazement of the day, I took counsel with myself
in bed."
*' Delicious, peace-giving bed ! " we cried.
The Hermit looked grave. " Happy is the man," he answered,
"who can say peace-giving bed. For oh, sir ! what a rack to the
spirit of man may be found in goosedown I You do not seem to
apprehend me 1 Consider, sir, what an unavoidable self-
confessional is bed. Think, sir, what it is to have our con-
science put to the question of goose-feathers. You are in bed,
peace-giving bed, you say — it is deep night ; and in that solemn
pause, you seem to feel the pulse — to hear the very heart of time.
You try to think of many things, but the spirit or demon of the
bed sets up yourself before yourself — brings all your doings to
the bar of your own conscience ; and what a set of scurvy gaol-
birds may be among them ! They peep in at your curtains,
crowd at the foot of your bed, and though you burn no rushlight,
you see their leering, sneaking faces. Alas! you cannot disown
them : you know that some time or other you have given them
house-room in your soul, and, like unclean things, they have
repaid the hospitality with defilement. There they are, old co-
mates, sworn acquaintances ; and j'et the world could not believe
that, for a moment, you kept such company. Oh, no ! abroad in
the world you have all sorts of graces accounted to you. Alack !
that night-cap and sheets should, to your own conscience, make
you bankrupt ! They make you know yourself hypocrite ; stand
before you, even though you he in dai-kness, your polished, easy,
cordial, out-door self — a man without a subterfuge, a soul without
a meanness. And your head upon your pillow — if conscious
blood beat at your heart — jou blush for the counterfeit you have
a thousand times put off upon the world, and shudder at the
accusing naughtmess about you. Peace-giving bed ! It may be
so ; and it may be — oh, sir ! " cried the Sage of BellyfuUe, " if all
our faults, our little tricks, our petty cozenings,our bo-peep moods
with truth and justice, could be sent upon us in the blankets, all
embodied, sir, in fleas, how many of us of lily skins would get up
spotted scarlet 1 "
" But surely, sir," said we, " you had no time for such
remorseful thoughts in the nursery ? "
" No — not then," answered the Hermit. "Then, as I said, I
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 281
took counsel of myself ; and resolved, since the strangeness of my
fate had cast me in Turveytop, to bear with meekness all that
might befal me. The giant-folk are wise, benevolent, I thought ;
else, wherefore should they seek to purge men of their wicked
worldliness, taking them back to their first swaddling hour, that
they may learn the lesson of life anew ? Yes ; I will forget the
scurvy wisdom that puffed my heart, and made me cock my cap,
a knowing fellow. I will let the cunning, self-complacent, brag-
gart creature die here where I am, and be taken up a baby — yea,
a very suckling."
" This, sir," we said, " would be a rare secret to teach men."
"It was taught in Turveytop — truly taught ; but I know not
how it wa^', there was something in the place, the people — that
after a time made the most stubborn of the balaes apt and
cunning pupils. For myself, I resolved upon docility ; and lying
where my nurse had placed me, I bade all my rascal thoughts
depart ; by a strong effort of the soul kicked from my brain many
a shrewd deceit, that, in former days, I had treasured more than
gold and jewels."
" And so became a babe again 1 "
" What a delicious pause was that ! How sweet that clean-
liness of soul ! There I lay in thoughts of kvender ; for the
babyhood of Turveytop is not like our first childhood. There,
man is not a midway thing, between two mysteries, the cradle
and the cofiin. No, sir ; having purged my brain of its secret
wickedness, I was conscious of my sweet condition. I felt and
rejoiced in my infancy of heart, and I have not forgotten its
deliciousness. I was resolved to begin my life anew ; and as a
droll destiny had given me a nursling to the giants, I so played
my part of babyhood, that my nurse outsounded all her gossips
with my praises. Thus I never cried nor whimpered, but
suffered myself to be dressed and undressed, crowing the while,
and walking up my nurse's knees — and cooing and laughing in
her lap. In this, as I have said, I found my accoimt : in a fort-
night I was short-coated, and in another fortnight was put upon
my feet, for my nurse declared that in a week I should be able to
w^alk alone. Many of my companions were less docile. There
was one — he had been an admiral — who roared and swore in a
terrible vein, and vowed he would only be quieted with pig-tail
tobacco. Another, a weazened babe— a money-lender in former
life — was never silent but when he was allowed to wear his
nurse's silver thimble on his head, he did so love the metal.
Most of the children, however, lost by degrees the errors and
weaknesses of their former days, and in time became span-new
creatures."
282 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" And pray, sir," we asked, " wHat term of probation did they
pass, ere they were permitted to claim man's estate ? "
" That depended upon the progress of the individual ; for, with
the Turveytopians, the year of discretion was not fixed by the
almanac, but by the wisdom and purity of the neophyte. There
were, certainly, a few babies — I must still call them so — who
had been in Turveytop for centuries. You are aware, sir, that it
was the fashion with those sorry dogs the Eomans, when any of
their heroes were missing, to swear that they had been carried
off by Mars, charioted by a clap of thunder. A flam, sir — a
political flam — to double-gild the memory of ruffians. The truth
is, they were taken to Turveytop, and there they still remain ;
they are such hopeless blockheads, they can learn nothing good
and peaceable. There, they are vermin-hunters to the giants,
waging war with the rats and mice ; no child's sport, sir, when
you consider the strength and immensity of the beasts. Poor
King Arthur, whom the Welshmen look for — and King
Sebastian, still expected by all believing Portuguese — both of them
are in Turveytop, and there, I think, are likely to remain.
Arthur, the mirror of knighthood, is a sulky, watery-headed lout,
continually robbing the other children of their nuts and apples —
throwing sticks at the legs of flies, and slily sticking pins into the
youngest babies. The Welshmen believe in Arthur's return,
faithfully as in leeks ; but, sir, the Turveytopians know that he
would only spoil his reputation, so keep him where he his. And
for the good King Sebastian, who, nearly three hundred years
ago, passed into Africa, to cut Moorish throats, he was spirited
otf to Turveytop, to be taught decent dealing."
" And how has the teaching prospered 1 " we inquired.
" Very badly, sir," answered the Hermit. " I don't know how
it is, but tlie heroes and wise folks of our world become sad
lubbers and dunces among the giants. I have seen King
Sebastian seated with twenty other kings and legislators, all of
them famous upon our earth for their justice and wisdom ; I have
seen each of them, with a piece of chalk between his fingers,
vainly trying to draw a straight line. For centuries have they
in Turveytop been set to do such simple task, before they should
be permitted to return to their old world again ; yet has no one
of them accomplished it. No, sir ; there is not one of them who
does not draw zig-zag. And the best of it is, each of them swears
that his own crookedness is the straightest of the straight. The
Turveytop geometrician shakes his head with a mild pity, where-
upon the late kings and lawmakers sulk, and, in a low voice,
swear at him. Fate alone can tell when jDoor Sebastian will get
to Portugal again. A sad thing for him, sir," said the Hermit
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 2b3
— " for I doubt uot that thei'e liis worst zig-zag might pass for a
perfect straight line. The dunces I have heard at school,
too ! " — and the Hermit sighed.
" Then they sent you all to school 1 " we observed.
" Assuredly," said the Hermit, " and to me sweet and pleasant
was the academy. Not that we were packed off, to be nailed to
a form, as soon as we could lisp : the Turveytopians are wiser,
more benevolent. No ; we sprawled and kicked about in the
sun, and rode cock-horse upon the backs of snails, and took
flying leaps upon grasshoppers, and tore our frocks, and rolled
in puddles, and dirtied om- faces, and ran thorns into our fingers
— and, in short, did every other trick that endears a child to its
parents. Yes, our constitution was suftered to strengthen like
palm-trees in the sun and air, and the alphabet was an mithought-
of calamity, until we were at least seven years old. The girls
were taken in hand at five ; for women, sir, are somehow always
in advance of us."
" Is that your faith 1 "
" Is it not indisputable ? Though Eve was younger than
Adam, was she not more than a match for him ? As for girls,"
said the Hermit with a gentle chuckle, " I know not if it be not
a great defect in their education that they should be taught to
read and write at aU."
" It cannot be, sir," we cried. " What ! rear the tender,
blooming souls in ignorance 1 "
" Why not 1 " said the Hermit, stroking his chin, whilst his
eye twinkled. " Why not, sir 1 Ignorance is the mother of
admiration. Perhaps they'd love us all the better for it. Ha,
my friend ! you know not what mischief may be done when you
teach a girl to spell, and put a pen in her hand. It's adding
weapons of offence where there was more than enough before.
'Tis like giving another quill to a porcupine. Kelentless souls,
how many of them wiU write ! Man, — let him be praised,
though praised in a whisper for it ! — has his fits of lordly idle-
ness, his accidental headache in the morning, and he turns from
his standish as from a nauseous draught, and his gi-ey goose
feather rises upon his stomach as though it was the bird's
yesterday's flesh ; and so, taking his hat, he lounges abroad,
hugging his laziness and dearly loving it : or he sits in his chair,
the world uuthought-of, humming upon its axis, and he, in
sweetest independence, twiddling his thumbs. Not so with
woman, sir ; she' has no idleness, not she ; that blot darkens not
the crystal purity of her resolution. She, unlike frail bibulous
man, has never one of his headaches ! No, sir, the world gets
no such respite. Fatally industrious, and sweetly temperate.
284 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
your writing woiuau, like a cuttle-fish, secretes ink for every
day."
" 'Twill go ill with you," said we to the Sage, "should woman
write your epitaph."
" Nay, her gratitude will protect me," answered the Hermit,
" seeing that I shall then let her have what is dearest to the
sex."
" And what is that 1 " we asked.
" The last word," — and the Hermit blandly smiled. " Never-
theless, sir, let what I have said rest between us. For the sex —
blessings on their honied hearts ! — will forgive wrong, outrage,
perjury sworn ten times deep — anything against their quiet, but
a jest. Break a woman's heart, and she'U fit the pieces together,
and, with a smile, assure the penitent that no mischief is done —
indeed, and indeed, she was never better. Break a joke, light as
water-bubble, upon her constancy, her magnanimity — nay, upon
ber cookery — and take good heed ; she declares war — war to the
scissors. There was my great aunt Dorcas. Poor soul ! Her
husband had tried the wbman a hundred cruel ways, and found
her, as her own mother declared, quite an angel. Her heart had
been broken many, many years ; and yet so well do women
repair the ravages of time and accident, nobody would ever have
thought it. Well, sir, this woman, who had endured wrong,
neglect — nay, some did whis^jer, the sliglit of infidelity, to boot
— this woman, who, placidly as a saint in China, had smiled upon
a husband's villainies, at length parted from the man upon a
custard. Yes, sir : her tyrant of a mate — as he thought, poor
wretch ! pleasantly enough— flung a heavy joke, before company,
too, upon his wife's pastry. The man had never been known to
attempt a jest till then. Whereupon, aunt Dorcas said she had
endured enough ; there was a limit even to a wife's forbearance.
She rose from the table, and died upon a separate maintenance."
" Pray, sir," we inquired, " has your philosophy fathomed the
cause of all this 1 "
" 'Tis in the deeper gravity of the sex," said the Hermit.
"Nay, sir, I mean it. They are shallow thinkers, sir, who
declare women to be light and frivolous. Dej^end upon it, they
take life much more in earnest than we do. Hence, sir, woman
is rarely a joke-making animal. Far better than we does slie
know the perishable materials of which life is made, and takes
serious care of them accordingly. And then, sir, the delicacy ot
the sex makes them shrink from a jest. Like pistol or small
sword, it is a masculine weapon, and not to be intruded upon
their gentle presence. No, sir ; a woman may be brought to
forgive bigamy, but not a joke."
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 285
"It may be so," said we ; "but, sir, all this time we have
wandered from Turveytop. You were sent to school there, you
say?"
" I was ; and there, indeed, the time went gaily by. Benevolent
and gentle was the schoolmaster, and worthy of the honours
lavished by the state upon him. Ay, sir, you may look ; but in
Turveytop the schoolmaster is not a half-drudge, half-executioner.
No, sir ; the importance, the solemnity, of his mission is conceded.
Children are not sent to him with no more ceremony than if they
were terrier-pnps, packed to the farrier to have their tails docked
and' their ears rounded. In Turveytop, the schoolmaster is
considered the maker of the future peo2:)le — the moral artificer of
society. Hence, the state pays him peculiar consideration. It
is allowed that^his daily labours are in the immortal chambers
of the mind ; the mind of childhood, new from the Maker's
hand, and undeuled by the earth. Hence, there is a solemnity,
almost a sacredness, in the schoolmaster's function : upon him
and his high and tender doings does the state of Turveytop
depend, tliat its prisons shall be few. It is for him to wage a
daily war with the gaoler. His work is truly glorious, for
it is with childhood — beautiful childhood ! " cried the Hermit
passionately — " holy childhood, with still the bloom of its first
home upon it ! For, indeed, there is a sanctity about it ; it is
a bright new-comer from the world unknown, a creature with
unfohled soul ! And yet, sir, are there not states where, whilst
yet the creature draws its pauper milk — of the same sort, by the
way, that nurtured Abel — we give it to those fiends of earth,
violence and wrong, and then scourge, imprison, hang the pupil
for the teaching of its masters ? Childhood, with its innocence
killed in tlie very seed ? Childhood, a fetid imp in rags, with
fox-like, thievish eyes and lying breath, the foul vermin of a city ?
Such, indeed, it is to the niceness of our senses, shrinking at
the filth and whining of that world-wrinkled babe. But look at
it aright, sir," — cried the Hermit with new animation — " trans-
late its mutterings into their true meaning. "What do you see ?
— what hear? The lineaments and cryings of an accusing
demon ; a giant thing of woe and mischiefs scowling and
shrieking at the world that hath destroyed its holiness of life ;
that, seizing it, yea from the hand of its Maker, hath defaced the
divinity of its impress, and made it devil — a devil to do a devil's
mischief; then to be doomed and punished by a self-complacent
world, that lays the demon in a felon's gi-ave, and after, sighs
and wrings the hands at human wickedness."
" In the strange land you speak of," we observed, wishing to
divert the passion of the Hermit, for, indeed, he seemed strangely
J
286 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
possessed, — "you said that childhood had its sacred claims
allowed. There, all were taught, all tended. The schoolmaster,
too, had high jwivileges ? "
" The highest," cried the sage, his light good-humour returning.
" Indeed, in Turveytop the schoolmasters may be said to take
the place of our commanding soldiers. We give rank, distinction,
high praises to generals and such folk for the cimniug slaughter
of their thousands. We take the foul smell out of bloodshed,
and call men-quellers heroes. We give them gold lace, and stick
feathers upon them, and hang them about with Orders of Saint
Fire, Saint Pillage, and Saint Slaughter. We strip the skin
from the innocent sheep to make rub-a-dub to their greatness,
and blow their glory to the world from blatant brass. Now, the
Turveytopians have no soldiers ; but they give the same amount
of honour to their schoolmasters. They have a belief that it is
quite as noble to build up a mind 'as to hack a body ; that to
teach meekness, content, is as high a feat as to cut a man through
the shoulder bone ; that, in a word it is as wise and useful, and
surely as seemly in the eye of watchful Heaven, to fill the human
brain with thoughts of goodness, as to scatter it from a skull,
cleft by the sword in twain. Hence, the schoolmaster in Turvey-
top is a great social authority, honoured by the state. The
savage counts his glories by scalps ; the refined man of war by
his gazettes. The general kills five thousand men — defeats some
twenty thousand. He may have picked a quarrel with them,
that he might pick his sprig of laurel, and rejoice in lawful
plunder. He has done his work upon humanity ; he has acted
his part in the world — a world of human sympathies — and he
becomes earl, or steps up duke. It is his rightful wage, paid by
a grateful hand. The schoolmaster of Turveytop numbers his
scholars ; shows the heroes he has made ; the victors over self
among his army ; the troops of wise and peaceful citizens he has
marshalled for the field of life, and is honoured and rewarded
accordingly."
" And you were sent to one of these great pedagogues — these
laurelled teachers ? "
" Excellent old man ! " cried the Hermit. " He was sorely
tried by some of us. The perverseness, the stupidity of some of
my school-fellows passes belief ; yet the master's sweetness of
spirit was unconquerable. Some of his pujiils he never could
teach to spell the commonest syllables. There was one boy — in
our world he would have passed for about sixty-five — who never
could master the word good. For years, as I understood, he had
been haggling at it. ' Now, my poor little boy,' I have heard
the schoolmaster cry a hundred and a hundred times, a melan-
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERISJOOK. 287
choly smile upon bis reverend face, ' now, my child, spell me
good.'' Wliereiipou the \m\)\\ — a thiu-faced, greenish-eyed fellow,
and, as I learned, a former dealer in foreign stocks — would
answer \q-o-l-d.'' And thus it had been with him for years ; and
thus, if alive, it may be with him now. Wretched little dunce !
He could not comprehend any other way of spelling good than
g-o-l-d. He, however, was not alone in his dulness. No ; there
were twenty other scholars from the outside word Avho stUl
stumbled at the syllable. Will it be believed 1 — There was one
boy, about fifty-two, with a drum-like belly and a somewhat
purplish nose. It was whispered that, ere he was brought to
Turveytop, he had been a rector, more than apostolically shai"p
for his tithes. Well, sir, you would have expected higher intel-
ligence from such a scholar ; yet somehow he never could master
the monosyllable. ' Good ' would be the word of the teachei-,
and still the fat-bellied boy would spell 'p-i-g.'' How our dear
schoolmaster would look perplexed ! How plainly I could see
him striving to account for the confusion in the pupil's mind,
that still from year to year had gone on spelling 'good' with
the letters 'p-i-g.' The simple monosyllable was a tiying task
for many of the scholars. Indeed, how few of them — from the
defect of their previous worldly education — could spell the word
the proper way ! The old admiral I have already spoken of,
always insisted upon spelling it — ' g-r-o-g.' From my heart, I
pitied the schoolmaster ; for whilst other teachers were seeing
the young Turveytopians advance in all their daily lessons, and
so, doing their master honour in the land, our poor pedagogue
was doomed to sit almost hopelessly amid a crowd of dunces,
whose dull or debauched faculties rendered them incapable o£
the easiest tasks. And yet no word of passion or reproach ever
escaped the teacher. ' Poor little boy,' he would say, with a
sigh, having hammered for an hour and more at the word 'good,'
which some foxhunting urchin, with his hands in his pockets,
and a brassy confidence in his face, would spell 'dog; ' — ' poor
little boy,' the giant schoolmaster would exclaun, ' it is not your
fault, poor heart ! no, it is the dark, dreadful world you have
come from ! ' It is a sad thing to think of," said the Hermit,
" yet are there many, many pupils, growing hoary, and stUl mis-
spelling 'good,' nay, dying, and still unable to master that easy
monosyllable. For I know not how many hundred years King
Arthur there, in the preparatory school of Turveytop, has been
sulking with his thumb in his mouth, still sj^elling 'h-l-o-o-d' for
'g d.' The last time I saw him he had on a dunce's paper
cap, made out of a poem written in this world to his especial
honour."
288 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" And King Arthur, and King Sebastian, too, — you have
talked with them in Turveytop 1 " we cried.
" Most certainly," said the Hermit,
" And Numa Pompilius 1 " —
" And Joanna Southcote," said the Sage.
" Is it possible 1 " we exclaimed. " Joanna Southcote ! Then
she is not dead ? That is, she will keep her word, and come
back to us 1 "
" And open a baby-linen warehouse," said the Hermit.
" And, sir, these Turveytopians ? What of their government
— their laws, and customs ? "
" Of such matters know I nothing," said the Hermit, " save
that the schoolmasters were, so to speak, the nobility of the
people. We scholars, spirited from the outside world to be
brought up and taught in all things anew, were confined to the
nursery, the school-room, and play-grounds. Indeed, save that
the benevolence of our masters was more remarkable than in
the teachers of dancing-dogs, they seemed to look upon us as
inferior creatures, that might, with time and pains, be taught
some tricks of humanity — that possibly, by a sojourn in Turvey-
top, might be made less mischievous to one another when sent
bjick to the world we were taken from. Hence, I saw but little
of the political and social condition of Turveytop. There ran
a legend that, many hundred years ago, there arose a civil war
in the land, which was ended in a way it would be pleasant to
see imitated."
" How, sir 1 " we asked.
" Wliy, the two parties had armed themselves with swords
and spears, and battle-axes — things unknown till then — and
guns and cannon, and all the devilry which laurels come of.
Thus armed, the divided people took the field. The opposing
chiefs had marked their ground, and every man rubbed his
hands — for the Turveytopians were, for the time, frantic with
malice — at the sweet thought of chopping his neighbour through
the skull, whilst those birds of glory, the vultures, were already
cock-a-whoop for human flesh. Now, at that time the Turvey-
topians worshipped, among other divinities, a certain God of
Laughter. I know not that such was his name ; but mirth,
loud, reckless, rollicking mirth, was his high attribute. Tliis
god had of late been much neglected. The Turveytopians —
having their hearts filled with rancour, and in the drunkenness
of their wrath yearning for nought but blood and wounds — had
wickedly neglected the service of their beneficent Numen. Oh,
glorious laughter ! " cried the sage of Bellyfulle, falling back in
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 289
his chcair, and tui^ning his broad shilling face upwards, whilst his
eyes twinkled benignly, and his lips seemed trembling with a
jest — " thou man-loving spirit, that for a time dost take the
bm-den from the weary back — that dost lay salve to the feet,
bruised and cut by flints and shards — that takest blood-baking
melancholy by the nose, and makest it grin despite itself — that
all the sorrows of the past, the doubts of the future, confoundest
in the joy of the present — that makest man truly philosophic —
conqueror of himself and care ! What was talked of as the
golden chain of Jove, was nothing but a succession of laughs, a
chromatic scale of merriment, reaching from earth to Olympus.
It is not true that Prometheus stole the fire, but the laughter
of the gods, to deify our clay, and in the abundance of our
merriment, to make us reasonable creatures. Have you ever
considered, sir, wliat man would be, destitute of the ennobling
faculty of laughter 1 Why, sir, laughter is to the face of man —
what eino^'ia, I think anatomists call it, is to his joints : — it oils,
and lubricates, and makes the human countenance divine.
Without it, our faces would have been rigid, hyaena-like ; the
iniquities of our heart, with no sweet antidote to work upon
them, would have made the face of the best among us a horrid,
husky thing, with two suUen, hungry, cruel lights at the top —
for foreheads would have then gone out of fashion — and a
cavernous hole below the nose. Think of a babe without
laughter ; as it is, its first intelligence ! The creature shows
the divinity of its origin and end, by smiling upon us : yes,
smiles are its first talk with the world, smiles the first answers
tha,t it understands. And then, as worldly wisdom comes upon
the little thing, it crows, it chuckles, it grins, and shaking in its
nurse's arms, or in waggish humour playing bo-peep with the
breast, it reveals its high destiny — declares, to him with ears to
hear it, the heirdom of its immortality. Let materialists
blaspheme as gingerly and as acutely as they will, they must
find confusion in laughter. Man may take a triumphant stand
upon his broad grins ; for he looks around the world, and his
innermost soul, sweetly tickled with the knowledge, tells him
that he alone of all creatures laughs. Imagine, if you can, a
lausrhinjr fish. Let man then send a loud ha ! ha ! through the
universe, and be reverently grateful for the privilege."
"And the Turveytopians, you say, sir, had their God of
Laughter ? "
" And, from what I could gather, he held a most exalted place
in their Pantheon. Sweet, too, especially sweet, was one of their
customs of sacrifice. It was this. A man always dedicated his
first joke, whatever it might be, to the God of Laughter. There
U
290 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
was a fine spirit of gratitude in the practice, a sweet acknow-
led<Tnient of the honied uses of mirth in this our daily draught of
life, otherwise cold, flatulent, and bitter. Tiiis first oftering was
always a matter of great solemnity. The maker of the joke,
whether man or maid, was taken in pompous procession to the
shrine of the god. And there, the joke — beautifully worked in
letters of gold upon some rich-coloured silk or velvet — was given
in to the Jfamen, who read it to the assembled people, who roared
approving laughter. The joker was then taken back in triumph
to his house, and feasting and sports for nine days marked thia
his first act of citizenship ; for T should tell you that no jokeless
man could claim any civil rights. Hence, when the man began
to joke, he was considered fit for the gravest oflices of human
government ; and not till then."
" What ! no civil rights 1 Had he no vote — if indeed there
were votes in Turveytop — for his representative in the Senate ?
— for"—
" Sir," replied the Hermit, gravely, " he had no voice in any-
thing ; not even in the making of a beadle. The man without a
joke in Turveytop was a wretch, an outcast ; indeed, to give you
the strongest, the truest comparison, he was what your man in
England is, without a guinea."
" Miserable wretch ! " we cried. " And what became of these
creatures 1 "
"As I learned, the jokeless did all the foul and menial work.
Miserable men, indeed ! I have heard of a country in which the
social dignity and moral intelligence of the man were computed
by the soap he was wont to outlay upon his anatomy. He might
be too poor to buy the soap ; never mind that ; it was a terrible
thing, and stung the penniless offender like a nettle, to call him
* the unwashed ! ' Now-, in Turveytop, it amounted to the same
degree of ignominy to call a man the jokeless. Some of these
might be in tatters and starving ; well, they would ask charity,
and how ? They woiild say nothing of .rags and hunger, but
stopping the rich, they would despairingly slap the forehead,
and in a hollow voice, cry •' No joke ! ' Thus, in those days of
Turveytop, jokes gave dignity to the highest offices of the state.
Senators and magistrates thought of nothing but making a joke
of their functions and reputation. They had their great reward
not only in the admiration of the people, but in the high degree
of mental expression and physical beauty which their genius,
constantly exercised, inevitably awarded them."
" Have jokes such benign power upon their makers ? " we
asked.
" Unquestionably," answered the Hermit, startled at the
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 291
question. "Take a sulky fellow, with a brow ever wrinkled at
the laughing houi-s, let them laugh never so melodiously — who
looks with a death's head at the pleasant fruits of the earth
heaped upon his table — who leaves his house for business as an
ogre leaves his cave for food — who returns home joyless and
grim to his silent wife and creeping children, — take such a man,
and, if possible, teach him to joke. Why, sir, 'twould be like
turning a mandril into an Apollo. A hearty jest kills an ugly
face. The divine nature of man ii-radiates and ennobles what at
first sight seems wholly animal. What a mighty joker was
Socrates ! Yes, joker, sir ; and rightly have the sculptors
imagined that knotty countenance, sublimed and sweetened by
the laughing spirit within. Now, the jokeless of Turveytop —
as it was related to me — became physically forlorn ; the sympathy
of mind and flesh was so active. Hence, they were drudges,
scavengers, bone-gnibbers, pickers-up of old rags and iron,
bearers of burdens, outcasts, miserable creatures ; the jokers all
the while sitting high in place, then- cheeks greasy with the
marrow of the earth, their eyes twinkling with its nectar."
" Strange, indeed ! " we cried.
" Ay, sir," said the Hermit, " for there are places in which,
nine times out of ten, your joker is the lean drudge, and the dull
fellow has the pot-belly, the purple nose, and the full jjurse."
" And now, sir, for the civil war in Turveytop ? You say it
was pleasantly ended ? "
" In this fashion," said the Hermit, " if I have heard the
legend truly. The two armies, in high conceit with theii-
murderous weapons — for until that time there had been no men-
kiUing engines known in Tui-veytop — lusted for the fight. Now,
sir, you have heard or read of the vast concern shown by the
gods of the heathen in the battles of their favourite soldiei"s, —
as if, for instance, you and I should have pet emmets in the
bloody struggle for an ear of barley. Indeed, whether or no,
man will make his gods shoulder the knapsack with him : he
will make them enter the breach, fire the town, clap a ready
hand upon movables ; knock a wayward householder on the
head, and after, take enjoyment in the cellar, the larder, and the
chamber. Man will, as I say, take his gods campaigning with
him ; and, sir, it must be owned, scurvy treatment they oftimes
meet with at his hands. When he has laboured profitably in
the bloody harvest, he gives them money for their good-will and
support ; and, alas, poor gods ! with swaggering, blaspheming
impudence, thanks them for his good fortune in robbery and
slaughter. To hear of certain thanksgivings for successful
battle, should we not believe that the devil had made liis Adam,
u 2
292 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
and that the slaughtered creatures were children of the demon
liaiidiwork, begotten by the evil principle, to be zealously
attacked and butchered by the progeny of him who walked and
talked with God in Paradise ? It would seem thus ; but it is
not so. No, we are children of one Father, and when we have
killed some thousand brethren or so, why, with unwashed hands
and demure faces, we thank God for his good help in the
fratricide. In the outside world of brazen brows, there is no
impudence like the impudence of what men will call religion."
" Still, sir," we urged, " you wander from the battle of
Turveytop."
" Right : to wander is a besetting sin of mine. Keep we now
to the story. Well, sir, the two armies were about to fight,
when the God of Joking — whose shrine had been sadly des]iised
and neglected in preparation for the war — resolved to put an *
end to the wickedness, and so to bring the Turveytopians back
again to jests and reason. Whereupon, as the story runs, the
God Jocus repaired to a high hill near the battle-field, and
seating himself cross-legged on its summit, called his thousands
of servants about him, giving them due orders for their goodly
work. The god surveyed the hosts below him with a wan smile,
and then clapping his hands to his sides, he laughed a laugh of
thunder. On this, the trumpets brayed once, and once only, and
the armies engaged. In a moment the god saw that his sprites
— there were immortal thousands, though born of human bi-ains
— had done his wise behest. There was no smoke — no fire. The
great guns were dumb — the muskets undischarged ; for be it
known to you, sir, that the Turveytopians had at the time all
the weapons since invented in our miniature world. Then you
might have seen the soldiers charge, and their brittle bayonets
break harmless against the bellies of the foes : then would some
seize their weapons, and with the butt-end strike the enemy in
the teeth. And the enemy stood and licked their lips. Where-
fore, you will ask 1 1 will tell you. The musket-stock was no
longer walnut- wood ; but, by the benignity of the great God
Jocus, a thing of savoury sausage-meat, calling up the spirit of
enjoyment in the heart of man, as it smote his nostril. In this
way, sir, all things wei-e changed. Here you would see a soldier
take a cartridge from his box, and with bloody and sepulchral
looks bite the cartridge-end. At that moment the face changed
to sweetness and content ; for, the cartridge bitten, a delicious
cordial flowed into the mouth of the biter, and winding about his
stony heart, melted it into human jelly. Here you would see a
grenadier sucking a bayonet, as a nursling sucks a lollipop ; and
wherefore ? — The great God Jocus had turned the deadly weapon
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 293
into sugar-candy. In another place you might behold the small
drums turned into pots of jelly, and the little druminer-boys
eating therefrom, and painting their downy faces with raspberry
and currant of more than martial red. Big drums took the
shape and flavour of rounds of beef; and in a thought, the
kettles were buffaloes' dried humps. The pioneers' caps became
wine-coolers, and their aprons napkins of damask. Grey-headed
officers swallowed their own swords, turned into macaroni. A
cymbal-player was seen to devour his cymbals, suddenly changed
into ratafia paste. What had been gunpowder was eaten by the
handful as small saccharine comfits ; cartridge-bullets were
candied plums, and gave great pleasure both to horse and foot.
Well, sir, it is not to be thought that discipline could survive
temptation such as this. No, sir : at first there was vast
astonishment ; then a low murmur of delight ran through either
host ; then there was a mighty smacking of lips ; and then the
ojiposing armies laughed a tremendous laugh, and embraced.
On this a solemn caccliination escaped the great God Jocus, who,
uncrossing h's legs, vanished. The news flew among tlie women
of Turveytop, who, coming and bringing their children to the
field, made merry with the army. A banquet was resolved
upon ; it was but rightful thanksgiving to the benevolent Jocus,
whose noble practical jest had saved the blood of Turveytop ;
and more, had pro\aded, yea, in the very engines of war, the
wherewithal to comfort the bowels and rejoice the heart of man.
The substance of dried meats was found in gun carriages ;
delicious cheeses were in the wheels ; and pikes and halberts were
nought more deadly than attenuated sausage, pungent and
aromatic. The great guns, too — charged as it was thought with
agony and death for thousands — contained nothing more
mischievous than ruby wine. The cannon shot, turned to corks,
were now withdrawn ; and the armies ate and drank, and
laughed and sang, and danced, and gave hearty thanks to the
great God Jocus."
" And so the matter ended 1 "
" Even so, sir," replied the Hermit ; " the field wliereon the
armies met was called, from that time, the Field of the Sage and
Onions, the vegetables from that very day abounding there. And
in memory of the time, the Turveytopians, in solemn procession,
once a year gather of the produce to stuff their geese. You
smile, sir. Think you, sir, it is not better to pull an onion than
to pluck laurel 1 There are fewer tears drawn by homely
scalUon than by the green leaf."
" A strange freak, sir," we said, " of the God Jocus ! It was
at that we smiled."
294 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" A strange, yet mighty benevolence ! " cried tlie Hermit.
" Would that he — or some kindred beneficence — could descend
upon carnivorous war, when and wheresoever it should purpose
to feed, and turn its carving sword to sugar ! "
"And pray, sir," asked we of the Hermit, " by what chance did
you escape from the land of Turveytop 1 "
" I was turned out in my sleep ; yes, carried away in deep
slumber ; for, waking one morning, I found myself at the foot
of the mountain, which, I know not how long before, had opened
to receive me."
" Your soul made clean — your heart spotless, as when first
touched into life, and it began beating towards the grave ? "
" I am afraid so," said the Hermit, with a remorseful sigh.
" Afraid 1 "
" Ay, sir," said he, " much afraid ; seeing how stained and
grimy they have since become. Every man has not the happiness
of a purification in Turveytop ; therefore, should not enduring
cleanliness be looked for from the lucky ones ? And yet, sir, the
very best of us soil, ay, sooner than a bride's riband."
For awhile we walked onward. " And now," said the Hermit,
an-iving at the edge of a lake, " do you perceive yonder island,
diamond-shaped 1 It is very low at the edges upon the water,
but rises into table-land, covered with green sward ? That, sir,
is the Isle of Jacks. ' Hallo,— boat ! ' And here, at the word,
comes the boy who in yonder skiflF shall carry us within eye-shot
of the place, where we may see the inhabitants ; for it is not
permitted to any craft to run ashore ; lest the people banished
to the island, should seize the boat, and jDut to sea.
" A pretty boy, is he not 1 He is the son of a widow, a very
feir and very wise woman, living round yonder point. Her
husband was descended from a long line of captains— for the post
was, for generations, held by the family— commanding the Duke
de Bobs' sailing-yacht.
"It will be no news to you to be told that certain families
have, for an age or so, been sent into the world with certain
marks and gifts. One family bears away a particular nose from
all the other families of the earth— another holds the patent
of a certain pair of lips. Another has the whitest hand
and the lightest finger. Now the family— whereof the head
was ever the reigning Duke's sailing-captain — had an especial
gift, whereby to recommend its chief This boy, the sole-sur-
vivmg of the line, inherits the quality that made his ancestors
famous ; but as the present Duke de Bobs cannot abide the
water — the state sailing-yacht, put out of commission, and drawn
I
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 295
high and dry, has been given to the widow and her son for a
place of habitation.
" We are in the boat. And now, sir, observe the boy. The
skiff, you perceive, has neither sail nor oar ; and yet the boy
inheriting the first gift of his race, will carry the craft where you
will, by means of his cloak — an extraordinary garment ; for the
wearer has but to shift it, now to the one shoulder, now to the
other, and, let the wind blow as it will, he makes it fair wind to
him, sailing where he lists. Look at him ! How complacently
he sits trimming his garment ; and how the skiff skims along,
the water seething and singing as the bark cuts through it !
Well, sir, this cloak has been in the boy's family time out of
mind, and until the present day has ever been a fortune to the
wearer, making him, by virtue of its marvellous quality, the
court pilot and captain. But, as we have said, the present Duke
de Bobs has forsworn the sea ; and the poor boy, denied the
favour of the court, is compelled to turn his cloak at the lowest
price for humble passengers, no richer than ourselves.
'•' Certainly, — you are right. That anxious glance of yours at
yonder black cloud — no bigger than a raven's wing — fears a
coming hurricane. Let it blow. The boy will put on his storm-
jacket, and defy it. A jacket of patches, in which every wind,
from every point of the compass, is carefully sewn up. This
garment the boy also inherits from his ancestors, some of whom,
when the world was yet in its teens, intermarried with certain
of the Lapland nobility ; the patched jacket coming of the
female side.
" And now — for the cloud is melting into the blue — we are
pleasantly approaching the Isle of Jacks ; for the wind, a
delicious breeze, sits full in the back of the boy's cloak, adroitly
trimmed to catch every gust of it. Poor lad ! That cloak, cut
into shreds and sold piecemeal in some places, would make the
boy a golden ibrtune. How many a man would give all his
substance to purchase even as much of the web as would make
him a garter ! But there are no such cloaks — not a remnant
of them — to be had in the outside world ; and if there were,
we question if men would be found with grace sufficient to
properly carry them.
" The boy has shifted his cloak, and we now sail along the
island. Take this telescope. The beach has a dull and rusty
look. You would tliiuk it the shore of Styx. Listen : how the
pebbles chink and rattle, stirred D}' the waters ! They are not
pebbles. They are gold, and silver, and copper coin ; worthless
metal to the forlorn islanders, banished hither for the fraud ot
avarice. For you must know that the Isle of Jacks is a i)enal
296 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
settlement for female offenders who, from all parts of the world
— but especially from the most civilised corners — are condemned
for a few hundred years to dwell here, the slaves of four masters.
The history of one capt've may serve for the rest. The culprits
live in continual dread ; for they inhabit paste-board huts, so
loosely, so ticklishly put together, that every wind that blows
scares the tenants with the horrid apprehension that they will be
buried beneath a heap of ruins. But, as we ha'i'e said, take the
history of one otiender as a sample of the story of all.
" Do you see yonder woman crossing a bridge ; the bridge
itself shaped like a cribbage-board ; with large holes in it ? She
carries a child : of course : all the captives carry children in the
Isle of Jacks. You may observe how gingerly the woman walks,
as though she feared to drop through one of the many holes
with which the bridge is pierced ; drop into the brook beneath.
That woman was — but n,o ; even at this time we will spare the
feelings of an honourable family, whose griffins at the present
hour bear so very smug and confident a look in the Peerage.
We will not disclose the offender's name : but, as a terrible
moral warning to all people in her station, we hesitate not to
declare that that offender was Maid-of-honour to Queen Anne.
Poor thing ! There is a very handsome monument to her
memory in the village church of Puif-cum-Tucker. Alas ! how
little do her descendants dream that their hooped and powdered
great-great-grandmother is at this moment nui'sing little Jacks
of Clubs for future card-tables.
" However, let us proceed with her tragic history. The young
lady was one night engaged at cards at St. James's Palace. By
some means, the Jack of Clubs had crept to her bosom ; and she
was rudely challenged by another maid — her opponent at the
game — with harbouring the absent card. It may be believed
that a Maid-of-honour, so accused, was a kindled flame. Her
eyes would have withered any other but a female rival ; for
tender women stand the fire of women, and are never hurt by
it ; whilst braggart man is often smitten into ashes by the
sudden flash. Our maid barbed her tongue with all sorts of
stinging syllables, vowing — with the Jack at her heaving breast
— that she knew nothing of his whereabout. A gentleman
would have bowed at once, and been convinced : but sister
woman is not so easily cozened by her own sex. At last, our
maid, taunted to desperation, clenched her little fist, and bringing
it down with force upon the mahogany — (Cupid gasped, and felt
his own heart bruised as that little hand smote and was smitten
by the unyielding wood !) — she cried with a shriek that ' if she
knew anything about tlie Jack of Clubs, she wished she might
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 297
have the Jack for her husband ! ' With this terrible aspiration,
all affected satisfaction at the least ; and our maid kept a snow-
white reputation, marrying only a year after, either the Gold or
Silver Stick of Queen Anne's court; a nobleman next to the
Queen, and of course very far from a knave.
" The maid, it is true, married and clung to the stick aforesaid ;
but the Jack of Clubs was in no way to be cheated : for when
the woman died she became his wife, in this Island of Jacks,
wherein the Jack of Clubs and his three brethren have equal
rule. And if when abroad, their children are generally opposiug
one another, — their fathers seem for such reason, to be all the
closer friends here in their island home. And so they govern
their hundreds of wives ; for they have no fewer number, all of
them supplied in the persons of women who during mortal life
have fobbed and cheated, or wasted the money of their husbands,
or the time of their families, at cards.
" And what is worse for the poor creatures — the card-players
doomed to the Isle of Jacks — their children are continually torn
from them ; spirited away ; sent into the common world,
stretched by some wicked magic upon pasteboard, to tempt other
sinners. There is not, throughout the whole world, a single
Jack — whether tui'ued up in palace or pot-house — that was not
born in this island ; the child of one of the King Jacks who rule
the place ; and who thus cruelly incorjjorate their own flesh and
blood in pasteboard. But what will not even human creatures
do, who will give all their hearts and all their souls to cards 1
Nevertheless, sir, you must own it is hard upon the poor females.
Turn your glass a little this way. There are half-a-dozen women,
all wives of the Jack of Diamonds. Each of them has three or
four little Jacks at her apron, and each two in her arms. And
they have borne and nursed the little knaves ; and have suffered
their heart-strings to wind and wind about them, and yet they
know not one hour from the next wlien they may not be
deprived of their offspring. And what is worse, — the poor
creatures are now nimbly alive to the mischief that their
children will inflict upon the world when sent into it. Why, sir,
it is a frequent matter — albeit all unknown to the sufferer in the
common world — for a great-great-grandson at a London Club to
be ruined by the knave, the son by her second marriage — if,
indeed, it is permitted to call it so — of his great-great-grand-
mother in the Isle of Jacks. And this the wretched women
know ; and so their sufferings as mothers deprived of their
children, are made worse by the remorse they feel to furnish their
flesh and Ijluod by descent, with temptation that trips them into
the pit of ruin.
298 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
"And now, sir, you may probably guess -wherefore the beach is
heaped with gold, and silver, and even copper coin. It is, that
the poor women may be teazed to see about them the worthless-
ness of that, which, out of very idleness for the most part, they
played and cheated for when upon the earth.
" It would amaze you to know the real names and dignities of
■women who, in your world, have shone like stars, and have
reigned like goddesses and queens, and who are now living in
worse than simple bondage in this Isle of Jacks, — the slaves and
mistresses of the poor tyrants, who rule the place, and who, with
— so to speak — their own flesh and blood, people our earth with
instruments of mischief We have told you, that every Jack of
every pack of cards is born on this island ; and when his heels
are paid for, as they often are, in the tap-room, how little is it
thought that he mav have — on the mother's side at least — the
brightest royal paint about him.
" "Where the kings and queens, who, with Jacks and aces, make
up the court of cards — where they are made, we have not, we
confess it, yet discovered. But we doubt not that their birth is
equally strange with that of the children of the Isle of Jacks.
And then — for this we thought not of before — and then it must
beat even the natural love of a mother, to love those baby
knaves ; squint-eyed, square-cheeked, bold-faced varlets, with
after all, such ingenuous looks, that they look all the mischief
that is within tliem.
" And now, sir, we have sailed round the island — for we are not
permitted to land, and for ourselves, we would not if we might, —
and the boy, trimming his cloak, alters his course. Meanwhile,
think of the Isle of Jacks ; and remembering the hard condition
of the females captive there, with their frequent travail and their
frequent loss, confess that the sins of the gamester may come
down with increased mischief upon succeeding generations.
" Boy," cried the Hermit, " shift your cloak, if you please, and
steer for Honeybee Bay. A good lad. Now it bares upon us.
With what open anns the shore stands before us ! And you
perceive with what gentle undulations its green bosom rises from
the water. This place is, perhaps, the most delicious spot of iJl
Clovernook. Here the water is ever bright and rippling ; the
wind fresh and nimble — never boisterous or keen. Here every
day myriads of flowers open their eyes, and breathe their sweet-
ness to the sun ; and here they pass away like dew exhaled,
leaving no leaf decayed, no blossom withered to tell a tale of
d^ath. And upon the shore are beautiful shells, red-lipped as
Venus, and voiced with wondrous singing. Place one of them to
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 299
your ear, and its voice will call up in yovir breast all the long
mute music of your early days, when life dreamt not of hope, the
present was so full of happiness. The shell will sing to you
sweet familiar sounds of the past, blended with tones that
harmonise, and yet are richer, sweeter, deeper, than the air
departed ; as though some higher spirit caught the dying strain
continuing it in more melodious volume.
" And now the boat skims in between the sharp-edged stones —
like a sea-bird to its cleft — and the craft still in deep water, we
tread the causeway built in lucky sport by the tritons, when, by
moonlight and roaring laughter, they hurled the fragments at one
another. How ripe and rich with colour — with hues that warm
the heart — is this pillar of rock ; the world's almanac, with ages
in it, printed after ages ; Time, solemn in the granite of a dead
world, yet wearing on his sunny brow the flowers of the
morning.
"And now, sir, sit down ; for we must question you before we
climb the hill. To day, of all days, is the great festival of the
Twenty-five Club. As a sti-anger to Clovernook, you may be
permitted to witness the festivity. For, be it known to you,
that the Club contains only a chosen number : a few of the Club,
tried and purified, ere they ai'e permitted to join the body.
And yet there are but two questions — though they may be made,
like a viue, to shoot out into branches innumerable — two
questions to be satisfied, and the candidate is admitted to the
fullest honours of the fraternity. The two questions are
these : —
" ' Are you older than five-and-twenty ?
" ' Will you ever, forgetful of what you owe to yourself, and to
the beauty, and benavolence, and everlasting spirit of nature, —
will you ever, wantonly, ignobly, and most foolishly consent to
become more than five-and-twenty, — even though your face
should be wrinkled like wind-blown water, your hair white as
the surjcincr sea 1 '
" Now, sir, these seem easy questions to answer : but deeply
considered, they require a strong, an earnest, aye and happy
man, to reply to them with a bold, conscientious 7/es. And let us
not speak only of men, but of women. Poor souls ! It is much
to be doubted whether the queries are not even more difiicult to
them to respond to assuiiiigly. Yet taken literally, certainly
not. And for this good reason : —
" Eve it is well-known was sixteen years old when she was
awakened at the side of her husband. Sixteen years old, say
ancient writers ; and that so boldly, that they must have seen
Eve's register -m-itten on the lilies of Paradise. Now women —
300 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK
who have nine times out of ten more curious rabbinical learning
than the mean envy of our sex will allow to them — women,
inheriting the privilege from their first parent believe that, after
a certain time, they have a just right to let their first sixteen
years go for nothing : and so they sink the preliminary sixteen
with a smile, counting with mother Eve their seventeenth as
their first real birth-day. And they are right. For it deducts
from your woman of five-aud-forty all that she cares to lose,
giving her a fair start with Eve, and pegging her back to full-
l)lown nine and twenty. And indeed, it is impossible that any
really charming woman should be a day older.
"Hark! there! the music. The flutes and the tambourines,
and the fiddles. Hush ! Do you hear the chorus 1 The voices
are thin, and sharp, and shake a little, but there is rejoicing
heart m all of them. And now, we have no time to talk the
preface we intended ; for a new candidate is to be elected into
the club and — for ourselves, we have long been an honorary
member — and we must lose no moment if we would not lose the
ceremony."
And climbing the ascent, we wound along paths skirted and
hung with sweet-smelling shrubs and flowers, oi-ange-trees and
heliotropes, and the friendly honey-suckle, sweet type of amity,
clinging that it may comfort with its sweetness — and jasudne,
with starry eyes shining through sober green.— And as we
walked, the herbs crushed by our feet sighed forth their odorous
breath, returning good for injury.
At length we came into an open space ; and there was the
verdant living temple of holly, and laurel, and cedar, and all
the shrubs and trees that dare the winter with unfading
leaves still green beneath, though piled and heaped with snow.
At the foot of a cedar, chief pillar of the temple, a fountain
leaped from the earth, and ran adowu the mount ; but still it
ran perpetually bright, perpetually young, until it mingled with
the universal sea.
As we entered upon the level ground, the procession, wind-
ing downwards, approached us. There were some fifty men,
and about five-and-twenty women. To take their faces,
and turn them to the light, and cogitate deejjly the lines
marked upon them by Time, there was not a face that
would have passed for a day younger than forty (though be it
known, we do not always trust to the seeming marks of Time,
knowing that, like an unjust tapster he is now and then apt to
score double). Again, there were other faces, embrowned by
sixty harvest times at least. All the men and women were
clotlied in drapery of gayest colours ; and all carried flowers
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 301
in their hands, and wore chaplets of amaranth about theii
heads.
Four men carried in a litter of pahn-leaves the new candidate
for the Twenty-five Club. To speak arithmetically, he was sixty
years old at least ; but spiritually — and you cannot hamper
spirit with figures, remember that, sir, and defy addition —
spiritually he was, as his examination afterwards proved, no
more than five-and-twenty : and at five-and-twenty he vowed
to stay.
The neophyte was dressed in a sky-blue robe, with a garland
of ivy about his snow-white head. When he arose from the
litter, it was to be observed that he limped with an old sciatica
— nevertheless, with its fangs in his nerves, he would only be
five-and-twenty.
The President of the Club — he was always elected President
who had been longest five-and-twenty — put the two questions
rehearsed above to the candidate, and was satisfactorily
answered : the tambourines, and the flutes, and the fiddles
sounding blithe accompaniment as the yes was uttered.
And then two of the club, bearing in separate baskets, fniits
and flowers ; and a third carrying in a crystal cup water from
the leaping fountain, approached the candidate ; and then the
President, addressing him in a pleasant voice, said these
words : —
" You promise — and especially promise from this day — never
to grow a day older than the days that make five-and-twenty
years, the only reasonable time of life of man ?
" This you promise, that your eyes may still behold the same
beauty in the stars? That your heart may still beat with
the rising sun, and melt when he is setting in his tent of glory ?
" This you promise, that you may have eyes and ears for the
world of beauty and gladness that encompasses you ; no beauty
fading, no sound of gladness gi-owing dumb %
" By the ever-springing loveliness of flowers — by the ever-
sounding music of the birds — by the rivers and fountains — by
harvest-time, and by the season of fruits, — you promise to remain
spiritually fixed at five-and-twenty \ "
" I promise," said the candidate. And as he sjjoke, he laid his
hands upon the fruits and flowers, and emptied the crystal goblet
to solemnise the compact.
"Be ever stedfast, and be ever five-and-twenty," said the
President. "The eyes fail ; tlieback bows, the hair is whitened ;
youth depai'ts from every joint and every organ — but the heart,
if the owner wills it — the heart is ever young."
"It must be confessed, sir," said we to the Hermit, "a great
302 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
privilege this to be of tlie fraternity of tlie Twenty-five Club.
And is it not a pity that, witli so many millions of men upon
the earth) tliere are so few — such is the perverseness of the
human animal — so very few eligible to the brotherhood '] "
The Hermit smiled, waved his hand, and said : " As you have
beheld this most pleasant ceremony, we will leave the Club to
enjoy its constitutional good humour ; for — we have kept the
secret until now. to enjoy the pleasure of the surprise — we have
an invitation for you. There is a feast, a birth-day feast, afoot ;
and as our friend, you will find cup and trencher and hearty
welcome at the boai-d. To-day, sir, Maximus Mouse, a sort of
magistrate of Clovernook, celebrates one of the two birth-days —
called the Birth-days of the Ghosts — held in great solemnity
among the town's folk. Two birth-days, sir ; and they fail when
the man reaches the top of the hill of life^forty ; and again when
he has descended the other side, should he indeed get so low
— ^fourscore.
" Half-an-hour's walk, and we arrive at Mouse-Hall. In a few
minutes, and you catch it shining through the trees : a hospitable
beacon on a round, green mount. Your nose, sharpened by the
fresh air, may even here smell the odours of the good cheer
wafted from the hall and kitchen. Yes : they are not to be mis-
taken — they come thicker and thicker upon us. Unseen envoys
from chine and pasty and unstopped flask, to coax ti-avellers by
the nose to come and eat and drink ! Mend your pace, sir : very
good. For here is Mouse Hall.
" Folks in their best attire, and wearing their most satisfied
looks, stream in at the door. That man — witii a mild, grave
face — drest in black, is Maximus Mouse. Poor fellow ! He is
about to entertain a strange sort of guests ; and now and then, a
wan and anxious smile pulling at the corners of his mouth,
betrays his inward trouble. No man tloroughout Clovernook is
more respected than Maximus Mouse : and yet — punctilious
creatui'e ! — he may at this moment accuse himself of many self-
known shortcomings that make him blush for the good opinion
he has stolen for himself from the easiness of his fellow-towns-
men. We do not boldly aver that it is so. Nevertheless it may
be so. For who shall say, when applauding shouts break in
thunder about some human idol ; who shall say, that a voice, a
thin hissing voice of self-reproach, does not turn to burning
mockery the idolatry of the worshippers 1
"Maximus still stands at the door-way — it is the custom of the
place — and greets every visitor. Let us push for the door-step.
"We told you that, as our friend, the master of the Hall would
give you hearty welcome, and you have aad it. The reception
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 303
room is fairly crammed. Hush ! That, sir, is the diuner-bell.
And now, we must fall in with the procession, to escort the host
to the banquet. Such is the fashion at such times. Let us keep
close, aide by side.
"The host has entered the banqueting-room ; and now, you
perceive, that venerable man — he is the eldest of the guests —
locks the door from tJie outside, and puts the key in his pocket.
And now, you see that all the guests prepare to leave the house.
Take our arm, and when we have reached the road, we will duly
answer your looks of questioning wonder. Here we are. Now
you shall be satisfied.
" jyiaximus Mouse is to-day forty years old, and is at the present
moment entertaining nine-and-thirty guests. Unbidden guests ;
who whether he would or not, seat themselves at his board this
day, and look — ay sir, there it is, who shall say how they look '?
— upon the feast-giver.
" For these nine-and-thirty guests are the Ghosts of the Nine-
and-Thii'ty Birth-Days of the host : the birth-days past into the
sepulchre of time, but rendered up for this day's awful festival
— meeting their fortieth brother. At this moment, sir, Maxi-
mus Mouse is set about by all the shadows of his departed
years.
" On his right hand, innocent and beautiful, sits and smiles the
Ghost of his First Year : the spectre of the Twentieth faces him
from the bottom of the table, and the shade of the Thirty-jSTinth
shoulders him close on the left. Is not this a solemn array of
guests ?
""We know not how Maximus may meet the ghosts. Let us
hope that, albeit, he may look sorrowfully, sheepishly, in the faces
of some few, he may smile, and with cheerful looks, acknowledge
the recollections of the greater number. We may not judge
him for himself; but we may ponder the solemnity of such a
gathering.
" Look at the host. — the man of forty. With what regretful
love, with what wondering tenderness, he gazes at the babe at
his right hand, the Twelvemonth Self And that was he ! And
then his eye passes rapidly adown the file, saddening as it
glances. And then he turns again to that bud of life upon his
right, and sighs and smiles. And so along the table, watching
that opening bud, unclosing in the Second, Third, Fourth, Sixth,
Eighth, enlarging guest. And at the Ninth or Tenth again he
pauses ; for one of them may be tlie early time-mark between
the happy thoughtlessness of childhood, and the sudden shadow of
too early care. And the Eleventh Shadow — even the Eleventli —
is pinched and thin, and worn ; it has a look of early knowledge
304 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
taught by sordid teachers. And the look deepens and darkens
from neighbour to neighbour. But the Eighteenth Ghost
has a look of wisdom that defies the gathered experience of
all mankind. It knows everything, and has never cared to
study for it. The knowledge has come to it unsought, unasked,
like the colour of its hair, the tint of its skin. And so, the
Eighteenth Ghost, erect, and with crossed arms, head aloof, and
lifted nostril, sits armed in mailed proof of its own conceit.
The host— the man of Forty— shakes his head, perhaps lightly
laughs, and still— still glances down the table. The Nineteenth,
Twentieth Ghost differ little from their Eighteenth neighbour ;
though to scan them the closer — the look may be a little less
assured.
" Twenty-One sits, dilated, with a flush of triumph on its brow.
Though close to Twenty, in very truth, how far distant ; and yet
in Twenty-One, the host remembers things that Twenty-Two,
and Twenty-Three, and Twenty-Four, sit the less easily, and
look the less airily for the acting.
" And there is Twenty-Five ! The host starts as he gazes on
the year : a year blackened by falsehood, clouded with tears, and
guilty of a broken heart ; broken from too much trusting. The
host groans, and with his hand clasping his brow, would shut
out the sight, the recollection of tha,t worse than felon year.
But it cannot be. He must look down and up the table. He
must, with a fixed eye, look upon the face of every dead year —
every spectre guest.
" And the deed of Twenty-Five, though it shadowed not his
immediate neighbours, was acknowledged by the host, darken-
ing, at intervals, the following years ; even to the nine-and-
thirtieth.
" And thus the host looks in the face of every guest ; and, as it
may be, takes remorse or comfort from the dark or cheerful
aspect of his passing table companions.
" And it is strange to think how sometimes the years on one
side of the board may frown and scowl at the opposite guests, so
much have the sad-lookiug ones endured from the folly, the
idleness, the perverseness of their foregone brethren. "Were they
not guests, they would surely sometimes fall to buffets !
" You M-ill allow, sir, that this sort of birth-day is a more solemn
festival than any known in our frivolous and forgetful society ?
There, sir, men celebrate their birth-days as only so many
victories over time, with not a recollection of the many good and
gentle hopes and thoughts they may have wounded or destroyed
in the battle. Now. in Clovernook twice at least in a man's life
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 305
if he live the years, he is compelled to celebrate the retui-n of his
natal hour in the most solemn company that man can evoke
from the past — that is, face to face, and eye to eye, with the
ghosts of his birth-days.
How few of us, sir, — were the guests all willing to come —
would be in haste to send down invitation cards to their dwelling-
place, the World of Shades ! How few would ask to such a
banquet the Ghosts of our Birth-Days !
At this time the declining sun flamed goldenly in the west.
It was a glorious hour. The air fell upon the heart like balm ;
the sky, gold and vermilion-flecked, hung, a celestial tent, above
mortal man ; and the fancy-quickened ear heard sweet, low
music from the heart of earth, rejoicing in that time of
gladness.
" Did ever God walk the earth in finer weather ? " said the
Hermit. " And how gloriously the earth manifests the grandeur
of the Presence ! How its blood dances and glows in the
Splendour ! It courses the trunks of trees, and is red and
golden in lueir blossoms. It sparkles in the myriad flowers,
consuming itself in sweetness. Every little earth-blossom is as an
altar, burning incense. The heart of man, creative in its over-
flowing happiness, finds or makes a fellowship in all things.
The bii'ds have passing kindred with his winged thoughts. He
hears a stranger, sweeter triumph in the skiey raptm-e of the
lark, and the cuckoo — constant egoist ! — speaks to him from the
deep, distant wood, with a strange swooning sound. All things
are living a part of him. In all, he sees and hears a new and
deep significance. In that gi-een pyramid, row above row, what
a host of flowers ! How beautiful and how rejoicing ! What a
sullen, soul-less thing, the Great Pyramid, to that blossoming
chesnut I How diflerent the work and workmen ! A torrid
monument of human wrong, haunted by flights of ghosts that
not ten thousand thousand years can lay — a pulseless carcase
built of sweat and blood to garner rottenness. And that
Pyramid of leaves grew in its strength, like silent goodness,
heaven blessing it : and every year it smiles, and every year it
talks to fading generations. What a congregation of spirits —
spirits of tlie season !— is gathered, circle above circle, in its
blossoms ; and verily they speak to man with blither voice, than
all the tongues of Egypt. And at this delicious season, man
listens and makes answer to them ; alike to them and all : to
the topmost blossom of the mighty tree as to the greensward
diuny, constant flower, with innocent and open look still frankly
staring at the mid-dav sun."
306 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" Evenings such as this," continued the Hermit, after a pause,
"seem to me the very holiday time of death ; an hour in which
the slayer, throned in glory, smiles benevolently down on man.
Hei'e, on earth, he gets hard names among us for the unseem-
liness of his looks, and the cruelty of his doings ; but in an hour
like this, death seems to me loving and radiant, — a great bounty,
spreading an immortal feast, and showing the glad dwelling-
place he leads men to."
" It would be great happiness could we always think so. For
so considered, death is indeed a solemn beneficence — a smiling
liberator, turning a dungeon door upon immortal day. But when
death, with slow and torturing device, hovers about his groaning
prey ; when, like a despot cunning in his malice, he makes
disease and madness his dallying serfs "
" Merciful God ! " cried the Hermit, " spare me that final
terror ! Let me not be whipped and scourged by long, long
suffering to death — be dragged, a shrieking victim, downward to
the grave ; but let my last hour be solemn, tranquil, that so,
with open, uublenched eyes, I may look at coming death, and
feel upon my cheek his kiss of peace ! "
Thus spoke the Hermit, with pas.sionate fervour. His mind
seemed solemnly uplifted. We turned aside from him, following
one of the many garden paths. After some minutes, the Hermit
came up with us. He was again the cheerful, light-hearted
anchorite. " What say you," said he, " to pass an hour or so at
'the Gratis]'"
" Wliere we shall meet the villagers of Clovemook ?"
" Some of them, at least," said the Hermit. " I have not been
there these three weeks. This way : we shall have time to stroll
a round ; there are some ruins — for Clovemook has its antiqui-
ties — I shall be glad to show you." The Hei-mit led the way
from the garden, and with a few strides we found ourselves in a
delicious green lane. " Tliis," said he of Bellyfulle, " is called
Velvet-path, and leads eastwardly to the village. What do you
pause at ? " asked the Hermit, as we suddenly stopped, listening
to sheep-bells, that sounded at various distances, and in various
notes, through the balmy air.
" The sheep-bells. How beautifully toned ! " we said. " Of all
TOstic sounds, our favourite music."
" To me," said the Hermit, " the sheep- bell sounds of childhood ;
yea, of babyhood. In the world without us, it hath often been
to me a solace and a sweetness. I had seen little of the green
earth — knew, alas ! how little of its softening loveliness, its
beautiful records of God's tencierness to man in herbs and
flowers, that in their beauty seem sown by angel hands for
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 307
man's delight. Of these things I had little seen or known ; I
was so early built up in the bricks of a city : otherwise, sir,
harsh thoughts and foolish sneers, evil and folly begotten iu a
too-early, sordid strife with man, perhaps, had not defiled me.
The sheep-bell was the one remembrance, the one thought still
dwelling in my brain, and with its sometime music calliug up a
scene of rustic Sabbath quietude. Swelling meads in their soft
greenness ; hedge-rows, and their sparkling flowers ; a row of
chesnut trees iu blossoming glory ; a park ; a flock of nibbling
sheep — a child, the mute yet happy wonderer at all."
" And the scene charmed by the simple sheep-bell ? "
"Even now," said the Hermit, " it is in certain moods my best
music. Many an evening have I seated myself on that mossy
cushion, at the foot of yonder beech-tree, and leaning back with
folded hands and closed eyes, have let my brain drink and drink
its stilling sounds ; and I have gone ofi" into day-dreams, heaven
knows where. I have been in the holy East ; have heard the
flocks of the Patriarchs, and seen Rebecca at the well."
Thus talking, we had proceeded half-way up Velvet-path,
when a man in rustic dress, followed by a sheep-dog, came over
a stile close upon us. He immediately paused, and taking off his
hat, accosted the Hermit — "A blessed evening, this."
"All's well 1 " asked the sage.
"All's well," answered the man. The Hermit smiled and
bowed, and sajang, " God be with you, Joseph," passed on.
" Who is he ? " we asked.
" My shepherd," answered the Hermit of BellyfuUe ; " and I
would answer for it even upon parchment, as honest, simple a
creature as a day-old lamb. Look at him ; I warrant me he is
about to play his evening music to his dog."
It was even so ; for turning round we saw Joseph seated
under a tree, vehemently twanging a Jew's-harjj. " A strange
instrument for a shepherd."
" He hath wonderful knowledge of that piece of iron,"
answered the Hermit; "nor is it strange it should be so. For
twenty years it was, in the outside world, the constant companion
of his lips."
" Indeed ! what was your shepherd, ere in happy hour he
came to Clovernook ? "
" He was door-keeper to a sponging-house. Yes, he was the
janitor ; the demon of the iron grill ; and would solace his
darkness and captivity (for keeper of prisoners, he himself was
the gi'eatest,) with that vocal metal. Poor wretch ! That
fourpenny harji was his comfort — his consolation — his blithe
society."
X 2
308 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERXOOK.
" Is he not a Jew ? " we asked.
" Yes ; and served a Hebrew master," answered the Hermit,
who smilingly added, " I knew the gentleman well."
" Pray, sir, has your philosophy discovered why, of all men,
Jews — at first a pastoral, country-loving people — should delight
to take service under the sheriff, so that they may carry away
captive the spendthrift and the wretched, holding the human
chattels under lock and key 1 Why, of all folks, should Jews
delight to be bailiffs ? "
" It may be," said the Hermit, " in memory and sweet revenge
of the Egyptian bondage. Poor things ! they still make bricks,
too ; ay, and brick houses ; though the cruelty of modern law, I
hear, denies them straw-bail."
" How earnestly the dog watches the musician's face ! " we
cried ; for the animal, sitting upright, stared with contemplative
looks at the shepherd. " We never saw more meaning in a cur's
countenance."
" Strange things are told of that dog," said the H'ermit.
"Joseph insists ujjon it that the spirit of a London money-
lender, an old acquaiatance, animates Flip. You may be sure,
sir, I have no such superstition, or would hardly trust my
flocks within range of its teeth. Yet has the dog marvellous
sagacity. Put a bad shilling among a hundred good ones, and
Flip, with sensitive nostril, will detect the counterfeit. Many a
man, sir, would think it impossible to earn higher praise. A fine,
elevating gift, sir, that quick sense of bad money. I knew a
man — poor fellow ! — who bought the feculty at what you and I
should til ink a great cost. It is an odd story, but true, sir — true
as the stars. I call the tale the
^TragfUD of tfjc OI.
"A strange, household title," said we ; " pray relate it."
" You would hardly think, sir, that the matter happened in
London 1 In a mean, obscure street ; a place where the hard
realities of life knocked dailj^ hourly, at jieople's hearts ? Where
the men and women seemed only made to work, and eat, and
sleep, and die ; the unidea'd, moving things of the world, the mere
biped furniture of the earth. And yet, sordid and bai-ren as the
spot may be, there is the restless spirit of man, yearning and
struggling to deliver itself fi-om the squalor that defiles it. See
man, the natural monarch of the earth, styed like a hog. Wliy,
even there, in chin-deep misery, visions will now and then
glorify the habitation. The poetic spirit — for what is hope but
the poetry of daily life ? — will touch the coarsest soul that
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 309
answers, like a harp-string to the -wind, unconscious of the power
that stirs it. Let this remembrance go with you, and you shall
behold no place where man is mean or common. Tiike the
thought with you in nooks and alleys, where the sweet air of
heaven sickens with disease, and man seems not made of the
earth of Paradise, but of city mud, a stark, foul, brutish thing ;
even there, man is glorified by his hopes, that, like angel-faces in
a dungeon, brighten and beautify his prison. Let us imagine,
sir," said the Hermit, letting his ivory staff fell in his arm, and
leaning against a huge, sheltering sycamore— " let us imao'ine
some city quarter, in which the inhabitants — miserable creatures !
— should be bereaved of all hope. A little higher only would
they be than apes. They would seem to us the lay-figures of
humanity. We should behold their habitations with shuddering
looks and shrinking nose, and hurry fj-om the spot, as though
fever and poverty clawed like demons at our skirts, to taint and
ruin us. Any way, the dwellers of Hopeless Quarter would
seem to us — dignified as we are by four meals a day, and with
no rent in our coats, no crack in our shoe-leather — as forlorn
animals, permitted on the earth for some mysterious purpose,
but who, though sometliing like oiu-selves in outward guise, had
nothing else in common with us. Would not such be the belief
of many of us ? "
" It is more than likely," we answered.
" Why, sir," cried the Hermit, with a grave look, " it is our
creed. Every street, lane, or alley that harbours the wretched
poor is, to our gingerly apprehension, Hopeless Quarter. We
wholly avoid it ; or if otherwise, with our moral thumb and
finger holding our moral nose, we hurry through it. We cast a
rajjid look at the forlorn inhabitants — a frightened glance in at
doorways and adown cellars — and never for one brief minute
think, that beneath that outward husk of humanity, that in
those miserable abiding-places of mortal suffering, there is the
aspect, and the eai-thly refuge of the future angel. Many a time,
sir," said the Sage of BellyfuUe, " I have walked the streets, and
day-dreaming, have fashioned to myself the doings, the hopes
and cares of the householders. To my fancy, the brick walls of
the houses have turned to glass, and I have seen all that passed
inside. Well, I have been rarely rapt by what I have beheld in
the palaces and mansions of the rich. There, human life, when
at the purest and the best, is as a graceful nymph, whose
slightest motion is silent music — whose look is sweet, intelligent
serenity — whose breath is odorous as morning air. Beautiful is
her speech ; for she talks lilies and roses. There is an atmosphere
about her that steals upon the heart, and lulls it into sweet
310 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
placidity. But, sir, the heart knows not — or should not know —
such dreamy rest at the doors of the very poor. No ; its blood
quickens and glows as it beholds the daily battle. There are the
poor lighting with the world, that, like a huge machine set in
motion by some necromantic wickedness, has action, speech,
cunning, force tremendous, everything but heart. A mighty
creature, bloodless and pulseless. Great are the odds against
poverty in the strife. Alas ! alas ! how often is the poor man
the compelled Quixote ; made to attack a windmill in the hope
that he may get a handful of the corn it grinds ? "
" Even so," said we ; " and many and grievous are his buffets
ere the miller — the prosperous fellow with the golden thumb —
rewards poor poverty for the unequal battle."
" There it is," cried the Hermit. " There is the heroism which,
at the houses of the poor, has made me see and feel the majesty
of poverty ; has in my eyes made starveling spinners and weavers
more than kingly. It is a fine show, a golden sight, to see the
crowning of a king. I have beheld the ceremony ; with undazzled
eyes have well considered all its blaze of splendour. A tender
thing to think of is the kiss of peace ; beautiful the homage ;
heart-stirring the voice of the champion, when the brave knight
dashes his defying gauntlet on the marble stone ; very solemn
the anointing, and most uplifting the song of jubilate when all
is done. But, sir, to my coarse apprehension, I have seen a
nobler sight than this, a grander ceremony, even at the hearth-
stone of the poor. I will show you a man, worn, spent ; the
bony outline of a human thing, with toil and want, cut, as with
an iron tool, upon him ; a man to whom the common pleasures
of this our mortal heritage are unknown as the joys of Paradise.
This man toils and starves, and starves and toils, even as the
markets vary. Well, he keeps a heart, sound as oak, in his
bosom. In the sanctity of his soul, bestows the kiss of peace
upon a grudging world : he compels the homage of respect, and
champions himself against the hardness of fortune. In his
wretched homestead he is throned in the majesty of the affec-
tions. His suffering, patient, loving wife — his pale-faced, ill-clad
children — are his queen and subjects. He is a king in heai't,
subduing and ruling the iron hours ; unseen spirits of love and
goodness anoint him ; and, sir," — said the Hermit, in solemn
voice — " as surely as the kingdom of God is more than a fairy
tale, so surely do God's angels .sing that poor man's jubilate."
Here the Hermit paused ; and then, grasping his staff, walked
silently on. He seemed for a time brooding over new thoughts.
At length he looked round with his sunny smile, and his eye
twinkled again. " Depend upon it," he said, " you shall hear
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 311
more of Joseph and his dog. Ay, there he is, still twanging to
him. Poor fellow ! when he kept the key of the bailiff's house,
his chief company was the canary of the bailiff's wife. He would
finger his Jew's-harp against the bird's Hying notes, and I verily
believe felt all the envy of a musical rival. The canary, with its
shower of sounds, fairly smothered the Jew's-harp ; and I believe
Joseph, in tranquil despair, thought of hanging it upon the
willow, when a cat chewed up the yellow songster. No singing
woman ever hated a sister syren with greater zeal than did
Joseph hate that canary."
" But, sir," we ventured to observe, " you have forgotten the
story, or Tragedy of the Till."
" True," replied the Hei-mit. " It is a strange tale, but it hath
the recommendation of brevity. Some folks may see nothing in
it but the trioksiuess of an extravagant spirit ; and some, per-
chance, may pluck a heart of meaning out of it. However, be it
as it may, you shall hear it, sir. There was a man called Isaac
Pugwash, a dweller in a miserable slough of London, a squalid
denizen of ono of the foul nooks of that city of Plutus. He kept
a shop ; which, though small as a cabin, was visited as granary
and store-house by half the neighbourhood. All the creature-
comforts of the poor — from bread, to that questionable super-
fluity, small-beer — were sold by Isaac. Strange it was, that with
Buch a trade, Pugwash grew not rich. He had many bad debts ;
and of all shopkeepers, was most unfortunate in false coin.
Certain it is, he had neither eye nor ear for bad money.
Counterfeit semblances of majesty beguiled him out of bread,
and buttex', and cheese, and red herring, just as readily as
legitimate royalty struck at the Mint. Malice might impute
something of this to the political principles of Pugwash, who, as
he had avowed himself again and again, was no lover of a
monarchy. Nevertheless, I cannot think Pugwash had so little
regard for the countenance of majesty, as to welcome it as
readily when silvered copper as when sterling silver. No, a
wild, foolish enthusiast was Pugwash, but in the household
matter of good and bad money he had very wholesome preju-
dices. He had a reasonable wish to grow rich, yet was entirely
ignorant of the by-ways and shoi't-cuts to wealth. He would
have sauntered through life with his hands in his pockets, and a
daisy in his mouth ; and dying witli just enough in his house to
pay the undertaker, would have thought himself a fortunate
fellow ; he was, in the words of Mrs. Pugwash, such a careless,
foolish, dreaming creature. He was cheated every hour by a
customer of some kind ; and yet to deny credit to any body — he
would as soon have denied the wife of his bosom. His customers
312 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
knew the weakness, and failed not to exercise it. To be snre
now and then, fresh from conjugal counsel, he would refuse to
add a single herring to a debtor's score ; no, he would not be
sent to the workhouse by any body. A quarter of an hour after,
the denied herring, with an added small loaf, was given to the
little girl, sent to the shop by the rejected mother, — 'he couldn't
bear to see poor children wanting anything.'
" Pug wash had another unprofitable weakness. He was fond
of what he called nature, though in his dim, close shop, he could
give her but a stifling welcome. Nevertheless, he had the earliest
primroses on his counter, — ' they threw,' he said, ' such a nice
light about the place.' A sly, knavish customer presented Isaac
with a pot of polyanthuses and, won by the flowery gift. Pug-
wash gave the donor ininous credit. The man with wallflowers
regularly stopt at Isaac's shop, and for only sixpence, Pugwash
would tell his wife he had made the place a Paradise. ' If we
can't go to nature, Sally, isn't it a pleasant thing to be able to
bring nature to us ? ' Whereupon Mrs. Pugwash would declare,
that a man with at least three children to provide for had no
need to talk of nature. Nevertheless, the flower-man made his
weekly call. Though at many a house, the penny could not
every week be spared to buy a hint, a look of nature for the
darkened dwellers, Isaac, despite of Mi-s. Pugwash, always
purchased. It is a common thing, an old familiar cry," said
the Hermit — " to see the poor man's florist, to hear his loud-
voiced invitation to take his nosegays, his penny-roots ; and yet
is it a call, a conjuration of the heart of man overlaboured and
desponding — walled in by the gloom of a town — divorced from
the fields and their sweet healthful influences — almost shut out
from the sky that reeks in vapour over him ; — it is a call that
tells him there are things of the earth beside food and covering
to live for ; and that God in his great bounty hath made them
for all men. Is it not so ?" asked the Hermit.
" Most certainly," we answered ; " it would be the very sinful-
ness of avarice to think otherwise."
" Why, sir," said the Hermit benevolently smiling, " thus
considered, the loud-lunged city bawler of roots and flowers
becomes a high benevolence, a peripatetic priest of nature.
Adown dark lanes and miry alleys he takes sweet remembrances
— touching records of the loveliness of earth, that with their
bright looks and balmy odours cheer and uiilift the dumpish
heart of man ; that make his soul stir within him, and acknow-
ledge the beautiful. The penny, the ill-spared penny — for it
would buy a wheaten roll — the poor housewife pays for root of
primrose, is her off"ering to the hopeful loveliness of nature ; is
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 313
her testimony of the soul struggling with the blighting, crushing
circumstance of sordiel earth, and sometimes yeai-ning towards
earth's sweetest aspects. Amidst the violence, the coarseness,
and the suffering that may surround and dehle the wretched,
there must be moments when the heart escapes, craving for the
innocent and lovely ; when the soul makes for itself even of a
flower a comfort and a refuge."
The Hermit paused a moment, and then in blither voice
resumed. " But I have strayed a little from the history of our
small tradesman, Pugwash. Well, sir, Isaac for some three or
four years kept on his old way, his wife still propliesying in
loud and louder voice the inevitable woi'khouse. He would so
think and talk of nature when he should mind his shop ; he
would so often snatch a holiday to lose it in the fields, when he
should take stock and balance his books. What was worse, he
every week lost more and more by bad money. With no more
sense than a buzzard, as Mrs. Pugwash said, for a good shilling,
he was the victim of those laborious folks who make their money
with a fine independence of the state, out of their own materials.
It seemed the common compact of a host of coiners to put ofi"
their base-bom offspring upon Isaac Pugwash ; who, it must be
confessed, bore the loss and the indignity like a Christian
martyr. At last, however, the sj^irit of the man was stung. A
guinea, as Pugwash believed of statute gold, was found to be of
little less value than a brass button. Mrs. Pugwash clamoured
and screamed as though a besieging foe was in her house ; and
Pugwash himself felt that further patience would be pusilla-
nimity. Whereupon, sir, what think you Isaac did ? Why, he
suff"ered himself to be driven by the voice and vehemence of his
wife to a conjurer, who in a neighbouring attic was a sideral go-
between to the neighbourhood — a vender of intelligence from
the stars, to all who sought and duly fee'd him. This magician
would declare to Pugwash the whereabout of the felon coiner,
and — the thought was an anodyne to the hurt mind of Isaac's
wife — the knave would be law-throttled.
" With sad, indignant spirit did Isaac Pugwash seek Father
Lotus ; for so, sii", was the conjurer called. He was none of
your common wizards. Oh no ! he left it to the mere quack-
salvers and mountebanks of his craft to take upon them a
haggard solemnity of look, and to drop monosyllables, heavy as
bullets, upon the ear of the questioner. The mighty and magni-
ficent hocuspocus of twelvepenny magicians was scorned by
Lotus. There was nothing in his look or manner that showed
him the worse for keeping company with spirits : on the con-
trary, perhaps, the privileges he enjoyed of them served to make
314 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
him only the more blithe and jocund. He might have passed for
a gentleman, at once easy and cunning in the law ; his sole
knowledge, that of lab3'rinthine sentences made expressly to
wind poor common sense on parchment. He had an eye lilce a
snake, a constant smile upon his lip, a cheek coloured like an
apple, and an activity of movement wide away from the solemnity
of the conjurer. He was a small, eel-figured man of about sixty,
dressed in glossy black, with silver buckles and flowing periwig.
It was impossible not to have a better opinion of sprites and
demons, seeing that so nice, so polished a gentleman was their
especial pet. And then, his attic had no mystic circle, no curtain
of black, no death's head, no mummy of apocryphal dragon — the
vulgar catch-pennies of fortune-telling trader. There was not
even a pack of cards to elevate the soul of man into the regions
of the mystic world. No, the room was plainly yet comfortably
set out. Father Lotus reposed in an easy chair, nursing a snow-
white cat upon his knee ; now tenderly patting the creature
with one hand, and now turning over a little Hebrew volume
with the other. If a man wished to have dealings with sorry
demons, could he desire a nicer little gentleman than Father
Lotus to make the acquaintance for him ? In few words, Isaac
Pugwash told his story to the smiling magician. He had,
amongst much other bad money, taken a counterfeit guinea ;
could Father Lotus discover the evil-doer 1
" ' Yes, yes, yes,' said Lotus, smiling, ' of course — to be sure ;
but that will do but little : in your present state — but let me look
at your tongue.' Pugwash obediently thrust the organ forth.
' Yes, yes, as I thought. 'TwUl do you no good to hang the
rogue ; none at all. What we must do is this — we must cure
you of the disease.'
" ' Disease ! ' cried Pugwash. * Bating the loss of my money,
I was never better in all my days.'
" ' Ha ! my poor man,' said Lotus, ' it is the benevolence of
nature, that she often goes on, quietly breaking us up, ourselves
knowing no more of the mischief than a girl's doll, when the
girl rips up its seams. Your malady is of the perceptive organs.
Leave you alone, and you'll sink to the condition of a baboon.'
" ' God bless me ! ' cried Pugwash.
" ' A jackass with sense to choose a thistle from a toadstool
will be a reasoning creature to you ! for consider, my poor soul,'
said Lotus in a compassionate voice, ' in this world of tribulation
we inhabit, consider, what a benighted nincompoop is man, if he
cannot elect a good shilling from a bad one.'
" ' I have not a sharp eye for money,' said Pugwash modestly.
' It's a gift, sir ; I'm assured it's a gift.'
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 315
" * A sharp eye ! An eye of horn,' said Lotus. 'Nevf>r mind,
I can remedy all that ; I can restore you to the world and to
yourself. The greatest physicians, the wisest philosophers, have,
in the profundity of their wisdom, made money the test of wit.
A man is believed mad ; he is a very rich man, and his heir has
very good reason to believe him lunatic ; whereupon the heir,
the madman's careful friend, calls about the sufferer a company
of wizards to sit in judgment on the suspected brain, and report
a verdict thereupon. Well, ninety-nine times out of the hundred,
what is the first question put, as test of reason ? Why, a
question of money. Tlie physician, laying certain pieces of
cui'rent coin in his palm, asks of the patient their several value.
If he answer truly, why truly there is hope ; but if he stammer,
or falter at the coin, the verdict runs, and wisely runs, mad —
incapably mad.'
" ' I'm not so bad as that,' said Pugwash, a little alarmed.
" 'Don't say how you are — it's presumption in any man,' cried
Lotus. ' Nevei'theless, be as you may, I'll cure you, if you'll give
attention to n.y remedy.'
" ' I'll give my whole soul to it,' exclaimed Pugwash.
" ' Veiy good, very good ; I like your earnestness, but I don't
want all your soul,' said Father Lotus, smiling — ' I want only
part of it : that, if you confide in me, I can take from you with
no danger. Ay, with less peril than the pricking of a
whitlow. Now, then, for examination. Now, to have a good
stare at this soul of yours.' Here Father Lotus gently removed
the white cat from his knee, for he had been patting her all the
time he talked, and turned full round upon Pugwash. 'Turn
out your breeches' pockets,' said Lotus ; and the tractable Pug-
wash immediately displayed the linings. ' So ! ' cried Lotus,
looking narrowly at the brown holland whereof they were made
— ' very bad, indeed ; very bad ; never knew a soul in a worse
state in all my life.'
" Pugwa.sh looked at his pockets, and then at the cnnjurer : he
was about to speak, but the fixed, earnest look of Father Lotus
held him in respectful silence.
" ' Yes, yes,' said the wizard, still eyeing the brown holland,
' I can see it all ; a vagabond soul ; a soul wandering here and
there, like a pauper without a settlement ; a ragamuffin soul.'
" Pugwash found confidence and breath. ' W:is there ever such
a joke?' he cried': 'know a mnn's soul by the linings of his
breeches' pockets ! ' and Pugwash laughed, albeit uncomfortably.
" Father Lotus looked at the man with ]ihiloso])hic coni])assion
' Ha, n)y good friend! ' he said, 'that all comes of your ignorance
of moral anatomy.*
c
316 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" ' Well, but Father Lotus '
" ' Peace,' said the wizard, ' and answer me. You'd have this
soul of yours cured ? '
" ' If there's anything the matter with it,' answered Pugwash.
' Though not of any conceit I speak it, yet I think it as sweet
and as healthy a soul as the souls of my neighbours. I never
did wrong to anybody,'
" ' Pooh ! ' cried Father Lotus.
" ' I never denied credit to the hungry,' continued Pugwash.
" ' Fiddle-de-dee ! ' said the wizard, very nervously.
" ' I never laid out a penny in law upon a customer ; I never
refused small beer to '
" ' Silence ! ' cried Father Lotus ; ' don't offend philosophy
by thus bragging of your follies. You are in a perilous con-
dition ; still you may be saved. At this very moment, I much
fear it, gangrene has touched your soul : nevertheless, I can
separate the sound from the mortified parts, and start you new
again as though your lips were first wet with mother's milk.'
" Pugwash merely said — for the wizard began to awe him —
' I'm very much obliged to you.'
" ' Now,' said Lotus, ' answer a few questions, and then I'll
proceed to the cure. "What do you think of money ? '
" 'A very nice thing,' said Pugwash, ' though I can do with as
little of it as most folks.'
" Father Lotus shook his head. ' "Well, and the world about
you?'
" ' A beautiful world,' said Pugwash ; ' only the worst of it is,
I can't leave the shop as often as I would to enjoy it. I'm shut
in all day long, I may say, a prisoner to brickdust, herrings, and
bacon. Sometimes, when the sun shines, and the cobbler's lark
over the way sings as if he'd split his pipe, why then, do you
know, I do so long to get into the fields ; I do hunger for a bit
of grass like any cow.'
" The wizard looked almost hopelessly on Pugwash. ' And
that's your religion and business ? Infidel of the counter !
Saracen of the till ! However — patience,' said Lotus, ' and let
us conclude. — And the men and women of the world, what do
you think of them 1 "
" ' God bless 'em, poor souls ! ' said Pugwash. * It's a sad
sci'amble some of 'em have, isn't it 1 '
" "Well,' said the conjurer, 'for a tradesman, your soul is in a
wretched condition. However, it is not so hopelessly bad that I
may not yet make it profitable to you. I must cure it of its
vagabond desires, and above all make it respectful of money.
You will take this book.' Here Lotus took a little volume from
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 317
a ciii^board, and placed it in the hand of Pugwash. 'Lay it
nndt-r yonr pillow every night for a week, and on the eighth
morning let me see yon.'
" ' Come, there's nothing easier than that,' said Pugwash,
with a smile, and reverently putting the volume in his pocket —
(the book was closed by metal clasps, curiously chased) — he
aescended the garret stairs of the conjurer.
" On the morning of the eighth day, Pugwash again stood
before Lotus.
" ' How do you feel now 1 ' asked the conj urer, with a knowing
look.
" I hav'n't opened the book — 'tis just as T took it,' said Pug-
wash, making no further answer.
" ' I know that,' said Lotus ; ' the clasps be thanked for your
ignorance.' Pugwash slightly coloured ; for to say the truth,
both he and his wife had vainly pulled and tugged, and fingered
and coaxed the clasps, that they might look upon the necro-
mantic page. ' "Well, the book has worked,' said the conjm-er.
' I have it.'
" ' Have it ! what ? ' asked Pugwash.
" ' Your soul,' answered the sorcerer. ' In all my practice,'
he added, gravely, ' I never had a soul come into my hands in
worse condition.'
" ' Impossible ! ' cried Pugwash. 'If my soul is. as you say, in
your own hands, how is it that I'm alive ? How is it that I
can eat, drink, sleep, walk, talk, do everything, just like any body
else ? '
" ' Ha ! ' said Lotus, ' that's a common mistake. Thousands
and thousands would swear, ay, as they'd swear to their own
noses, that they have their souls in their own possession : bless
you,' and the conjurer laughed maliciously, ' it's a popular error.
Their souls are altogether out of 'em.'
"'Well,' said Pugwash, 'if it's true that you have, indeed,
my soul, I should like to have a look at it.'
"'In good time,' said the conjurer; 'I'll bring it to your
house, and put it in its proper lodging. In another week
I'll bring it to you ; 'twill then be strong enough to bear
removal.'
" ' And what am I to do all the time without it ? " asked
Pugwash, in a tone of banter. ' Come,' said he, still jesting, ' if
you really have my soul, what's it like — what's its colour ; if
indeed souls have colours 1 '
" ' Green — green as a gi-asshopper, when it first came into my
hands,' said the wizard ; ' but 'tis changing daily. More ; it was
a skipping, chirping, giddy soul ; 'tis every hour mending. In
318 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
a week's time, I tell you, it will be fit for the business of the
world.'
" ' And pray, good father — for the matter has till now escaped
me — what am I to pay you for this pain and trouble ; for this
precious care of my miserable soul ? '
" ' Nothing,' answered Lotus, ' nothing whatever. The work is
too nice and precious to be paid for ; I have a reward you dream
not of for my labour. Think you that men's immortal souls are
to be mended like iron pots, at tinker's price ] Oh, no ! they
who meddle with souls go for higher wages.'
" After further talk Pugwash departed, the conjurer pro-
mising to bi'ing him home his soul at midnight, that night week.
It seemed strange to Pugwash, as the time passed on, that he
never seemed to miss his soul ; that, in very truth, he went
through the labours of the day with even better gravity than
when his soul possessed him. And more ; he began to feel him-
self more at home in his shop ; the cobbler's lark over the way
continued to sing, but awoke in Isaac's heart no thought of the
fields : and then for flowers and plants, why Isaac began to think
such matters fitter the thoughts of children and foolish girls,
than the attention of grown men, with the world before them.
Even Mrs. Pugwash saw an alteration in her husband ; and
though to him she said nothing, she returned thanks to her
own sagacity that made him seek the conjurer.
" At length the night arrived when Lotus had promised to
bring home the soul of Pugwash. He sent his wife to bed, and
sat with his eyes upon the Dutch clock, anxiously awaiting the
conjurer. Twelve o'clock stiiick, and at the same moment Father
Lotus smote the door-post of Isaac Pugwash.
" ' Have you brought it 1 ' asked Pugwash.
" ' Or wherefore should I come ? ' said Lotus. ' Quick : show
a light to the till, that your soul may find itself at home.'
" ' The till ! ' cried Pugwash ; ' what the devil should my soul
do in the till ? '
"'Speak not irreverently,' said the conjurer, 'but show
a light.'
" ' May I live for ever in darkness if I do- ! ' cried Pugwash.
" ' It is no matter,' said the conjurer : and then he cried,
' Soul, to your earthly dwelling-place ! Seek it — you know it.'
Then turning to Pugwash, Lotus said, ' It is all right. Your
soul's in the till.'
" ' How did it get there ? ' cried Pugwash in amazement.
"' Through the slit in the counter,' said the conjurer ; and ere
Pugwash could speak again, the conjurer had quitted the shop.
" For some minutes Puswash felt himself afraid to stir. For
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 319
the first time in his life he felt himself ill at ease, left as he was
■with no other company save his own soul. He at length took
heart, and went behind the counter that he might see if his soul
was really in the till. With trembling hand he drew the coffer,
and there, to his amazement, squatted like a tailor, upon a crown-
piece, did Pugwash behold his own soul, which cried out to him
in notes no louder than a cricket's — ' How are you ] I am com-
fortable.' It was a strange yet pleasing sight to Pugwash, to
behold what he felt to be his own soul embodied in a figure no
bigger than the top joint of his thumb. There it was, a stark-
naked thing with the precise features of Pugwash ; albeit the
complexion was of a yellower hue. 'The conjurer said it was
gi'een,' cried Pugwash ; ' as I live, if that be my soul — and I
begin to feel a strange, odd love for it — it is yellow as a guinea.
Ha ! ha ! Pretty, precious, darling soul ! ' cried Pugwash, as
th« creature took up every piece of coin in the till, and rang it
with such a look of rascally cunning, that sure I am Pugwash
would in past times have hated the creature for the trick. But
every day Pugwash became fonder and fonder of the creature in
the till : it was to him such a counsellor, and such a blessing.
Whenever the old flowei'-man came to the door, the soul of Pug-
wash from the till would bid him pack with his rubbish : if a
poor woman — an old customer it might be — begged for the credit
of a loaf, the Spirit of the Till, calling through the slit in the
counter, would command Pugwash to deny her. More : Pugwash
never agaia took a bad shilling. No sooner did he throw the
pocket-piece down upon the counter, than the voice from the till
would denounce its worthlessness. And the soul of Pugwash
never quitted the till. There it lived, feeding upon the colour
of money, and capering, and rubbing its small scoundrel hands
in glee as the coin dropt — dropt in. In time, the soul of Pugwash
grew too big for so small a habitation, and then Pugwash moved
his soul into an iron box ; and some time after, he sent his soul
to his banker's — the thing had waxed so big and strong on
gold and silver."
" And so," said we, " the man flourished, and the conjurer
took no wages for all he did to the soul of Pugwash 1 "
" Hear the end," said the Hermit. " For some time, it was
a growing pleasure to Pugwash to look at his soul, busy as it
always was with the world-buying metals. At length he grew
old, very old ; and every day his soul grew uglier. Then he
hated to look upon it ; and then his soul would come to him,
and grin its deformity at him. Pugwash died, almost rich as an
Indian king ; but he died, shrieking in his madness, to be saved
from the terrors of his own soul."
320 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
" And such the end," we said ; " such the Tragedy of the Till 1
A strange romance."
" Romance," said the Sage of Bellyfulle ; "sir, 'tis a story true
as life. For at this very moment how many thousands, blind
and deaf to the sweet looks and voice of nature, live and die
with their Souls in a Till 1 "
We answered not, but for some minutes followed the Hermit
in silence, as he stept along Velvet-path ; and the beauty of the
place seemed to us to increase at every foot-fall. " What
picturesque trees ! " we suddenly cried, making a dead halt
before two withered yews.
" Said I not," asked the Hermit, with a smile, " that Clover-
nook had its ruins 1 "
" There is a noble desolation in their dead trunks — their bare
pronged branches. In their sapless nakedness, with flower, and
leaf, and blade springing around them ; they stand solemn
mementos of the end of all things."
" True," answered the Hermit ; " eloquently doth a dead tree
preach to the heart of man ; touching its appeal from the myriad
forms of life bursting about it ? Yes, the dead oak of a wood,
for a time, gives wholesome check to the heart, expanding and
dancing with the vitality around. In its calm aspect, its motion-
less look, it works the soul to solemn thought, lifting it upwards
fi'om the earth."
" There is a desolate grandeur in these old yews," we cried.
" Poor tilings ! " said the smiling Sage, " they were cruelly
killed ; though, doubtless, murdered with the best intentions.
Look at them, sir, in their majestic ruins ; contemplate their
magnificent nakedness ; and then, sir, drop at least one tear for
their untimely fate, poor withered victims of the fantasy of
woman ! "
" Of woman 1 " we exclaimed. " How, sir, of woman ? "
" How many springs might they have flourished ! " cried
the Hermit, with humour curling his lip, and twinkling in
his eye ; how many autumns might they have borne their
pinky berries !— how many pairs of little birds might have
wedded and built in their boughs, and brought up rejoicing
fiimilies ! — but that woman, sir, fantastic, tyrannous woman,
killed them in their prime ; slew them in their green strength ;
made dead timber of their expanding greatness. Thus, sir," cried
the Sage of Bellyfulle, " doth the female creature sometimes
blight the budding hopes of man, and change the flourishing
hero into a dead log. Poor ignorant souls ! when they do worst
murder, they call it love. They take a tough yew-tree in hand,
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. .321
and working their charms upon it, turn it into very touchwood.
They seize the hardest heart of stubborn man ; and like a hrmp
of dough, they toss it and thump it, and roll it out, and lump it
together again ; and now make fancy pie-crust of it — and now a
homely dumpling. Oh, sir ! whenever I feel my just anger at
the ways of woman subsiding into unmanly softness, I come and
look at these yews, and am stirred up again. The elephant, it is
said, whets his tusks upon the gnarled ti'unks of trees. Upon
these yews do I from time to time sharpen up my blunted
indignation."
" Ha ! as we thought. Then these yews bear a legend ? "
" Yea," said the Hermit, with mock affliction ; " most fruitful
is their barrenness, most abounding in matter for contemplation
are their nude and ghastly branches. Think you, sir, you have
the heart to listen to the story 1 "
" At least, we'll try," was our answer : and the Hermit,
affecting to wipe a tear from his eyes with the back of his broad
hand, and then heaving a profound preparatory sigh, began the
tale.
Cl)c EcgcnK of Xosts ; or, tfje ©IS fHaitis' ffirccn l^jusbantis.
" The precise date of this history," said the Hermit, " is lost in
one of the corner cupboards of time ; but once it was, believe me,
fresh as Eve's cheek ; and still the unwriukled spiiit of truth
dwells in it, making it as a tale of yesterday. Beautiful truth !
never young and never old ; but keeping, through all change
and all time, its bloom and grace of Paradise, even to the
Judgment.
" "Well, sir, it is somewhere written in our Chronicles of
Clovernook, that once upon a time two gentle maidens, by name
Bridget and Veronica, came fi'om the outside world, and entering
the Valley of Naps, and taking their due rest at the Warming-
Pan, and leaving v.'hat was dim and worn in their looks at the
shrine of the Looking-Glass, they were at length, according to
custom, admitted among the happy villagers. They never told
their story ; but it was plain they had jilted some poor innocent
men out of their hearts, they were so wont to giggle, and laugh,
and — not to speak it irreverently before the blooming faces of
the whole sex — would rejoice like two successful pickers of
pockets, or other flourishing malefactors. "With all this, it was
plain that they were sometimes not at their ease. It was marked
of them tliat they would frequently wander to the very top of
Gossip-Hill, and there, umnindful of tlie dewy grass, would drop
themselves despairingly down, and sit watching and watchiug,
T
322 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
with their fiices toward the Valley of Naps, as though they
expected some old acquaintance to arrive thereby. The simple-
hearted chronicler who has set this down — what an innocent,
milk-white goose must have bred his pen ! — confesses that
he knows not whom Bridget and Yeronica could expect.
Perhaps, says he, it may have been their brothers ; perhaps
their uncles. Of course, sir, it was the weak, foolish young men
whom they had barbarously strijst of their affections, and left to
perish on the world's highway : these it was for whom Brido-et
and Veronica risked sciatica and rheumatic pains, nailed, as it
would seem, hour after hour, upon the green-sward, looking for
lost love.
" Ha, sir, here is a lesson, if the obstinacy of woman would
only let her con it. Consider, sir ; call to mind the barbarous
impertinence of these two young women — when with murderous
and triumphant eyes they walked the world — relentlessly dragging
foi'lorn young men by their heartstrings through briar and
brake ; over flints, through gutters, and up dreary, winding
lanes ; still dragging them onward, onward, and now and then
turning round, and with settled malice smiling, and showing
their red, pulpy lips, and crudest white teeth. Consider these
homicidal maidens in their flaunting hours of conquest, stepping
with mincing steps upon men's hearts, and deeming in their
arrogance that they conferred much honour with the points of
their toes. Ha, sir, such pictures make a bold man shudder
at the tyranny of woman ! In his virtuous indignation at such
violent wrong, he feels that no punishment can revenge him
upon the sex ! And then, alas ! sir, when he sees the poor
forloi-n things sorry for what they have done — when, victims
to their own dreadful ignorance, like a babe that hath un-
wittingly let off a blunderbuss, they are laid prostrate, fairly
knocked down by their own act, why, sir — philosopher and flinty-
bosomed fellow as I am — I feel myself ashamed when I pity
them."
" Yet, after all, it is a magnanimous softness," said we, falling
in with the humour of the sage.
" And thus, sir, I have felt two tears roll adown my cheeks^
when I have read the simple text of the simple chi'onicler,
who relates that, night after night, Bridget and Veronica, still
seated on the cold and colder grass, looked down into the
Valley of Naps. Poor things ! Every night their fancy believed
that their lovers — the scolded, kicked, spurned dogs of other
days — were with hopeful faces struggling towards the Warming-
Pan, and would, with the morrow's sun, enter Clovernook.
Alas, and alas ! can we doubt that the young men had wedded
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 323
themselves to kinder, more compassionate mates, and that
oft, when their late mistresses were watching for them — watching
and shivering in the night wind — they, snug fellows, were in
their first sleep, close by their happy wives ? Yet still would
Bridget and Veronica, seated on the damp grass, feel that
every night theLr hopes grew colder and colder ; and then would
they look up at the stars, and then would Venus seem to wink
reproachfully down upon them, saying in that wink, — 'Oh,
Bridget and Veronica, what fools you were I '
"Time passed on — winter came — and Bridget and Veronica,
warned by the sudden bite of rheumatic pains, watched no more
on Gossip-Hill. It was plain, they thought, that their lovers
were dead, otherwise they must liave followed them. Why, sir,
the men lived to be happy great grandfathers, and died somewhere
about fourscore and five. Bridget and Veronica suffered them-
selves to sink gracefully down upon their sorrow as though it
were a cushion ; came here to Velvet Path, built a sort of com-
fortable nunnery, and were — if history is to be trusted in anything
— the inventresses of muffins."
" It is well," said we, '•' when the afflictions of the heart can be
so profitably diverted."
"Thus, sir," replied the Hermit, " private sorrows often become
public luxuries. I never cut my wintry muflan — never see the
butter shining like bright amber upon it — that I do not feel a
gentle swelling of the heart towards Bridget and Veronica.
Though, to be sure, it is especially the bouuden duty of women
to bend all theii' little energies to the one task of lightening and
adorning masculine human life. Sir," said the Hermit with a
grave look, " when we think what women have brought upon us
poor men, they owe us all sorts of muffins."
" What they have brought upon us ! " we cried. " How, sir ?
What do you mean ? "
" All the pain, the trouble, and the weariness of sinful life.
Now, sir," said the Hermit, " muffins and other such innocent
delights go a great way to break the Fall."
" They built a nunnery, you say ? Why, there is no stone, no
brick of it," cried we.
" No ; a great evidence," replied the Hermit, " of the antiquity
of the legend. The less we find to prove the truth of a story, the
greater should be our faith in it : such, sir, is the true antiquarian
creed, and for myself, I am a devout believer. It is very true, the
nunnery is gone ; the oven to which mankind owes its first
muffins is a thing of shadows. Nay, the said mankind with
greasy chin, cheek-deep in muffins, may in its besetting ingrati-
tude deny the very existence of Bridget and Veronica. What
t2
324 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
care I for that ? — here, sir, in these old yews, their mournful'
blighted husbands "
" Husbands ! "
"Husbands," repeated the Hermit; "I see and acknowledge
them ; even as in the sorrowful furbelow of a widow, I am made
to acknowledge her departed spouse."
"Pray, sir, explain. What riddle is this? How came these
dead, leafless trunks to be called the husbands of the maidens
Bridget and Veronica 1 Their husbands forsooth ! "
"Ay, sir," cried the Hermit; "and what was worse, their
murdered mates. They stand, in their present desolation, gaunt
witnesses of the volatility, the wilfulness of the sex. Yes, sir ;
they were stripped to the condition you see them in, and left
upon the world. I will tell you — as, indeed, I have gathered it
from the chronicler — hoAV it was. For some years, Bridget and
Veronica smiled graciously upon the villagers of Cloveruook.
Nevertheless, there was no man among them bold enough to
return the courtesy. Yes, the women flung down their smiles,
but no man with proper chivalry took them up. Well, sir, this
could not go on. Bridget and Veronica felt, with increasing
years, increasing philosophy ; and precisely at the time that all
men had resolved never to make them wives, they — stubborn
souls ! — determined not to wed the best, the noblest creature
alive. The human heart has, of course, its pouting fits ; it
determines to live aloue ; to flee into desert places ; to have no
employment, that is, to love nothing ; but to keep on sullenly
beating, beating, beating, until death lays his little finger on the
sulky thing, and all is still. This, the human heart, in some
wayward fit proposes to itself, and thinks itself strong as adamant
in its determination. Well, it goes away from the world, and
straightway ; shut from human company, it falls in love with a
jjlant, a stone — yea, it dandles cat or dog, and calls the creature
darling."
" True, sir ; it is the beautiful necessity of our nature to love
sometliing."
" And so Bridget and Veronica — sympathising spinsters ! —
fell in love with these yew trees, and their love proved tragical
to them ; for the yews -withered, died under the afil'ction.
Patience, sir, and you shall know the whole history. When the
sisters came here — so runs the legend — these yews were brave,
wide-spreading trees : freely flourishing, with Nature only tending
them : broad robust fellows were they, when Bridget and Veronica
cast their hearts upon them. And then the women, in the very
fixntasy of their passion, resolved to cut and trim the yews — to
lop and trim them — into what they called shape. Doubtless, sir,
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 325
you have seen in the outside world mummeries of the sort ; have
seeu trees taken out of heaven's hand, aud cut and trimmed into
peacocks, pyramids, aud nameless monsters ? Now Bridget and
Veronica — at least let us award them such praise — eschewed all
other sliapes, save the form of man ; hence, had they the yew
trees cunningly fashioned into two brave knights, with shield on
arm and sword in hand. Thus did the maidens delicately show
their yearning sympathies towards the sex ; thus did they make
manifest to all Clovernook the tendti-ness of their unrequited
hearts. Poor souls ! it would have been the worst surliness of
man to grudge them such poor comfort : it was not for men who,
in their own persons, had refused to become the living, fleslily
protectors of Bridget aud Veronica, to sneer at and condemn the
vegetable substitutes, which, in the very meekness of misfortune
the poor women had elected for their helpmates. If man will not
become spouse to woman, is it just in him — is it even decent — to
upbraid and make sorry mirth of the dear creature, if she wed
hei'self to a yew, a cedar, a holly-bush ? When, sir, I have
beheld the \ iigin innocence of threescore fondling and feeding
with tit-bits some wheezing, apoplectic Dutch pug, T have felt
compassion, ay, heightened somewhat into admiration, for the
poor soul, who, making the best of hard fortune — who, turning
the slights of the world to the best account — has cheerfully,
magnanimously, sunk the husband in the dog. "When I have
seen waning beauty begin to feed cockatoos and parrots, giving
them sugar from her own mouth, I have felt for the hai'd condi-
tion of the feeder ; have been moved to deepest pity for her
strait. And thus, had I lived in the days of Bridget and
Veronica, I could have cheerfully touched my bonnet to their
yew-tree husbands, standing here in all weathers, knowing that
it was not the fault of the poor maidens themselves — their first
caprice excepted — that their spouses grew outside the house,
when assui'edly the dear women would have rather had them
cosy at the fireside.
" Poor souls ! The chronicler tells us that both Bridget and
Veronica would, in the spring time, watch their shooting mates ;
would with softened hearts behold their tips of tender green, and
strive to feel, with all the love of loving wives, renewed affection
for their vegetable lords. In summer they would sit under the
protecting shadow of their husbands, working needlework of such
surpassing delicacy and brightness, that the degenerate women of
our day never, even in day-dreams, see the like. Autumn, too,
would find Bridget and Veronica constantly hovering near the
knights ; and in winter time, with the earth iron-bound, and
icicles hanging from the eaves, sweet was it to the spirit of either
326 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
wife to hear the robin red-breast, perched now upon the pummel
of the knight's sword ; now upon his casque ; and now upon his
shoulder, singing a song of hope to desolation."
" And yet, sir," we observed, " with all this tenderness, you say
the women killed their growing husbands 1 "
" So says the chronicler," answered the Hermit, "and the evil
happened after this manner. One winter the cold was terrible.
Long was it before the breath of spring called forth the buds ;
and then, with all other things sprouting and shooting, the yew-
tree knights showed not the green leaf. With a sweet superstition,
Bridget and Veronica gave themselves up for lost ; they believed
that their lives depended upon the vitality of the yews : let the
knights cease to bud, and they — their widows — must cease to
breathe. They were even as the Hamadryads, and only held
existence during the leafing of their lords. Long and sharp was
the suspense. Day after day, the folks of Clovernook would
call to know the best or worst. The husbands of Bridget and
Veronica were especial favourites : middle-aged folks from their
childhood remembered them ; they had stood so boldly, valorously,
through the storms of years ; and then it had been so pleasant
to watch the spring green steal upon the edge of their swords, to
see it freshen up their shields, and break in their helmets. It
was, too, an anxious time with the children of Clovernook to see
the knights trimmed every autumn ; to watch the cunning
progress of the shears, as, in the artistic hands of the gardener,
they worked in and out, above and below, reform-ing the
wanderings of vegetation, and clipping vagrant and slovenly
twigs into the proper triiuness of knighthood. And at these
clippings Bridget and Veronica were always present, directhig
with earnest and affectionate eye the operations of the steel ; and,
strange to say, every new autumn feeling a deeper love, a closer
tie towards their pruned helpmates.
"At length the knights took new heart, and began to shoot.
What a load was lifted off the hearts of Bridget and Veronica !
their husbands — for by such fond names were the trees known
to all Clovernook — were not dead ; the pride and glory of the
place still flourished. Again would the women sit and embroider
beneath their shadows — again would they rejoice in the strengtli
of their spouses. Fond human hopes — vain aspirations ! It is
true that the knights were alive and lusty ; but frost — a mortal
frost — had pinched both their noses ; the prominent grace and
beauty of the knightly countenance was gone ; whatever else
might shoot, the nose would never grow again !
" Now, sir, you or I might think a noseless knight far better
than a knight defunct, kot so Bridget and Veronica : in the
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 327
noble i-ecklessness of their sex, tliey declared they would ratlier
that their yew-tree husbands should have died outright, than
stand throuffh all weathers disgraced and noseless : there would
have been dignity in total death ; but to be maimed, disfigured,
made ridiculous by calamity, it was insupportable. Misery they
could endure, but not mockery.
" Well, sir, in this time of tribulation, the gardener hazarded
a hope. If the head of each knight were cut closer in, a new
nose might be brought out ;\but then to sliow a diminished head
upon the old broad shoulders would look disproportionate —
ungainly. If a nose must be had, it could only be produced by
lessening the knight from head to heel ; by reducing the whole
figure ; indeed, by bringing down what was grand and gigantic
into the proportions of very common life. Thus a nose might be
obtained ; but was it not to purchase a nose at, in sooth, a most
preposterous price 1
"The gardener had said enough. He had given it as his
opinion that the noses might be restored, and it mattered not to
Bridget au'^ Veronica — poor headstrong women ! — how it was
brought about. A nose they would have, come what might : the
gardener was ordei'ed to produce the noses, and to leave the rest
to fiite. The day was fixed ; all Clovernook attended the
solemnity ; and day after day, with breathless attention, hung
upon the movements of the gardener, who, on the third day, had
so successfully dwarfed one of the knights, that he looked no
bigger than page to his undipped companion. But then the
little fellow had a beautiful nose ; and in the very completeness
of his countenance brought out the degradation of his noselesa
co-mate. A dwarf with a nose was by far more preferable than
a giant without ; and the next day the gardener was set to work
to finish his labours. A few days, and the husbands of Bridget
and Veronica again displayed their full-grown noses to the sun.
To be sure, they had lost immensely both in height and bulk ;
but each had gained a nose.
" And Bridget and Veronica were contented, happy women ;
they looked at their husbands, and felt grateful for their noses.
Alas, and alas ! they knew not, dear souls, that they had bought
noses with lives. But so it was ; the poor fellows had been cut
so close to the quick, had been so shorn, that they could not
survive the treatment of the shears. In a word, sir, the yew-trees
died ; the husbands of Bridget and Veronica gave up leafing,
and in a short time became the bare, unprofitable things you
see them."
"And the women, sir, the maiden-widows of the yew-tree
lords ? "
S2S THE CHRONICLES 01' CLOVERNOOK
'' They saw no second spring. Their husbands had ceased to
shoot, and they dropt with the fall of their leaf. It is strange
that the dead, sapless trunks should have stood so long ; but,"
said the Hermit, " I take it, they are kindly preserved by fate as
lasting records of woman's wilfulness. To me, sir, these dry logs
are touching orators. Indeed, are they not preachers of great
counsel to what we jocosely call the gentle sex 1 "
" Counsel ! what counsel 1 "
" This," answered He of Bellyfulle ; " that come what may, a
woman should never risk the loss of a husband for the sake of
his nose."
We will not venture to declare that the Hermit was too
exhausted by the delivery of this truth to continue his talk ; we
think not. Nevertheless, we think that the story struck upon
some chord in his heart, and made him for a lime taciturn.
Indeed, in the matter of noses, the Hermit could hardly escape
suspicion ; there was much equivocation in the centre ofhisftice;
was it a nose, or was it not 1 Had he been a sufferer from the
caprice of the sex ? We are afraid so.
With slow and silent steps we trod Velvet Path, following the
silent Hermit. At length he paused before a barn. " There,"
said he, "there is another of our Clovernook ruins."
" A ruin ! " we cried. " Indeed, it seems a goodly barn, in
excellent, most perfect condition."
"True, sir, it seems so ; and yet is it a ruin : what think you
It once was 1 You cannot guess 1 Mint, hospital, or prison 1
Sir, it was a palace ; a kingly abiding-place. Monarchs were
crowned where now the folks of Clovernook thrash beans and
wheat."
" Indeed ! " we cried, and without a second thought were
passing on, when the Hermit paused, and laid his hand upon our
shoulder.
" Is not such a ruin," he asked, " of all antiquities most potent
in its call to the heart and the imagination 1 To me it seems to
hint the history of human kind. A palace and a barn ! How
far wex-e men from the palace when they first laboured the earth !
What changes of thought — what growth of energy — what subtlety
— what calculation — what playing of man against man — motive
against motive, — ere the king arose from among his fellows, and
clay was deified by clay ! What a leap from Adam's spade to
Solomon's sceptre ! Lingering here, dreaming on this spot, it
seems to me that I can almost see the growth of the world ; can
almost behold the advance and struggle of the race, from the
hour that all men tilled the earth, and tended flocks, to the first
(frowning of a king — a shepherd king i A 2>alace and a barn !
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. :i<>
" New is it an abiding-place for men wlio, ages elapsed, are the
things of ceremony ; who, the pastoral days long gone, live a life
of artificial wants, of artificial homage ; whose best enjoyment is
self-sacritice to pomp ; and now, time has run on, and the flail is
heard where royal trumpets sounded. The sons of Adam quit
fields and flocks to build a palace ; the king is anointed ; state
keeps its court ; death shoots his silent arrows ; ages pass, the
husbandman takes possession of the kingly palace, and winnows
grain where mouarchs held their sway. The palace turned to
the barn seems to make goodly reparation. Adam gets his own
again."
At length we reached the end of Velvet Path, which gently
winding brought us to the door of the Gratis, the one hostelry of
Cl'ivernook. A few of the villagers were at the door, and greeted
the Hermit with happy salutations ; for, as they declared, he had
been some time a stranger to them. " I should have come to the
cell to-morrow," said an old man, whose tvirbaned head and
expi-essive face made us curious to leam his history. " Who is
he ? " we a«kcd of the Hermit, as he turned into the Gratis.
" We call him Mahomet," answered the Sage. " In the outside
world he was a street-dealer in rhubarb."
" Mahomet ! Surely not a Turk 1 " we cried.
« Why not 1 " asked the Hermit. " We leave the battles of
creeds to the noisy, impudent world you come from. Here, in
Clovernook, no man seeks to thrust himself between his fellow
and Heaven."
" And have you a mosque in Clovernook ? If not, where does
your Turk worship ? "
" Did I not, from Gossip Hill, point out the place 1 We have
no other. There, all men, in their tuz-n, communicate with the
other world. There, all, in theii* turn, give place to one another ;
humility teaches them tolenince. No man here makes to himself
a trading property in human souls ; no man asserts for himself
exclusive freehold in heaven. You are yet young amongst us,
sir, and I see marvel at my words ; you will find them true
— true to the letter. Enough for the present ; come, I'll shovr
you to the parlour." We followed the Hermit, and in a few
moments found ourselves in a large apartment, in which were
about twenty persons seated in easy arm-chairs around a table.
'•My friend," said the Hermit, introducing us. All the company
rose, and bowing towards us, cried " Welcome." They then took
their seats, and instantly we felt as we were at home. As the
villagers will, in due time, introduce themselves, we shall not now
dwell upon their various characters. One man alone we will
speak of. He looked so old, and yet so purifi(_d from the stains
330 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
and marks of years, he seemed something more than mortal.
His face was smooth and tliin ; pale, too, as moonlight ; his
eyes were of a clear, deep, piercing grey, and his snow-white
hair, parted at the forehead, hung massively down his shoulders.
His smile was sweet and guileless as the smile of a babe. A
wreath of amaranth encircled his head. " Who is he ? " we
asked of the Hermit ; and the Sage answered, " He is the oldest
inhabitant."
At length, then, thought we, he is found ; at length we see in
the body that strange, mysterious person, whose experience at
times amazes a young and thoughtless generation. The Oldest
Inhabitant ! How often do we hear his voice, like the voice of the
cuckoo, coming to us from an unseen anatomy ! What garnered
knowledge must be his ! What hard frosts has he chronicled !
What times of scarcity — what days of fatness ! Now doth he
pass judgment upon gooseberries, declaring them to be the largest
within his memory ; now doth he the like service to hailstones !
And now precisely doth he measure the height of floods, and
now weigh the weight of spent thunder ! There is something
solemn, too, in the Oldest Inhabitant. He is the link between
the dead and the living : in the course of nature, the next to be
called fi'om among us : his place immediately supplied by a
second brother. Generations have gone, passed into the far
world, and left him here their solitary spokesman — -the one wit-
ness of the wonders that had birth among them. He remains
here to check the vanity of the present, by his testimony to the
past. Where would be all human experience without the Oldest
Inhabitant 1 Yet, surely, we thought — in no way discouraged
in our belief by the jjlacid, gentle looks of the venerable man at
the table — surely, the Oldest Inhabitant loves now and then
to pass oflf a joke upon his ignorant juniors. Yes ; antiquity likes
a hoax, and often, by its officer, the Oldest Inhabitant, puts off a
flam upon the unconscious and too confiding present. Such was
our thought ; and, in truth it was after well justified by the
practice ofthe white-haired sage at the board. No little boy ever
loved apples better than the Oldest Inhabitant loved a joke. In
his time, he had written much for the newspapers.
"You were talking, Master Cuttlefish," said the Hermit,
addressing a villager about fifty years old — a man with a remark-
ably blithe look, and ready manner. " Let us interrupt no tale,"
cried He of Bellyfulle.
" I was about to tell a little pen-and-ink experience ; an
incident that happened to me in my days of goose-quill," said
Cuttlefish ; from which I guessed that the speaker had driven
the dangerous trade of author.
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
331
" There is little in the story ; only, indeed, this much, that it
tauf^ht me to have some tolerance even for those of the very
worst report."
" Call you that little ? " cried the Hermit, " why, 'tis one of
the prime lessons of benignant man. Let us have the story.
But say, is it not a little chilly to-night ? Could we not bear
some heat, eh ] " Whereupon all called for a fire. The Oldest
Inhabitant rang a silver bell that stood upon the table ; when
instantly, a face that — in short, one of those feces that coming
suddenly upon startled man, fairly make him gasp at their
alarming beauty — looked in at the door. " S^eetlips," said the
Hermit, '• a fire." The girl nodded and again closed the door ;
but ere we could recover ourselves she again entered the room,
carrying a small faggot of cinnamon, which she laid upon the
hearth, and stooped to arrange some logs for kindling. Think
her thus occupied, whilst with dull, pale ink, we vainly try to
draw her beauty. Sweetlips — for such in Clovernook was her
name — had in her time been INIaid of Honour at the English
court : she- was still unmarried, and it was said, had renounced
the outside world, and become maid at the Gratis for the pure
love of independence. Kow, then, for her face. (The pen shakes
in our hand, as though conscious of the hopeless task wherein
we employ it.) Her face was beautifully feir — perfectly regular.
It ■^'as a dream of a rapt sculptor, incarnate and living. Talk of
music, the face seemed to breathe nothing but hannonious
sprightly thoughts. Her pretty forehead was a tablet that
seemed consecrated from the mark of age ; Time, with his
sacrilegious pen, should never mark one black line there.
It was living ivory, defying wrinkles. Her lips ! we almost
faint, putting down the monosyllable — her lips, scarlet as blood,
seemed pouting with unconscious wealth. Her eyes were of dark,
heart-devouring hazel ; with now a little love in them glancing
timidly about, and now a merry little devil. Her hair — if it was
hair — came bright and smoothly as light about her temples, and
hung in lustrous curls at her neck. Then her form ! "What
swelling ripeness ! Her waist — we could see it ; even the arm
of the Oldest Inhabitant appeared for a moment as it would
move towards it ; her step seemed to strike music from the
ground, — and then her foot ! — what man, with the heart of man,
would not have made that heart its cushion ? Her voice, too !
She spoke but three words, and for the next half-hour we were
listening to some delicious music. Her dress was of the prettiest,
quaintest fashion. She wore a white lawn boddice, laced with
silken lace before ; her gown was of dove colour ; and her snow-
white apron was curiously worked with fruits and flowers
332 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
around the border ; needle never wrouglit such delicate
similitudes.
" Sweetlips," said the Hermit, " to-night I'll take my tankard."
Whereupon the girl brought a large silver vessel of wonderful
workmanship, and with an eloquent smile placed it before the Sage
of Bellyfulle. He, with an affection almost fetherly, pinched
her cheek, and in his cordial voice wished that, die when
she would, it might be with a wedding-ring upon her finger.
" And now," said the Hermit, turning to Cuttlefish, " tell your
story."
" There is but little story in the matter," said Cuttle-
fish ; " it is nothing more than an incident of my goose-quill
days."
" Begin," cried the Hermit of Bellyfulle ; and immediately the
speaker obeyed.
" It had been my ill fortune to be called a genius by my dis-
criminating parents, who, hugging themselves in the possession
of such a treasure, would constantly remark that 1 did nothing like
any other boy. No matter what was the mischief, to their satisfiic-
tion I always contrived to give it an original turn that mightily
recommended the misdoing. My brothers were dull, stupid
fellows, who — I have heard my fiither declare it twenty times —
would never make a figure in the world. No ; it would be to me
— his youngest and only hope — that the name of Cuttlefish would
owe a lasting lustre. And this belief was as a religion to my poor
mother. Dear soul ! she once visited Westminster Abbey. She
had not been five minutes in Poets' Corner, before she burst into
tears, and was compelled to quit the place. At the earnest
enti-eaties of my fathei-, she, after a time, confessed the cause or
her emotion. She could not, she said, look at the statues of the
great people about her, without feeling that her dear Jacky
— myself— would one day stand among 'em. She couldn't help,
she said, the feelings of a mother ; and they had been too much
for her."
"Poor soul ! " cried the Hermit. " It is something, to be sure,
to the small pride of fleshly man to think of standing in an
attitude of eternal marble for all comers of all generations ; and
yet the halfpence taken for the show do somewhat jmgle a
discordance. They bring the dead philosopher of the Abbey
down to the living Spotted Boy of the caravan. ^ 'Tis making
Madam Tame the money-taker at a threepenny show. Perhaps,"
added the Hermit, with a smile, " 'twas this thought that touched
your mother into tears. Women jump like cats to conclusions ;
and the poor soul might have been shocked at the prospect of the
copper fee."
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 333
" Slie might," said Cuttlefish, " I cauuot say. It may, however
be some comfort to her spirit to know that I shall certainly
escape the degrndation. However, with this belief, that I should
irradiate the name of Cuttlefish, my parents let me follow my
own will, which at a very early age, developed itself towards
doing nothing. And, indeed, throughout my life, that, my first
bent, has ever held. My brothers, who were so very stupid,
and therefore fit for nothing, were early placed in tlie world,
and vindicated the truth of the parental opinion, by making their
fortunes. Tliey were dull blockheads, according to my father,
and so became men of wealth and influence by the very force
of their insensibility. Now I, who was brimful of genius, was
to do everything by some extraordinary hocus-pocus dreamt
of by my parents, but of which I, indeed, had not the remotest
knowledge. ' Leave Jack alone,' would still be my father's cry;
' he '11 make his way in the world — how can it be otherwise 1 he
has such wit ! ' Well, after spending my little patrimony — and
in its happy mode of outlay I may be permitted to observe
I showed a genius for ten thousand a year — and after losing
some year or two at bo-peep with bailiifs, you will judge of
my destitution when I tell you that I found myself reduced to
pen and ink. Oh, my friends ! there is a condition for the
human animal. Consider the outcast. The maker of matches
has a business ; nay, he is the possessor of a mystery. When he
has made his matches, there they are — tangible wood and
brimstone ; their merits open to the eye of cook and housemaid,
conscious of the excellence of his ware, the match-maker may
higgle gallantly for his price ; matches are things wanted in the
commerce of life ; it is no diflicult task to recommend their
utility to the world, alive as it is to the worth of firelight. But
books ! their worth is a matter of fancy, say of weakness, to the
weaker part of mankind ; they have no standard value, none, at
their birth. Hence, the unknown maker of a book — I speak
especially of the time when I first sinned in ink — is a sort of
gipsy in tlie social scale ; a picturesque vagabond, who some-
how or the other contrives to live on the sunny side of the
statutes, but is nevertheless A'ehemently suspected of all sorts of
larceny by respectable householders. Shall I ever forget the
uneasiness, the look of distrust from my landlady, when first
the alarming truth fell upon her, that her three-pair room
sheltered an author — or rather, an author in the shell, for as
then I had hatched nothing, but was only sitting upon foolscap ?
Good soul ! in a flutter of concern,she told me that that very room
had been tenanted, for three long years, by an honest journey-
man tailor, whose rent was regular as the Saturday. She looked
334 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERXOOK.
at me from head to heel, and said she hoped that all was right ;
though I could perceive that she spoke in the very forloi-nness of
the feeling. And, after all, the woman had truth upon her
side. Her tenant tailor had an allowed business ; was a
recognised necessity by fallen man ; was moreover one of a
worshipful guild ; an artificer whose cunning administered to
human pride ; whose handiwork was all-in-all to worldly
triumphs. For instance, what would be a coronation without
a tailor ? What would be man, left to nothing more than sheep-
skins and parrots' plumes ? Hence, the woman, in her strong
sense of the decencies of life, acknowledged the vital use of the
labourer of the needle ; hence, when she learnt that I only dealt
in pen and ink, she looked upon me as a sort of vagabond con-
juror ; a white wizard, whose very money — if ever she saw it
— might be of doubtful origin. Shillings got out of an inkstand,
she could hardly look upon as good mint coin : and for this
reason, she could not comprehend how any man, by mere pen,
ink, and paper, could give value received for the ready
cash. Now the tailor's work was plain : a pair of breeches
was a tangible thing ; and spoke as it were common sense
to the common sense of man and womankind. But author-
ship ! Alas, how small to the breeches was a tale in verse !"
" Eight, very right," said the Oldest Inhabitant. " I can
remember in the days of my youth that people who dealt in
pen and ink were made to live in a quarter of the city by
themselves, for fear the rest of the inhabitants should catch
their disorder. They were set apart, like folks in a fever.
And it was good policy, that — very good. Notwithstanding,
the disease would now and then spread. Indeed, a few foolish
people went so far as to say that some babies were born with it."
And here the Oldest Inhabitant gave a soft, flute-like chuckle,
and then was silent.
" There I was, the born genius, as my begetters had averred,"
said Cuttlefish, " with wit enough to turn the world, destitute,
penniless. Can I cease to remember the blanlc, hopeless look,
with which, for an hour and more, I sat for tlie first time gazing
at the blank paper ! Then I rose from my wooden chair, and
approached my chamber-window. I looked down into the street.
There were coaches, and waggi ins, and drays, and carts — a
thousand passing evidences of wealth and commerce. They all
belong to somebody, said I. There — I would fency — goes
a phj'sician in his carriage to sell Latin jjromises of health.
There, the merchant to his counting-house ; there, the lawyer
to his office ; there, too, a fellow cries rabbits ; and there, at
yonder corner, sits an old woman vending pippins. Look where
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 335
I will, I see uo one who has not a wherewithal — a something to
trade upon : real chattels, speaking to the dullest sense. And mj
stock in trade, thought I, with a despairing fall of the
heart, is words ; mere syllables. Alas ! in the humility of my
soul, I would have exchanged my richest stock for the slippers
hawked by an old Levite past my door. Man can understand the
worth of shoe-leather, when the best written foolscap shall be to
him as waste-paper. Humbled by these thoughts, I returned
to my chair ; and again gazing on the barren sheet, groaned with
sorrow that I had been born the genius of my house. How I
chided fate that had not made me like my brothers, dull fellows
—fools ! "
" Come to your story," said the Hermit, impatiently appealing
to his tankard. " What were the first doings of your maiden
quill 1 "
"You shall hear," said Cuttlefish. "I know not how long I
sat with my skull clasped by my hands, trying with all my
might to conjure my brains. However, I was at length aroused
by a sharp knuckle rap at my door ; which then opened, and a
gentleman — as he appeared to me — of great dignity of manner,
entered the room. Pray, sir, I asked with growing confidence, for
I saw the man could not be a bailifi", ' To whom do I owe the
honour of this ^nsit 1 ' "
" ' As for my name, sir,'replied the stranger, with a melancholy
smile, ' you know it well, though at present we will speak no
further of it. You deal in pen and ink. I have a little job for
you.' Saying this, the stranger laid aside his cloak, and displayed
a very beautiful court-suit of black. His ruffles and cravat were
of the most superb lace ; and his finger bore a diamond, which
shone like a little sun in the room, drawing my eye with it
wherever it moved. He was in every I'espect most richly
appointed, yet was there nothing in his bravery of the coxcomb.
He must be a cabinet-minister was my first belief ; and then I
thought, perhaps, a quack doctor."
"Did you not ask his name ? " inquired the Hermit.
" Yes," answered Cuttlefish ; " but his first re])ly was only a
smile, and a gentle shake of the head. Then he said, ' Oh ! never
mind my name — you have heard of me, who shall say how many
times ? ' Then he drew himself a chair, and took a seat by the fire,
which, for lack of fuel, was fast dying in the grate. Seeing this,
he took the fragment of a poker, for it was no more, in his hand,
and asking with the blandest smile — ' Will you allow me ? ' —
thrust it among the dying cinders. Instantaneously they blazed
up, casting a brilliant light throughout the room. 'Bless me,' I
cried, 'I thought the fire was out.' Whereupon the stranger, with
3:56 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
the same sweet, yet strange smile, briefly remarked — ' Nothing
like poking ! ' Then my visitor again looked melancholy — again
was silent. At length, I observed — 'You said, sir, something
about a job : of what character 1 A piece of large history — or
merely a little bit of private scandal ? '
" ' Not that — not that,' said the stranger, with slight emotion.
*I have suffered too much from the scandal of the world ;
have too keeuly felt its wickedness to inflict it even upon a
beggar. The truth is, I came here to hire you to pen my
defence.'
" ' Alas, sir ! ' I cried, ' what have you done ? ' The stranger
merely shook his head, and drew a deep, deep sigh. ' With what
are you chai-ged ? ' I demanded.
" ' With everything,' answered my visitor ; ' that is with every-
thing which the world calls wicked.'
" At these words, I leapt from ray chair.
" ' But, sir,' said the stranger, taking a handkerchief from his
pocket, and passing it gently across his eyes, ' but, sir, though I
do not wish to pass myself off as a pattern person, I am neverthe-
less cruelly slandered. Look here, sir,' and to my astonishment,
my visitor drew a large folio from his coat-pocket. ' Be good
enough to run your eye along that passage.'
" I did so, and read as follows : — ' Whereupon the old woman
upon being questioned, confessed that the Devil had appeared to her
in the shape of a black cat ; that he p)romised her poioer over all
things; and v.pon such promise, she became a tcitch. This
happened at eleven at night, on the lUh of October, in the
year .
" ' Now, sir,' said the stranger, ' I am prepared to show the
falsehood of every syllable of the old woman's story.'
"'You prove 1 ' I cried ; and then it immediately came into my
mind that the unhappy gentleman was lunatic ; and that it was
his peculinr disorder — dreadful malady ! — to believe himself no
other than the Wicked One. Or, perhaps, thought T, he may be
some poor hypochondriacal creature, who tvill be Beelzebub, and
nobody else. I have heard of folks thinking themselves into tea-
pots — of insisting upon lowering themselves to mean and base
vessels ; with this man, the disease may have worked ambitiously.
Hence, poor creature ! he may be a demon in his own conceit ;
and for a time, it may be humane to humour him. ' Then, sir,'
I said to my visitor, 'there is no truth in tlie old gentlewoman's
story 1 You were not bargaining with the witch on the
night of '
" ' I can prove an alibi,' cried the stranger, with some vehe-
mence. 'Oa that very night, I was closetted with a cei-tain
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. S37
minister of state, whose name, by the way, I must beg leave to
suppress — making a bargain between him and a noble duke, for
a vacant garter. And yet, sir, you must remark the grossness of
the libel. It is therein written that I appeared as a black cat ;
that I visited a wretched old crone in a miserable, degrading
disguise, a,s though ashamed of myself. Infamous scandal, sir !
I tell you, at that very time I was in my own person talking to
one of the first men of the land ; to a man of wealth and educa-
tion ; to one who had taken all sorts of honours at college ; to
one whose eloquence would lead away senates captive ; whose
keen logic would split hairs as a bill-hook would split logs. It
was with him, sir — with him, the noble and enlightened — that
I was chatting the whole of the night ; and yet it is set down in
that folio that I was wasting precious time, and forgetting what
was due to myself, by masquerading it with some mumpish har-
ridan as a black cat. Upon my word,' said the stranger, with a
look of injury — ' if men affect to despise my principles, they
might respect my taste. The truth is, they commit all sorts of
shameful deeds, .and then lay the temptation upon my shoulders.
Be it murder, or be it robbery of a hen-roost, I am called the
wicked instigator of the enormity ; when the assassin and the
thief had nobody but themselves to thank for the evil-doing. It
is, sir, upon this point that I wish the aid of your pen to set ma
right with the world.'
(" It is clear, thought I, the man is mad. Poor fellow ! But
I'll hear his story out.")
" ' Look here, sir,' said he, and again he dived into his coat
pocket ; again he jjulled forth another large folio. * Read this,'
he said.
" Obediently, I took the volume, and read the passage to
which the stranger's finger pointed ; it ran thus — ' Furthermore
it was a common report that when any gentleman or lord came
to see the Lord of Oi-ne, they were entertained (as they thought)
very honourably, being served with all sorts of dainty fare and
exquisite dishes, as if he had not spared to make them the best
cheer that might be. But at their departure they that thought
themselves well refreshed found their stomachs empty, and
almost pined for want of food, having neither eaten nor drank
anything, save in imagination only ; and it is to be thought that
their horses fared no better than their masters. It happened
one day that a certain lord being departed from his house, one
of his men having left something behind, returned to the castle,
and entering suddenly into the hall where they dined a little
before, he espied a monkey beating very sorely the master of the
nouse that had feasted them of late ! And there be others that
z
338 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
say that he hath been seen through the chink of a door, lying
on a table upon his belly, and a monkey scourging him very
strangely ; to whom he should say, — Let me alone, — let me
alone ; wilt thou always torment me thus 1 '
" ' Now, sir,' said the stranger, with a piteous look, ' you at
once apprehend the monkey — you know for whom he is intended ? '
" ' It is no difficult matter to guess,' said I.
" ' Upon my honour,' said the stranger, rising from his seat,
and speaking with difficulty from emotion, 'upon my honour,
whatever may have been the parts I have acted, I never yet
appeared as a monkey ; never, sir : the accusation is only one
of the ten thousand falsehoods concerning me that men have
invented to disguise the wicked deeds of their own fi-ee spirits.
I ask, wherefore monkey ? What should I have gained by so
base, so low a disguise ? Besides, why should I have taken the
trouble to visit the Lord of Orne 1 "Would it not have been
more reasonable to wait till his lordsliip came to me 1 '
" Poor fellow ! again I thought — he is very mad indeed !
"'Look here, again, sir,' said the stranger, and he took
another, a smaller book, from his pocket. ' Eead here : more
scandal,'
" Taking the volume from his hand, I read as follows : ' There
was a conjuror at Salzburg, that vaunted that he could gather all
the serpents within half-a-mile round about into a ditch, and
feed them and bring them up there ; and being about the
experiment, behold the old and grand serpent came in the while,
which whilst the conjuror thought by the force of his charms to
make it enter the ditch among the rest, he set upon and inclosed
him round about like a girdle so strongly, that he drew the
conjuror into the ditch with him, where he miserably died.'
" ' The fellow's foot slipped,' said the stranger. ' May I die for
ever if I had any hand in it : and then for the story of the
serpent — but never mind ; please to look at this.' With this
the stranger took another folio from his pocket. Opening it
upon the table, he pointed to a paragraph, and in the mUdest
voice, said ' Lege.^ I obeyed.
" ' It was, in truth, a very lamentable spectacle that happened
to the governor of Macon, a magician, whom the Devil snatched
up in dinner-while, and hoisted aloft, carrying him three times
about the town of Macon in the presence of many beholders, to
whom he cried in this manner — Help ! help ] my friends ! so
that the whole town stood amazed thereat. Yea, and the
remembrance of this strange accident sticketh at this day fast in
the minds of all the inhabitants of the country ; and they say
that this wi'etch, having given himself to the Devil, proAdded
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 339
himself •with store of holy bread, which he always carried about
with him, thinking thereby to cheat him ; but, in truth, it
served in no stead, as his end declared.'
" ' "What think you of that 1 ' asked the stranger. ' Do you
mark the folly, the useless labour they put upon me ? Why
should I have taken the trouble of carrying the governor three
times about the town, when I had but to wait patiently for him
— to bide my time, as you worldly people say, and he mztst have
found me ? Besides, what an ass does the scandal-monger make
me ! Is it likely that I should so forget my own interest as to
make so public an example of my victim 1 . "Was that the way,
think you, to draw other folks in ? But there, there is the
blundering of the chroniclers. Xow, they call me all sorts of
names to show my cunning ; and now they make me do tricks
that would disgrace a fool. Why can't they be consistent ? '
" Yes ; the jsoor man is certainly mad, again and again I said
to myself ; though, to confess the truth, when I saw him dive
his hands into his pockets, and draw from them huge folios,
I did, desjrite of myself, feel a strange fear — a creeping terror.
" * Bead here ! ' he cried ; ' 'tis, I know, a well-known story ;
yet read it, that I may, as your law-makers have it, explain.'
" Obediently I read.
" ' Cornelius Agi-ipjia, a great student in magic, and a man
both famous by his own works and others' report, for his necro-
mancy, went always accompanied with the Devil in the similitude
of a black dog. But when his time of death drew near, and he
was urged to repentance, he took off the enchanted collar fi-om
the dog's neck, and sent him away with these terms, — Get thee
hence, thou cursed beast, which hast utterly destroyed '/ne. And the
dog was never after seen.'
" ' "What think you of that ? ' asked the stranger, with a slight
sneer. ' Why there never was a greater flam. I knew Cornelius
Agrippa very well.'
" ' Indeed ! ' I cried, with increasing uneasiness, which never-
theless I endeavoured to conceal. ' What sort of a man may he
have been ? '
" 'An excellent person ; and for his dog — poor, faithful creature,
it was the very fidelity of tlie animal that made him suspected
by the hard-judging world : it was his very excellence that drew
the scandal down upon him. The dog was incorruptible, and
therefore, said men, the Devil was in him.'
" 'And you knew Cornelius Agrippa ? ' I ventured again
to ask.
" ' That is,' answered the stranger, ' I wanted to know him. I
knew his worldly misei ies ; I knew the contempt and lies that
340 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
were visited upon him. I knew him an outcast fi-om liis fellows,
spurned, hated by them ; yet with a stout and constant spirit
working for the lasting delights of those who persecuted him. I
knew all this ; and then, indeed, I tempted him, as I have
tempted others of his tribe, with ease, with wealth, with all the
sounding, hollow music of the world ; but Cornelius laughed at
me and my promises ; took his staff, whistled to his dog, and
trudged securely about the world, though at every footstep its
dwellers would have stoned him. To be sure I had this delight.
I found that his dog had brought a bad name upon his master :
that was something.'
"'Poor Cornelius ! ' cried I.
"'Nay,' said the stranger, 'not for the evil that it did to
Cornelius, but to those who reviled and hunted him. Do you
not see — I know the truth — that the malice garnered in the souls
of the persecutors is of more worth to me than the suffering of
the persecuted ? On one hand, I have wickedness and folly
working in ten thousand hearts ; that is sin by wholesale. Think
5"ou, when the martyr roasts at the stake, that it is his pains I
delight in ? No : it is the rejoicing of the men who have doomed
him to the fate ; it is the ferocious happiness of the multitude
that makes my delight — it is — '
" I started from the stranger, who, recalled to himself by my
agitation, mildly said — ' To return to Cornelius Agrippa. To the
last he rejected my friendship ; and though it has passed from
mouth to mouth among men that he and I did business together,
it is not the truth. With his stout heart he spurned me ; and
so, I confess it, out of pure spite, I contrived to fastea a bad
name upon his black dog.'
" ' Poor malice, indeed,' I cried.
" 'Why, yes,' said the stranger ; ' but it has served its pui-pose ;
and, happily for my interest, there are few men — I mean the
"men in advance of the millions — who, by the beautiful falsehood
of the world, have not all of them been charged with black dogs
of some sort.' Saying this, the stranger lightly laughed.
" 'And now, sir, may I ask your precise business with me ? '
I asked, all the while feeling that I was closeted with a madman ;
though at the same time not unvisited by strange thoughts,
which, however thick and fast they came, I strove to master.
" ' Have patience,' said the stranger, ' let me first supply you
with your materials.'
" Hereupon the stranger, fast as he could, dipped both hands
into his pockets, drawing therefrom folios, quartos — in truth,
books of all dimensions, dropping them upon the ground, fast as
hail-stones. As volume after volume fell, my blood became
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 341
colder and colder, my hair stood up like wire ; I sat in my
chair motionless as though, caught in a trap. "With every
moment I became more and more assured that I was giving
audience to something siipernatural, if not to the great fiend
himself. In my confused horror, I asked myself, is he a doomed
bookseller 1 — and then there was a remarkable intelligence in
his face that gave no warranty of such a belief. At length, he
seemed to have emptied his pockets, and stood up to the shoulders
amid a heap of volumes.
" At last, I was able to stammer, ' And do all those books
contain something about you ? '
" ' All ; and ten thousand thousand more,' answered the fiend,
for it was he indeed. ' It has still been the trick, the injustice
of man, to shuffle off the rascalities of his nature upon my
shoulders. For thousands of years have I borne this injustice ;
but I will no longer endure with meekness the sins that really
and truly belong to man himself. I wiU no longer be made the
stupid blundering hero of his fireside tales ; no longer be turned
into all shapes, foolish, base, and contemptible, to excuse his
ends. No : though, to confess it, I hate printer's ink as I hate
the glory of the sun, nevertheless I will, I must, fight man with
his own diz'ty missiles ; and will, therefore, print a book. It is,
I am aware, a miserable strait to be reduced to, — a condition I
little dreamt of when I was wont to dodge John Gutenburg
about the streets of Mentz, and now and then stand beneath his
eaves, listing the first creakings of his virgin press. I little
thought that I should be brought to this pass ; but so it is : my
best weapon is now a fine, bold type. I have chosen you ' — and
here the fiend gave the nod of a patron — ' to do my work.'
"With much labour did I assure the fiend, that I was wholly
unworthy of the distinction. 'Why not take the job to some
experienced quill ? '
" ' No,' answered the fiend, ' I would rather intrust myself to
your simplicity. You are yet obscure, unknown ; and will for
a time be docile : I say for a time, for when the book shall have
won you a reputation, you will be as insolent and as unmanageable
as the rest of them. How many authors have I in my time set
up ! and how shamefully have they rewarded me ! ' Here the
fiend ran over a bead-roll of names from Faustus to but no
matter, making out a strong case of thanklessness against one
and all of them. 'Now you,' he said, 'will, I doubt not, finish
what I want before you are quite spoiled. Here, as I said,' and
he looked at the mountain of volumes, * are a few of your
materials. I will, as you proceed, bring you more.'
" I shuddered as I glanced at the crushing heap of books. ' A
342 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
few of the materials ! ' I cried ; ' why, 'twill take me a life to go
through them ; for, to say the truth, I am a slow reader.'
" ' You'll find the labour nothing,' said the fiend, ' for I have
doubled down the leaves at all the strong bits of scandal, and
have pencilled my refutation in the margin. All that will be
wanted from you, will be to put the matter into nice clear
English, fit even for families. I could do it myself, but truly, I
am not confident as to the pui'ity of my language. I know some-
thing of all tongues, to be sure, quite well enough to speak ; but
not, I fear, to write. I was once very well skilled in the dead
tongues, but, for want of practice, I feel myself now and then at
fault in them. My Coptic is qiute gone ; but I have contrived
to keep up :ny Hebrew talking with the stock-jobbers and
money-lenders.'
" ' And pray,' I ventured to ask, ' what is your favourite
language of all the modern ? '
" ' I talk a great deal of French ; indeed, without vanity, I
may say it — I think I have the true Parisian accent. Not that
I have had cause to neglect my English — oh, dear no ; I talk
much English, and let me tell you, to some of the very highest
people. I know, the prejudice runs that I delight in low
company ; that my especial haunts are alleys, cellai'S, filthy places
that even make me stop my nose to think of them. Having an
interest in all human life, I certainly do at times visit such places,
but I am just as often — nay, oftener — to be found in boudoirs,
in statesmen's closets, and royal di'awing-rooms. But to business.
You will immediately get on with your work,' and the fiend
pointed to the work.
" ' Upon my soul,' I cried with vehemence, ' I had rather
you took it somewhere else ; I shall make nothing of it ; you'll
only suffer in my hands.'
" ' But, look here,' said the fiend ; and opening a volume where
a leaf was turned, he read as follows : — ' The poor child, possessed
by the Devil, vomited nothing but bits of glass, crooked pins, and
died at midnight.' ' Observe my note upon this,' said the fiend.
' At the very time I am set down as doing this mischief upon some
babe or suckling, I was — here I have written it — supjiing with
Pope Leo the Tenth. And so throughout. You will find that
my defence consists in a round of alibis. You will find — and it
is in such spirit that I wish you to enforce the lesson — that what
men falsely, fraudfully, foolishly call the instigation of the Devil,
the temptation of the Devil, the prompting of the Devil, the
work of the DevU, is no other than the antics of their own stupid,
stubborn, headlong passion. It is thus the repentant pickpocket
vows that it was I who crooked his fingex iav the theft — the
THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. 343
murderer swears 'twas I who gave him his weapon — the adulterer,
that 'twas I who burned in his veins, and made him spirit oflF his
neighbour's wife. All lies, all wilful hypocrisy, fathered upon
me, who am determined to put up with the calumny no longer ;
and for this reason, I shall be just as sure of those who do a
wrong as if I bore the shame of tempting them to the iniquity.
I shall have them still, with the proper credit of theu' coming
to me impressed, iminvited. Therefore, you will immediately
fi'om these and from the other books I will bring you, write my
defence.'
" ' Will you have it in a folio 1 ' I faintiugly asked.
" ' Certainly not,' said the fiend ; ' a small pocket-book for my
money. Let me see ; properly condensed 'twiU make two nice
volumes. I shall pay you handsomely. I will give you a hundi-ed
guineas for the work.' "
" And pray," asked the Hermit of Bellyfulle, " did you ever
write the book 1 "
" Never," said Cuttlefish with emphasis, " never wrote a single
line."
" And why not ? " inquired the sage.
" Because, would you believe it," cried Cuttlefish with a roaring
laugh, " because the Devil was ass enough to pay me fifty guineas
in advance."
And now the meetings at the " Gratis" are no more. The hostelry
itself is closed, found to be unlicensed by the prim propriety of
the world. The Hermit has wandex'ed we know not whither.
Now and then his wise, happy, cordial spirit seems to visit knots
of men gathered together, who sit the sometime jurjTuen upon the
faults and follies of the earth ; when he asserts the influence
of his benevolent soul in the broad charity of the verdict. Yes ;
we must hug the belief that the Hei-mit is stiU a pilgrim among
men, though, like some kaiser out upon a holiday, he travels
unknown.
And Clovernook 1 It is gone ; wiped out of the map of the
earth. Even as some scene, bright with the hues of the land of
di'eams, the wonder-work of the golden-handed Clarksouius
Stanfieldius, is blanked and blotted out, that its whitened web
may bear, it may be, a cold lodging-house or a colder prison, — so
is Clovernook but a place that \fp.a ; a hamlet wherein fancy has
loitered away a truant hour ; loitered, to be called back to the
hard bricks and mortar that carry rent-charge ; to the real
world gaol locked and grated by Mulcibcr Convention. A gaol
344 THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK. "
wherein man, witli his nose at the bars, will nevertheless see
some sort of Clovernook beyond. No unjust sentence ; no keeper
Fortune, no turnkey Circumstance can blind his brain to that
fancy land. He will enjoy it : it is the hei'itage of the imperial
soul of man : and therefore — though a thiug of dreams — far
more enduring than the bricks of Babylon.
END OF THE CHRONICLES OF CLOVERNOOK.
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