PEARL-FISHING 
 
 CHOICE STORIES. 
 
 FROM 
 
 FIRST SERIES, 
 
 AUBURN: 
 ALDEN, BEARDSLEY <fc CO, 
 
 ROCHESTER: 
 WANZER, BEARDSLEY & CO. 
 
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 
 
 ALDEN, BEARDSLEY & CO., 
 In the Clerk's Office of the Northern District of New York. 
 
 Stereotyped by 
 THOMAS B. SMITH, 
 216 William St., N.Y. 
 

 nnHE following Stories are selected from that ad- 
 mirable publication, " DICKENS' HOUSEHOLD 
 WORDS." 
 
 That work has had a smaller circulation in this 
 country than its merits entitle it to, in consequence 
 of its being issued in such form as to make it trouble- 
 some to preserve the numbers, and have them bound. 
 Many of its papers, too, are of local and somewhat 
 temporary interest, which scarcely touches the popular 
 mind of American readers. It is believed, therefore, 
 that judicious selections from its pages, embracing 
 some of its best stories, in which the hand of the 
 master is readily discerned, will be welcomed with 
 delight in many a home in which the name of DICKENS 
 has become as " familiar as household words." 
 
I. 
 
 SEYEKAL years ago, I made a tour through. 
 some of the Southern Counties of England 
 with a friend. "We travelled in an open carriage, 
 stopping for a few hours a day, or a week, as it 
 might be, wherever there was anything to be 
 seen; and we generally got through one stage 
 before breakfast, because it gave our horses rest, 
 and ourselves the chance of enjoying the brown 
 bread, new milk, and fresh eggs of those country 
 road-side inns, which are fast becoming subjects 
 for archaeological investigation. 
 
 One evening my friend said, " To-morrow we 
 will breakfast at T - . I want to inquire about 
 a family named Lovell, who used to live there. I 
 met the husband and wife, and two lovely chil- 
 dren, one summer at Exmouth. "We became 
 
8 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 very intimate, and I thought them particularly 
 interesting people, but I have* never seen them 
 since." 
 
 The next morning's sun shone as brightly as 
 heart could desire, and after a delightful* drive, 
 we reached the outskirts of the town about nine 
 o'clock. 
 
 "Oh, what a pretty inn!" said I, as we ap- 
 proached a small white house, with a sign swing- 
 ing in front of it, and a flower-garden on one 
 side. 
 
 " Stop, John," cried my friend, " we shall get a 
 much cleaner breakfast here than in the town, I 
 dare say ; and if there is anything to be seen there, 
 we can walk to it;" so we alighted, and were 
 shown into a neat little parlor, with white cur- 
 tains, where an unexceptionable rural breakfast 
 was soon placed before us. 
 
 " Pray do you happen to know anything of a 
 family called Lovell ?" inquired my friend, whose 
 name, by the way, was Markham. " Mr. LoveU 
 was a clergyman." 
 
LOADED DICE. 9 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am," answered the girl who attended 
 us, apparently the landlord's daughter, " Mr. Lov- 
 ell is the vicar of our parish." 
 
 " Indeed ! and does he live near here ?" 
 
 " Yes, Ma'am, he lives at the vicarage. It 's just 
 down that lane opposite, about a quarter of a mile 
 from here ; or you can go across the fields, if you 
 please, to where you see that tower ; it 's close by 
 there." 
 
 "And which is the pleasantest road?" inquired 
 Mrs. Markham. 
 
 "Well, Ma'am, I think by the fields is the 
 pleasantest, if you don't mind a stile or two ; and, 
 besides, you get the best view of the Abbey by 
 going that way." 
 
 " Is that tower we see part of the Abbey?" 
 
 "Yes, Ma'am," answered the girl, "and the 
 vicarage is just the other side of it." 
 
 Armed with these instructions, as soon as we 
 had finished our breakfast we started across the 
 fields, and after a pleasant walk of twenty minutes 
 we found ourselves in an old churcnyard, amongst 
 
10 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 a cluster of the most picturesque ruins we had 
 ever seen. With the exception of the gray tower, 
 we had espied from the inn, and which had doubt- 
 less been the belfry, the remains were not consid- 
 erable. There was the outer wall of the chancel, 
 and the broken step that had led to the high altar, 
 and there were sections of aisles, and part of a 
 cloister, all gracefully festooned with mosses and 
 ivy ; whilst mingled with the grass-grown graves 
 of the prosaic dead, there were the massive tombs 
 of the Dame Margerys and the Sir Hildebrands of 
 more romantic periods. All was ruin 'and decay, 
 but such poetic rum! such picturesque decay! 
 And just beyond the tall gray tower, there was 
 the loveliest,- smiling, little garden, and the pretti- 
 est cottage, that imagination could picture. The 
 day was so bright, the grass so green, the flowers 
 so gay, the air so balmy with their sweet per- 
 fumes, the birds sang so cheerily in the apple and 
 cherry trees, that all nature seemed rejoicing. 
 
 "Well," said my friend, as she seated herself on 
 the fragment of a pillar, and looked around her, 
 
LOADED DICE. 11 
 
 "now that I see this place, I understand what sort 
 of people the Lovells were." 
 
 " What sort of people were they?" said I. 
 
 " Why, as I said before, interesting people. In 
 the first place, they were both extremely hand- 
 some." 
 
 " But the locality had nothing to do with their 
 good looks, I presume," said I. 
 
 "I am not sure of that," she answered; "when 
 there is the least foundation of taste or intellect to 
 set out with, the beauty of external nature, and 
 the picturesque accidents that harmonize with it, 
 do, I am persuaded, by their gentle and elevating 
 influence on the mind, make the handsome hand- 
 somer, and the ugly less ugly. But it was not 
 alone the good looks of the Lovells that struck 
 me, but their air of refinement and high breeding, 
 and I should say high birth though I know 
 nothing about their extraction combined with 
 their undisguised poverty and as evident content- 
 ment. Now, I can understand such people finding 
 here an appropriate home, and being satisfied with 
 
12 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 their small share of this world's goods; because 
 here the dreams of romance writers about Love in 
 a Cottage might be somewhat realized; poverty 
 might be graceful and poetical here; and then, 
 you know, they have no rent to pay." 
 
 "Very true," said I; "but suppose they had 
 sixteen daughters, like a half-pay officer I once 
 met on board a steam-packet ?" 
 
 "That would spoil it certainly," said Mrs. 
 Markham; "but let us hope they have not. 
 "When I knew them they had only two children, a 
 boy and a girl called Charles and Emily ; two of 
 the prettiest creatures I ever beheld!" 
 
 As my friend thought it yet rather early for a 
 visit, we had remained chattering in this way for 
 more than an hour, sometimes seated on a tomb- 
 stone, or a fallen column ; sometimes peering 
 amongst the carved fragments that were scattered 
 about the ground, and sometimes looking over the 
 hedge into the little garden, the wicket of which 
 was immediately behind the tower. The weather 
 being warm, most of the windows of the vicarage 
 
LOADED DICE. 13 
 
 were open and the blinds were all down ; we had 
 not yet seen a soul stirring, and were wondering 
 whether we might venture to present ourselves at 
 the door, when a strain of distant music struck 
 upon our ears. "Hark!" I said, "how exquisite! 
 It was the only thing wanting to complete the 
 charm." 
 
 " It 's a military band, I think," said Mrs. Mark- 
 ham, " you know we passed some barracks before 
 we reached the Inn." 
 
 Nearer and nearer drew the sound, solemn and 
 slow ; the band was evidently approaching by the 
 green lane that skirted the fields we had come by. 
 "Hush," said I, laying my hand on my friend's 
 arm, with -a strange sinking of the heart ; " they 
 are playing the Dead March in Saul ! Don't you 
 hear the muffled drums? It's a funeral, but 
 where 's the grave ?" 
 
 "There," said she, pointing to a spot close 
 under the hedge where some earth had been 
 thrown up ; but the aperture was covered with a 
 plank, probably to prevent accidents. 
 
14 PEARL -FISHING. 
 
 There are few ceremonies in life at once so 
 touching, so impressive, so sad, and yet so beauti- 
 ful, as a soldier's funeral ! Ordinary funerals with 
 their unwieldy hearses and feathers, and the ab- 
 surd looking mutes, and the "inky cloaks" and 
 weepers of hired mourners, always seem to me like 
 a mockery of the dead ; the appointments border 
 so closely on the grotesque ; they are so little in 
 keeping with the true, the only view of death that 
 can render life endurable ! There is such a tone 
 of exaggerated, forced, heavy, over-acted gravity 
 about the whole thing, that one had need to have 
 a deep personal interest involved in the scene, to 
 be able to shut one's eyes to the burlesque side of 
 it. But a military funeral, how different ! There 
 you see death in life and life in death ! There is 
 nothing over-strained, nothing overdone. At once 
 simple and silent, decent and decorous, consoling, 
 yet sad. The chief mourners, at best, are gener- 
 ally true mourners, for they have lost a brother 
 with whom "they sat but yesterday at meat ;" and 
 whilst they are comparing memories, recalling 
 
LOADED DICE. 15 
 
 how merry they had many a day been together, 
 and the solemn tones of that sublime music float 
 upon the air, we can imagine the freed and satis- 
 fied soul wafted on those harmonious breathings to 
 its Heavenly home; and our hearts are melted, 
 our imaginations exalted, our faith invigorated, and 
 we come away the better for what we have seen. 
 
 I believe some such reflections as these were 
 passing through our minds, for we both remained 
 silent and listening, till the swinging-to of the lit- 
 tle wicket, which communicated with the garden, 
 aroused us ; but nobody appeared, and the tower 
 being at the moment betwixt us and it, we could 
 not see who had entered Almost at the same 
 moment, a man came from a gate on the oppo- 
 site side, and advancing to where the earth was 
 thrown up, lifted the plank, and discovered the 
 newly-made grave. He was soon followed by 
 some boys, and several respectable-looking persons 
 came into the enclosure, whilst nearer and nearer 
 drew the sound of the muffled drums, and now we 
 descried the firing party and their officer, who led 
 
16 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 the procession with their arms reversed, each man 
 wearing above the elbow a piece of black crape 
 and a small bow of white satin ribbon ; the band 
 still playing that solemn strain. Then came the 
 coffin, borne by six soldiers. Six officers bore up 
 the pall, all quite young men ; and on the coffin 
 lay the shako, sword, side-belt, and white gloves 
 of the deceased. A long train of mourners 
 marched two and two, in open file, the privates 
 first, the officers last. Sorrow was imprinted on 
 every face ; there was no unseemly chattering, 
 no wandering eyes ; if a word was exchanged, it 
 was in a whisper, and the sad shake of the head 
 showed of whom they were discoursing. All this 
 we observed as they marched through the lane 
 that skirted one side of the churchyard. As they 
 neared the gate the band ceased to play. 
 
 " See there," said Mrs. Markham, directing my 
 attention to the cottage, "there comes Mr. Lovell. 
 Oh, how he is changed!' 7 and whilst she spoke, 
 the clergyman entering by the wicket, advanced 
 to' meet the procession at the gate, where he com- 
 
LOADED DICE. 17 
 
 menoed reading the funeral service as he moved 
 backwards towards the grave, round which the 
 firing party, leaning on their firelocks, now 
 formed. Then came those awful words, " Ashes 
 to ashes, dust to dust," the hollow sound of the 
 earth upon the coffin, and three volleys fired over 
 the grave, finished the solemn ceremony. 
 
 "When the procession entered the churchyard, 
 we had retired behind the broken wall of the 
 chancel, whence, without being observed, we had 
 watched the whole scene with intense interest. 
 Just as the words, " Ashes to ashes ! dust to dust I" 
 were pronounced, I happened to raise my eyes 
 towards the gray tower, and then, peering through 
 one of the narrow slits, I saw the face of a man 
 such a face ! Never to my latest day can I forget 
 the expression of those features ! If ever there 
 was despair and anguish written on a human 
 countenance, it was there ! And yet so young ! 
 so beautiful ! A cold chill ran through my veins 
 as I pressed Mrs. Markham's arm. "Look up at 
 
 the tower I" I whispered. 
 
 2 
 
18 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 "My God! What can it be?" she answered, 
 turning quite pale! "And Mr. Lovell, did you 
 observe how his voice shook ? at first, I thought 
 it was illness ; but he seems bowed down with 
 grief. Every face looks awe-struck ! There must 
 be some tragedy here something more than the 
 death of an individual !" and fearing, under this 
 impression, that our visit might prove untimely, 
 we resolved to return to the inn, and endeavor to 
 discover if anything unusual had really occurred. 
 Before we moved, I looked up at the narrow slit 
 ,the face was no longer there ; but as we passed 
 round to the other side of the tower, we saw a 
 tall, slender figure, attired in a loose coat, pass 
 slowly through the wicket, cross the garden, and 
 enter the house. "We only caught a glimpse of 
 the profile ; the head hung down upon the breast ; 
 the eyes were bent upon the ground; but we 
 knew it was the same face we had seen above. 
 
 We went back to the inn, where our inquiries 
 elicited some information, which made us wish to 
 know more ; but it was not till we went into the 
 
LOADED DICE. 19 
 
 town that we obtained the following details of this 
 mournful drama, of which we had thus accident- 
 ally witnessed one impressive scene. 
 
 Mr. Lovell, as Mrs. Markham had conjectured, 
 was a man of good family, but no fortune ; he 
 might have had a large one, could he have made 
 up his mind to marry Lady Elizabeth "Wentworth, 
 the bride selected for him by a wealthy uncle who 
 proposed to make him his heir; but preferring 
 poverty with Emily Bering, he was disinherited. 
 He never repented his choice, although he re- 
 mained vicar of a small parish, and a poor man 
 all his life. The two children whom Mrs. Mark- 
 ham had seen, were the only ones they had, and 
 through the excellent management of Mrs. Lovell, 
 and the moderation of her husband's desires, they 
 had enjoyed an unusual degree of happiness in 
 this sort of graceful poverty, till the young 
 Charles and Emily were grown up, and it was 
 time to think what was to be done with them. 
 The son had been prepared for Oxford by the 
 father, and the daughter, under the tuition of her 
 
20 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 mother, was remarkably well educated and accom- 
 plished ; but it became necessary to consider the 
 future : Charles must be sent to college, since the 
 only chance of finding a provision for him was in 
 the Church, although the expense of maintaining 
 him there could be ill afforded ; so, in order in 
 some degree to balance the outlay, it was, after 
 much deliberation, agreed that Emily should ac- 
 cept a situation as governess in London. The 
 proposal was made by herself, and the rather con- 
 sented to, that, in case of the death of her pa- 
 rents, she would almost inevitably have had to 
 seek some such means of subsistence. These part- 
 ings were the first sorrows that had reached the 
 Lovells. 
 
 At first, all went well; Charles was not want- 
 ing in ability nor in a moderate degree of applica- 
 tion; and Emily wrote cheerfully of her new 
 life. She was kindly received, well treated, and 
 associated with- the family on the footing of a 
 friend. Neither did further experience seem to 
 diminish her satisfaction. She saw a great many 
 
LOADED DICE. 21 
 
 gay people some of whom she named ; and, 
 amongst the rest, there not unfrequently appeared 
 the name of Herbert. Mr. Herbert was in the 
 army, and being a distant connexion of the family 
 with whom she resided, was a frequent visitor at 
 their house. " She was sure papa and mamma 
 would like him." Once the mother smiled, and 
 said she hoped Emily was not falling in love ; but 
 no more was thought of it. In the meantime 
 Charles had found out that there was time for 
 many things at Oxford, besides study. He was 
 naturally fond of society, and had a remarkable 
 capacity for excelling in all kinds of games. He 
 was agreeable, lively, exceedingly handsome, and 
 sang charmingly, having been trained in part- 
 singing by his mother. No young man at Oxford 
 was more fite ; but alas ! he was very poor, and 
 poverty -poisoned all his enjoyments. For some 
 time he resisted temptation; but after a. terrible 
 struggle for he adored his family he gave way, 
 and ran in debt, and although the imprudence 
 only augmented his misery, he had not resolution 
 
22 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 to retrace his steps, but advanced further and 
 further on this broad road to ruin, so that he had 
 come home for the vacation shortly before our 
 visit to T ^threatened with all manner of an- 
 noyances if he did not carry back a sufficient sum 
 to satisfy his most clamorous creditors. He had 
 assured them he would do so, but where was he 
 to get the money? Certainly not from his pa- 
 rents ; he well knew they had it not ; nor had he 
 a friend in the world from whom he could hope 
 assistance in such an emergency. In his despair 
 he often thought of running away going to Aus- 
 tralia, America, New Zealand, anywhere ; but he 
 had not even the means to do this. He suffered 
 indescribable tortures, and saw no hope of relief. 
 It was just at this period that Herbert's regiment 
 
 happened to be quartered at T . Charles had 
 
 occasionally seen his name in his sister's letters, 
 and heard that there was a Herbert now in the 
 barracks, but he was ignorant whether or not it 
 was the same person; and when he accidentally 
 fell into the society of some of the junior officers, 
 
LOADED DICE. 23 
 
 and was invited by Herbert himself to dine at the 
 mess, pride prevented his ascertaining the fact. 
 He did not wish to betray that his sister was a 
 governess. Herbert, however, knew full well 
 that their visitor was the brother of Emily Lovell, 
 but partly for reasons of his own, and partly be. 
 cause he penetrated the weakness of the other, he 
 abstained from mentioning her name. 
 
 Now, this town of T was, and probably is, 
 
 about the dullest quarter in all England ! The offi- 
 cers hated it, there was no flirting, no dancing, no 
 hunting, no anything. Not a man of them knew 
 what to do with himself. The old ones wandered 
 about and played at whist, the young ones took to 
 hazard and three-card-loo, playing at first for mod- 
 erate stakes, but soon getting on to high ones. 
 Two or three civilians of the neighborhood joined 
 the party, Charles Lovell among the rest. Had 
 they begun with playing high, he would have 
 been excluded for want of funds ; but whilst they 
 played low, he won, so that when they increased 
 the stakes, trusting to a continuance of his good 
 
24 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 fortune, lie was eager to go on with them, 
 did his luck altogether desert him ; on the whole, 
 he rather won than lost ; but he foresaw that one 
 bad night would break him, and he should be 
 obliged to retire, forfeiting his amusement and 
 mortifying his pride. It was just at this crisis, 
 that, one night, an accident, which caused him to 
 win a considerable sum, set him upon the notion 
 of turning chance into certainty. Whilst shuffling 
 the cards, he dropped the ace of spades into his 
 lap, caught it up, replaced it in the pack, and 
 dealt it to himself. No one else had seen the 
 card, no observation was made, and a terrible 
 thought came into his head ! 
 
 Whether loo or hazard was played, Charles 
 Lovell had, night after night, a most extraordinary 
 run of luck. He won large sums, and saw before 
 him the early prospect of paying his debts and 
 clearing all his difficulties. 
 
 Amongst the young men who played at the 
 table, some had plenty of money and cared little 
 for their losses ; but others were not so well off, 
 
LOADED BICE. 25 
 
 and one of these was Edward Herbert. He, too, 
 was the son of poor parents who had straitened 
 themselves to put him in the army, and it was 
 with infinite difficulty and privation that his 
 widowed mother had amassed the needful sum 
 to purchase for him a company, which was now 
 becoming vacant. The retiring officer's papers 
 were already sent in, and Herbert's money was 
 lodged at Cox and Greenwood's ; but before the 
 answer from the Horse-Guards arrived, he had 
 lost every sixpence. Nearly the whole sum had 
 become the property of Charles Lovell. 
 
 Herbert was a fine young man, honorable, gen- 
 erous, impetuous, and endowed with an acute 
 sense of shame. He determined instantly to pay 
 the debts, but he knew that his own prospects 
 were ruined for life; he wrote to the agents to 
 send him the money and withdraw his name from 
 the list of purchasers. But how was he to support 
 his mother's grief? How meet the eye of the girl 
 he loved ? She, who he knew adored him, and 
 whose hand it was agreed between them he should 
 
26 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 ask of her parents as soon as he was gazetted a 
 captain! The anguish of mind he suffered then 
 threw him into a fever, and he lay for several 
 days betwixt life and death, and happily uncon- 
 scious of his misery. 
 
 Meantime, another scene was being enacted else- 
 where. The officers, who night after night found 
 themselves losers, had not for some time enter- 
 tained the least idea of foul play, but at length, one 
 of them observing something suspicious, began to 
 watch, and satisfied himself, by a peculiar method 
 adopted by Lovell in " throwing his mains," that 
 he was the culprit. His suspicions were whispered 
 from one to another, till they nearly all entertained 
 them, with the exception of Herbert, who, being 
 looked upon as Lovell's most especial friend, was 
 not told. So unwilling were these young men to 
 blast, forever, the character of the visitor whom 
 they had so much liked, and to strike a fatal blow 
 at the happiness and respectability of his family, 
 that they were hesitating how to proceed, whether 
 to openly accuse him. or privately reprove and 
 
LOADED DICE. 27 
 
 expel Mm, when Herbert's heavy loss decided the 
 question. 
 
 Herbert himself, overwhelmed with despair, had 
 quitted the room, the rest were still seated around 
 the table, when having given each other a signal, 
 one of them, called Frank Houston, arose and said : 
 " Gentlemen, it gives me great pain to have to call 
 jour attention to a very strange a very distress- 
 ing circumstance. For some time past there has 
 been an extraordinary run of luck in one direction 
 we have all observed it all remarked on it. 
 Mr. Herbert has at this moment retired a heavy 
 loser. There is, indeed, as far as I know, but one 
 winner amongst us but one, and he a winner to a 
 very considerable amount ; the rest all losers. 
 God forbid that I should rashly accuse any man ! 
 Lightly blast any man's character! But I am 
 bound to say, that I fear the money we have lost 
 lias not been fairly won. There has been foul 
 play ! I forbear to name the party the facts 
 sufficiently indicate him." 
 
 Who would not have pitied Lovell, when, livid 
 
28 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 with horror and conscious guilt, lie vainly tried to 
 say something ? ' ' Indeed I assure you I never" 
 but words would not come; he faltered and 
 rushed out of the room in a transport of agony. 
 They did pity him ; and when he was gone, agreed 
 amongst themselves to hush up the affair ; but un- 
 fortunately, the civilians of the party, who had not 
 been let into the secret, took up his defence. They 
 not only believed the accusation unfounded, but 
 felt it as an affront offered to their townsman ; they 
 blustered about it a good deal, and there was 
 nothing left for it but to appoint a committee of 
 investigation. Alas ! the evidence was overwhelm- 
 ing ! It turned out that the dice and cards had 
 been supplied by Lovell. The former, still on the 
 table, were found on examination to be loaded. 
 In fact, he had had a pair as a curiosity long in his 
 possession, and had obtained others from a dis- 
 reputable character at Oxford. No doubt remained 
 of his guilt. 
 
 All this while Herbert had been too ill to be 
 addressed on the subject; but symptoms of recov- 
 
LOADED DICE 29 
 
 ery were now beginning to appear ; and as nobody 
 was aware that he had any particular interest in 
 the Lovell family, the affair was communicated to 
 him. At first he refused to believe in his friend's 
 guilt", and became violently irritated. His inform- 
 ants assured him they would be too happy to find 
 they were mistaken, but that since the inquiry no 
 hope of such an issue remained, and he sank into 
 a gloomy silence. 
 
 On the following morning, when his servant 
 came to his room door, he found it locked. When, 
 at the desire of the surgeon, it was broken open, 
 Herbert was found a corpse, and a discharged pis- 
 tol lying beside him. An inquest sat upon the 
 body, and the verdict brought in was Temporary 
 Insanity. There never was one more just. 
 
 Preparations were now made for the funeral 
 that funeral which we had witnessed ; but before 
 the day appointed for it arrived, another chapter 
 of this sad story was unfolded. 
 
 When Charles left the barracks on that fatal 
 night, instead of going home, he passed the dark 
 
30 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 hours in wandering wildly about the country ; but 
 when morning dawned, fearing the eye of man, he 
 returned to the vicarage, and slunk unobserved to 
 his chamber. "When he did not appear at break- 
 fast, his mother sought him in his room, where she 
 found him in bed. He said he was very ill and 
 so indeed he was and begged to be left alone; 
 but as he was no better on the following day, she 
 insisted on sending for medical advice. The doc- 
 tor found him with all those physical symptoms 
 that are apt to supervene from great anxiety of 
 mind ; and saying he could get no sleep, Charles 
 requested to have some laudanum ; but the physi- 
 cian was on his guard, for although the parties 
 concerned wished to keep the thing private, some 
 rumors had got abroad that awakened his caution. 
 The parents, meanwhile, had not the slightest 
 anticipation of the thunderbolt that was about to 
 fall upon them. They lived a very retired life, 
 were acquainted with none of the officers and 
 they were even ignorant of the amount of their 
 son's intimacy with the regiment. Thus, when 
 
LOADED DICE. 31 
 
 news of Herbert's lamentable death reached them, 
 the mother said to her son: "Charles, did you 
 know a young man in the barracks called Herbert; 
 a lieutenant, I believe ? By-the-bye, I hope it 's 
 not Emily's Mr. Herbert." 
 
 " Did I know him," said Charles, turning sud- 
 denly towards her, for, under pretence that the 
 light annoyed him, he always lay with his face to 
 the wall. " Why do you ask, mother ? " 
 
 " Because he 's dead ! He had a fever, and " 
 
 " Herbert dead ! " cried Charles, suddenly sit- 
 ting up in the bed. 
 
 " Yes, he had a fever, and it is supposed he was 
 delirious, for he blew out his brains ; there is a 
 report that he had been playing high, and lost a 
 great deal of money. What 's the matter, dear ? 
 Oh, Charles, I shouldn't have told you ! I was not 
 aware that you knew him ! " 
 
 " Fetch my father here, and, mother, you come 
 back with him ! " said Charles, speaking with a 
 strange sternness of tone, and wildly motioning her 
 out of the room. 
 
32 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 the parents came, tie bade them sit down 
 beside him ; and then, with a degree of remorse 
 and anguish that no words could portray, he told 
 them all ; whilst they, with blanched cheeks and 
 fainting hearts, listened to the dire confession. 
 
 "And here I am," he exclaimed, as he ended, 
 " a cowardly scoundrel that has not dared to die ! 
 Oh, Herbert ! happy, happy, Herbert ! "Would I 
 were with you ! " 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and a beauti- 
 ful, bright, smiling, joyous face peeped in. It was 
 Emily Lovell, the beloved daughter, the adored 
 sister, arrived from London in compliance with a 
 letter received a few days previously from Herbert, 
 wherein he had told her that by the time she re- 
 ceived it, he would be. a captain. She had come 
 to introduce him to her parents as her affianced 
 husband. She feared no refusal ; well she knew 
 how rejoiced they would be to see her the wife of 
 so kind and honorable a man. But they were 
 ignorant of all this, and in the fulness of their 
 agony, the cup of woe ran over, and she drank of 
 
LOADED DICE. 33 
 
 the draught ! They told her all before she had 
 been five minutes in the room. How else could 
 they account for their tears, their confusion, their 
 bewilderment, their despair ! 
 
 Before Herbert's funeral took place, Emily Lovell 
 was lying betwixt life and death in a brain fever. 
 Under the influence of a feeling easily to be com- 
 prehended, thirsting for a self-imposed torture, that 
 by its very poignancy should relieve the dead 
 weight of wretchedness that lay upon his breast, 
 Charles crept from his bed, and slipping on a loose 
 coat that hung in his room, he stole across the 
 garden to the tower, whence, through the arrow-slit, 
 he witnessed the burial of his sister's lover, whom 
 he had hastened to the grave. 
 
 Here terminates our sad stqjy. "We left T 
 
 on the following morning, and it was two or three 
 years before any further intelligence of the Lovell 
 family reached us. All we then heard was, that 
 Charles had gone, a self-condemned exile, to Aus- 
 tralia; and that Emily had insisted on accompany- 
 ing him thither. 
 
II. 
 
 FT! HE materials for the following tale were fur- 
 nished to the writer while travelling last year 
 near the spot on which the events it narrates took 
 place. It is intended to convey a notion of some of 
 the phases of Polish, or rather Kussian serfdom (for, 
 as truly explained by one of the characters in a suc- 
 ceeding page, it is Eussian), and of the catastro- 
 phes it has occasioned, not only in Catherine's 
 time, but occasionally at the present. The Polish 
 nobles themselves in slavery earnestly desire 
 the emancipation of their serfs, which Eussian 
 domination forbids. 
 
 The small town of Pobereze stands at the foot 
 of a stony mountain, watered by numerous springs 
 in the district of Podolia, in Poland. It consists oi 
 a mass of miserable cabins, with a Catholic chapel 
 

 THE SEEF OF POBEREZE. 35 
 
 and two Greek churches in the midst, the latter 
 distinguished by their gilded towers. On one side 
 of the market-place stands the only inn, and on the 
 opposite side are several shops, from whose doors 
 and windows look out several dirtily-dressed Jews. 
 At a little distance, on a hill covered with vines 
 and fruit-trees, stands the Palace, which does not, 
 perhaps, exactly merit such an appellation, but 
 who would dare to call otherwise the dwelling of 
 the lord of the domain ? 
 
 On the morning when our tale opens, there had 
 had issued from this palace the common enough 
 cdtnmand to the superintendent of the estate, to 
 furnish the master with a couple of strong boys, 
 for service in the stables, and a young girl, to be 
 employed in the warclrobe. Accordingly, a num- 
 ber of the best-looking young peasants of Olgogrod 
 assembled in the broad avenue leading to the 
 palace. Some were accompanied by their sorrow- 
 ful and weeping parents, in all of whose hearts, 
 however, rose the faint and whispered hope, "Per- 
 haps it will not be my child they will choose 1 " 
 
36 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Being brought into the court-yard of the palace, 
 the Count Koszynski, with the several members of 
 his family, had come out to pass in review his 
 growing subjects. He was a small and insignifi- 
 cant-looking man, about fifty years of age, with 
 deep-set eyes and overhanging brows. His wife, 
 who was nearly of the same age, was immensely 
 stout, with a vulgar face and a loud disagreeable 
 voice. She made herself iddiculous in endeavoring 
 to imitate the manners and bearing of the aris- 
 tocracy, into whose sphere she and her husband 
 were determined to force themselves, in spite of 
 the humbleness of their origin. The father of tffe 
 " Eight Honorable" Count Koszynski was a valet, 
 who, having been a great favorite with his master, 
 amassed sufficient money to enable his son, 'who 
 inherited it, to purchase the extensive estate of 
 Olgogrod, and with it the sole proprietorship of 
 1,600 human beings. Over them he had complete 
 control; and, when maddened by oppression, if 
 they dared resent, woe unto them ! They could 
 be thrust into a noisome dungeon, and chained by 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 37 
 
 one hand from the light of day for years, until 
 their very existence was forgotten by all except the 
 jailer who brought daily their pitcher of water and 
 morsel of dry bread. 
 
 Some of the old peasants say that Sava, father of 
 the young peasant girl, who stands by the side of 
 an old woman, at the head of her companions in. 
 the court-yard, is immured in one of these subter- 
 ranean jails. Sava was always about the Count, 
 who, it was said, had brought him from some dis- 
 tant land, with his little motherless child. Sava 
 placed her under the care of an. old man and 
 woman, who had the charge of the bees in a forest 
 near the palace, where he came occasionally to visit 
 her. But once, six long months passed, and he 
 did not come ! In vain Anielka wept, in vain 
 she cried, " Where is my father ? " JSTo father ap- 
 peared. At last it was said that Sava had been 
 sent to a long distance with a large sum of money, 
 and had been killed by robbers. In the ninth 
 year of one's life the most poignant grief is quickly 
 effaced, and after six months Anielka ceased to 
 
38 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 grieve. The old people were very kind to her, 
 and loved her as if she were their own child. 
 That Anielka might be chosen to serve in the 
 palace never entered their head, for who would 
 be so barbarous as to take the child away 
 from an old woman of seventy and her aged 
 husband ? 
 
 To-day was the first time in her life that she had 
 been so far from home. She looked curiously on 
 all she saw, particularly on a young lady about 
 her own age, beautifully dressed, and a youth of 
 eighteen, who had apparently just returned from a 
 ride on horseback, as he held a whip in his hand, 
 whilst walking up and down and examining the 
 boys who were placed in a row before him. He 
 'chose two amongst them, and the boys were led 
 away to the stables. 
 
 " And I choose this young girl," said Constantia 
 Eoszynski, indicating Anielka ; "she is the pret- 
 tiest of them all. I do not like ugly faces about 
 me." 
 
 "When Constantia returned to the drawing-room, 
 
THE SEEF OF POBEEEZE. 39 
 
 she gave orders for Anielka to be taken to her 
 apartments, and placed under the tutelage of Mad- 
 emoiselle Dufour, a French maid, recently arrived 
 from the first milliner's shop in Odessa. Poor 
 girl! when they separated her from her adopted 
 mother, and began leading her towards the palace, 
 she rushed, with a shriek of agony, from them, 
 and grasped her old protectress tightly in her 
 arms ! They were torn violently asunder, and the 
 Count Eoszynski quietly asked, " Is it her daugh- 
 ter, or her grand-daughter ? " 
 
 " Neither, my lord,' only an adopted child." 
 
 " But who will lead the old woman home, as she 
 is blind?" 
 
 "I will, my lord," replied one of his servants, 
 bowing to the ground; "I will let her walk by the 
 side of my horse, and when she is in her cabin she 
 will have her old husband, they must take care 
 of each other." 
 
 So saying, he moved away with the rest of the 
 peasants and domestics. But the poor old woman 
 had to be dragged along by two men ; for in the 
 
40 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 midst of her shrieks and tears she had fallen to 
 the ground, almost without life. 
 
 And Anielka ? They did not allow her to 
 weep long. She had now to sit all day in the 
 corner of a room to sew. She was expected to do 
 everything well from the first ; and if she did not, 
 she was kept without food or cruelly punished. 
 Morning and evening she had to help Mdlle. Du- 
 four to dress and undress her mistress. But Con- 
 stantia, although she looked with, hauteur on 
 everybody beneath her, and expected to be slav- 
 ishly obeyed, was tolerably kind to her poor 
 orphan. Her true torment began, when, on leav- 
 ing her young lady's room, she had to assist 
 Mdlle. Dufour. Notwithstanding that she tried 
 sincerely to do her best, she was never able to 
 satisfy her, or draw from her aught but harsh, 
 reproaches. 
 
 Thus two months passed. 
 
 One day Mdlle. Dufour went very early to con 
 fession, and Anielka was seized with an eager 
 longing to gaze once more in peace and freedom 
 
THE SEKF OF POBEREZE. 41 
 
 on the beautiful blue sky and green trees, as she 
 used to do when the first rajs of the rising sun 
 streamed in at the window of the little forest 
 cabin. She ran into the garden. Enchanted by 
 the sight of so many beautiful flowers, she went 
 farther and farther along the smooth and winding 
 walks, till she entered the forest. She who had 
 been so long away from her beloved trees, roamed 
 where they were thickest. Here she gazes boldly 
 around. She sees no one! She is alone! A 
 little further on she meets with a rivulet which 
 flows through the forest. Here she remembers 
 that she has not yet prayed. She kneels down, 
 and with hands clasped and eyes upturned she 
 begins to sing, in a sweet voice, the Hymn to the 
 Virgin. 
 
 As she went on, she sang louder and with in- 
 creased fervor. Her breast heaved with emotion, 
 her eyes shone with unusual brilliancy ; but when 
 the hymn was finished she lowered her head, tears 
 began to fall over her cheeks, until at last she 
 sobbed aloud. She might have remained long in 
 
42 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 this condition, had not some one come behind her, 
 saying, " Do not cry, my poor girl ; it is better to 
 sing than to weep." The intruder raised her head, 
 wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, and kissed 
 her on the forehead. 
 
 It was the Count's son, Leon ! 
 
 " You must not cry," he continued ; " be calm, 
 and when ^ the filipony (pedlars) come, buy your- 
 self a pretty handkerchief." He then gave her a 
 rouble and walked away. Anielka, after conceal- 
 ing the coin in her corset, ran quickly back to the 
 palace. 
 
 Fortunately, Mdlle. Dufour had not yet re- 
 turned, and Anielka seated herself in her accus- 
 tomed corner. She often took out the rouble to 
 gaze fondly upon it, and set to work to make a 
 little purse, which, having fastened to a ribbon, 
 she hung round her neck. She did not dream of 
 spending it, for it would have deeply grieved her 
 to part with the gift of the only person in the 
 whole house who had looked kindly on her. 
 
 From that time Anielka remained always in her 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 43 
 
 young mistress's room; she was better dressed, 
 and Mdlle. Dufour ceased to persecute her. To 
 what did she owe this sudden change ? Perhaps 
 to a remonstrance from Leon. Constantine or- 
 dered Anielka to sit beside her while taking her 
 lessons from her music-masters, and on her going 
 to the drawing-room, she was left in her apart- 
 ments alone. Being thus more kindly treated, 
 Anielka lost by degrees her timidity ; and when 
 her young mistress, whilst occupied over some em- 
 broidery, would tell her to sing, she did so boldly 
 and with a steady voice. A greater favor awaited 
 her. Constantia, when unoccupied, began teach- 
 ing Anielka to read in Polish ; and Mdlle. Dufour 
 thought it politic to follow the example of her mis- 
 tress, and began to teach her French. 
 
 Meanwhile, a new kind of torment commenced. 
 Having easily learnt the two languages, Anielka 
 acquired an irresistible passion for reading. Books 
 had for her the charm of the forbidden fruit, for 
 she could only read by stealth at night, or when 
 her mistress went visiting in the neighborhood. 
 
44 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 The kindness hitherto shown her, for a time, began 
 to relax. Leon had set oif on a tour, accompanied 
 by his old tutor, and a bosom friend as young, as 
 gay, and as thoughtless as himself. 
 
 So passed the two years of Leon's absence. 
 "When he returned, Anielka was seventeen, and 
 had become tall and handsome. No one who had 
 not seen her during the time, would have recog- 
 nized her. Of this number was Leon. In the 
 midst of perpetual gaiety and change it was not 
 possible he could have remembered a poor peasant 
 girl ; but in Anielka's memory he had remained as 
 a superior being, as her benefactor, as the only one 
 who had spoken kindly to her, when poor, neg- 
 lected, forlorn I When in some French romance 
 she met with a young man of twenty, of a noble 
 character and handsome appearance, she bestowed 
 on him the name of Leon. The recollection of the 
 kiss he had given her, ever brought a burning 
 blush to her cheek, and made her sigh deeply. 
 
 One day Leon came to his sister's room. Ani- 
 elka was there, seated in a corner at work. Leon 
 
THE SEEF OF POBEEEZE. 45 
 
 himself had considerably changed ; from a boy he 
 had grown into a man. " I suppose Constantia," 
 he said, "you have been told what a good boy I 
 am, and with what docility I shall submit myself 
 to the matrimonial yoke, which the Count and 
 Countess have provided for me ?". and he began 
 whistling, and danced some steps of the Mazurka. 
 "Perhaps you will be refused," said Constantia, 
 
 4+ 
 
 coldly. 
 
 ."Kefused! Oh, no. The old Prince has al- 
 ready given his consent; and as for his daughter 
 she is desperately in love with me. Look at these 
 moustachios, could anything be more irresistible ?" 
 and he glanced in the glass and twirled them 
 round his fingers; then continuing in a graver 
 tone, he said, " To tell the sober truth, I cannot 
 say that I reciprocate. My intended is not at all 
 to my taste. She is nearly thirty, and so thin that 
 whenever I look at her, I am reminded of my old 
 tutor's anatomical sketches. But thanks to her 
 Parisian dress-maker, she makes up a tolerably 
 good figure, and looks well in a Cachemere. Of 
 
46 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 all things, you know, I wished for a wife of an im- 
 posing appearance, and I don't care about love. I 
 find it 's not fashionable, and only exists in the ex- 
 alted imagination of poets." 
 
 "Surely people are in love with one another 
 sometimes," said the sister. 
 
 " Sometimes," repeated Anielka, inaudibly. The 
 dialogue had painfully affected her, and she knew 
 not why. Her heart be*at quickly, and her face 
 was flushed, and made her look more lovely than 
 ever. 
 
 " Perhaps. Of course we profess to adore every 
 pretty woman," Leon added abruptly. "But. my 
 dear sister, what a charming ladies' maid you 
 have !" He approached the corner where Anielka 
 sat, and bent on her a coarse familiar smile. Ani- 
 elka, although a serf, was displeased, and returned 
 it with a glance fall of dignity. But when her 
 eyes rested on the youth's handsome face, a feel- 
 ing, which had been gradually and silently grow- 
 ing in her young and inexperienced heart, pre- 
 dominated over her pride and displeasure. She 
 
THE SEEF OF POBEREZE. 47 
 
 wished ardently to recall herself to Leon's mem- 
 ory, and half unconsciously raised her hand to the 
 little purse which always hung round her neck. 
 She took from it the rouble he had given her. 
 
 "See! " shouted Leon, "what a droll girl; how 
 proud she is of her riches ! "Why, girl, you are a 
 woman of fortune, mistress of a whole rouble ! " 
 
 "I hope she came by it honestly," said the old 
 Countess, who at this moment entered. 
 
 At this insinuation, shame and indignation kept 
 Anielka, for a time, silent. She replaced the 
 money quickly in its purse, with the bitter thought 
 that the few happy moments which had been so 
 indelibly stamped upon her memory, had been ut- 
 terly forgotten by Leon. To clear herself, she at 
 last stammered out, seeing they all looked at her 
 inquiringly, " Do you not remember, M. Leon, that 
 you gave me this coin two years ago in the 
 garden ? " 
 
 "How odd?" exclaimed Leon, laughing, "do 
 you expect me to remember all the pretty girls to 
 whom I have given money ? But I suppose you 
 
48 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 are right, or you would not have treasured up this 
 unfortunate rouble as if it were a holy relic. You 
 should not be a miser, child ; money is made to 
 be spent." 
 
 " Pray, put an end to these jokes," said Con- 
 stantia impatiently; "I like this girl, and I will 
 not have her teased. She understands my ways 
 better than any one, and often puts me in good 
 humor with her beautiful voice." 
 
 "Sing something for me, pretty damsel," said 
 Leon, " and I will give you another rouble, a new 
 and shining one." 
 
 " Sing instantly," said Constantia imperiously. 
 
 At this command Anielka could no longer stifle 
 her grief; she covered her face with her hands, 
 and wept violently. 
 
 " Why do you cry ? " asked her mistress impa- 
 tiently ; "I .cannot bear it ; I desire you to do as 
 you are bid." 
 
 It might have been from the constant habit of 
 slavish obedience, or a strong feeling of pride, but 
 Anielka instantly ceased weeping. There was a 
 
THE SERF OF.POBEREZE. 49 
 
 moment's pause, during which the old Countess 
 went grumbling out of the room. Anielka chose 
 the Hymn to the Virgin she had warbled in the 
 garden, and as she sung, she prayed fervently ; 
 she prayed for peace, for deliverance from the 
 acute emotions which had been aroused within 
 her. Her earnestness gave an intensity of express- 
 ion to the melody, which affected her listeners. 
 They were silent for some moments after its 
 conclusion. Leon walked up and down with his 
 arms folded on his breast. Was it agitated with 
 pity for the accomplished young slave ? or by any 
 other tender emotion ? What followed will show. 
 
 " My dear Constantia," he said, suddenly stop- 
 ping before his sister and kissing her hand, "will 
 you do me a favor ? " 
 
 Constantia looked inquiringly in her brother's 
 face without speaking. 
 
 "Give me this girl. 71 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 "I am quite in earnest," continued Leon, "I 
 wish to offer her to my future wife. In the Prince 
 
50 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 her father's private chapel they are much in want 
 of a solo soprano." 
 
 " I shall not give her to you," said Constantia. 
 
 "Not as a free gift, "but in exchange. I will 
 give you instead a charming young negro so 
 black. The women in St. Petersburg and in 
 Paris raved about him : but I was inexorable ; I 
 half-refused him to my princess." 
 
 "No, no," replied Constantia; "I shall be 
 lonely without this girl, I am so used to her." 
 
 " Nonsense ! you can get peasant girls by the 
 dozen ; but a black page, with teeth whiter than 
 ivory, and purer than pearls ; a perfect original in 
 his way ; you surely cannot withstand. You will 
 kill half the province with envy. A negro ser- 
 vant is the most fashionable thing going, and 
 yours will be the first imported into the prov- 
 ince." 
 
 This argument was irresistible. "Well," re- 
 plied Constantia, " when do you think of taking 
 her?" 
 
 " Immediately ; to-day at five o'clock," said 
 
THE SEKF OF POBEREZE. 51 
 
 Leon ; and he went merrily out of the room. 
 This then was the result of his cogitation of 
 Anielka's Hymn to the Virgin. Constantia or- 
 dered Anielka to prepare herself for the journey, 
 with as little emotion as if she had exchanged 
 away a lap-dog, or parted with a parrot. 
 
 She obeyed in silence. Her heart was full. 
 She went into the garden that she might relieve 
 herself by weeping unseen. "With one hand sup- 
 porting her burning head, and the other pressed 
 tightly against her heart, to stifle her sobs, she 
 wandered on mechanically till she found herself 
 by the side of the river. She felt quickly for her 
 purse, intending to throw the rouble into the 
 water, but as quickly thrust it back again, for 
 she could not bear to part with the treasure. 
 She felt as if without it she would be still more 
 an orphan. "Weeping bitterly, she leaned against 
 the tree which had once before witnessed her 
 tears. 
 
 By degrees the stormy passion within her gave 
 place to calm reflection. This day she was to go 
 
52 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 away ; she was to dwell beneath another roof, to 
 serve another mistress. Humiliation ! always hu- 
 miliation ! But at least it would be some change 
 in her life. As she thought of this, she returned 
 hastily to the palace that she might not, on the 
 last day of her servitude, incur the anger of her 
 young mistress. 
 
 Scarcely was Anielka attired in her prettiest 
 dress, when Constantia came to her with a little 
 box, from which she took several gay-colored rib- 
 bons, and decked her in them herself, that the 
 serf might do her credit in the new family. 
 And when Anielka, bending down to her feet 
 thanked her, Constantia, with marvellous conde- 
 scension, kissed her on her forehead. Even Leon 
 cast an admiring glance upon her. His servant 
 soon after came to conduct her to the carriage, 
 and showing her where to seat herself, they rolled 
 off quickly towards Eadapol. 
 
 For the first time in her life Anielka rode in a 
 carriage. Her head turned quite giddy, she could 
 not look at the trees and fields as they flew past 
 
THE SEKF OF POBEEEZE. 53 
 
 her ; but by degrees she became more accustomed 
 to it, and the fresh air enlivening her spirits, she 
 performed the rest of the journey in a tolerably 
 happy state of mind. At last they arrived in the 
 spacious court-yard before the Palace of Radapol, 
 the dwelling of a once rich and powerful Polish 
 family, now partly in ruin. It was evident, even 
 to Anielka, that the marriage was one for money 
 on the one side, and for rank on the other. 
 
 Among other renovations at the castle, occa- 
 sioned by the approaching marriage, the owner of 
 it, Prince Pelazia, had obtained singers for the 
 chapel, and had engaged Signor Justiniani, an 
 Italian, as chapel-master. Immediately on Leon's 
 arrival, Anielka was presented to him. He made 
 her sing a scale, and pronounced her voice to be 
 excellent. 
 
 Anielka found that, in Badapol, she was treated 
 with a little more consideration than at Olgogrod, 
 although she had often to submit to the caprices 
 of her new mistress, and she found less time to 
 read. But to console herself, she gave all her 
 
54: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 attention to singing, which she practiced several 
 hours a day. Her naturally great capacity, under 
 the guidance of the Italian, began to develop 
 itself steadily. Besides sacred, he taught her 
 operatic music. On one occasion Anielka sung 
 an aria in so impassioned and masterly a style, 
 that the enraptured Justiniani clapped his hands 
 for joy, skipped about the room, and not finding 
 words enough to praise her, exclaimed several 
 times, "Prima Donna ! Prima Donna !" 
 
 But the lessons were interrupted. The Prin- 
 cess's wedding-day was fixed upon, after which 
 event she and Leon were to go to Florence, and 
 Anielka was to accompany them. Alas ! feelings 
 which gave her poignant misery still clung to her. 
 She despised herself for her weakness ; but she 
 loved Leon. 'The sentiment was too deeply im- 
 planted in her bosom to be eradicated ; too strong 
 to be resisted. It was the first love of a young 
 and guileless heart, and had grown in silence and 
 despair. 
 
 Anielka was most anxious to know something 
 
 
THE SERF or POBEREZE. 55 
 
 of her adopted parents. Once, after the old 
 prince had heard her singing, he asked her with 
 great kindness about her home. She replied, that 
 she was an orphan, and had been taken by force 
 from those who had so kindly supplied the place 
 of parents. Her apparent attachment to the old 
 bee-keeper and his wife so pleased the prince, 
 that he said, " You are a good child, Anielka, and 
 to-morrow I will send you to visit them. You 
 shall take them some presents." 
 
 Anielka, overpowered with gratitude, threw 
 herself at the feet of the prince. She dreamed all 
 night of the happiness that was in store for her, 
 and the joy of the poor, forsaken, old people; 
 and when the next morning she set off, she could 
 scarcely restrain her impatience. At last they 
 approached the cabin ; she saw the forest, with its 
 tall trees, and the meadows covered with flowers. 
 She leaped from the carriage, that she might be 
 nearer these trees and flowers, every one of which 
 she seemed to recognize. The weather was beau- 
 tiful. She breathed with avidity the pure air 
 
66 PEABL-FISHING. 
 
 which, in imagination, brought to her the kisses 
 and caresses of her poor father ! Her foster-father 
 was, doubtless, occupied with his bees; but his 
 wife? 
 
 Anielka opened the door of the cabin ; all was 
 silent and deserted. The arm-chair on which the 
 poor old woman used to sit, was overturned in a 
 corner. Anielka was chilled by a fearful presenti- 
 ment. She went with a slow step towards the 
 bee-hives ; there she saw a little boy tending the 
 bees, whilst the old man was stretched on the 
 ground beside him. The rays of the sun, falling 
 on his pale and sickly face, showed that he was 
 very ill. Anielka stooped down over him, and 
 said, "It is I, it is Anielka, your own Anielka, 
 who always loves you." 
 
 The old man raised his head, gazed upon her 
 with a ghastly smile, and took off his cap. 
 
 " And my good old mother, where is she ?" 
 Anielka asked. 
 
 " She is dead ! " answered the old man, and 
 falling back he began laughing idiotically. Anielka 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 57 
 
 wept. She gazed earnestly on the worn frame, the 
 pale and wrinkled cheeks, in which scarcely a sign 
 of life could be perceived ; it seemed to her that he 
 had suddenly fallen asleep, and not wishing to dis- 
 turb him, she went to the carriage for the presents. 
 When she returned, she took his hand. It was cold. 
 The poor old bee-keeper had breathed his last ! 
 
 Anielka was carried almost senseless back to the 
 carriage, which quickly returned with her to the 
 castle. There she revived a little ; but the recol- 
 lection that she was now quite alone in the world, 
 almost drove her to despair. 
 
 Her master's wedding and the journey to Flor- 
 ence were a dream to her. Though the strange 
 sights of a strange city slowly restored her percep- 
 tions, they did not her cheerfulness. She felt as if 
 she could no longer endure the misery of her life ; 
 she prayed to die. 
 
 " Why are you so unhappy ? " said the Count 
 Leon kindly to her, one day. 
 
 To have explained the cause of her wretchedness 
 would have been death indeed. 
 
58 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 "I am going to give you a treat," continued 
 Leon. A celebrated singer is to appear to-night in 
 the theatre. I will send you to hear her, and after- 
 wards you shall sing to me what you remember of 
 her performances." 
 
 Anielka went. It was a new era in -her exist- 
 ence. Herself, by this time, an artist, she could 
 forget her griefs, and enter with her whole soul 
 into the beauties of the art she now heard practised 
 in perfection for the first time. To music a chord 
 responded in her breast which vibrated powerfully. 
 During the performances she was at one moment 
 pale and trembling, tears rushing into her eyes, 
 at another, she was ready to throw herself at the 
 feet of the cantatrice, in an ecstasy of admiration. 
 " Prima donna," by that name the public called 
 on her to receive their applause, and it was the 
 same, thought Anielka, that Justiniani had be 
 stowed upon her. Could she also be a prima 
 donna ? What a glorious destiny ! To be 
 able to communicate one's own emotions to 
 masses of entranced listeners ; to awaken in 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 59 
 
 them, by the power of the voice, grief, love, 
 terror. 
 
 Strange thoughts continued to haunt her on her 
 return home. She was unable to sleep. She 
 formed desperate plans. At last she resolved to 
 throw off the yoke of servitude, and the still more 
 painful slavery of feelings which her pride dis- 
 dained. Having learnt the address of the prima 
 donna, she went early one morning to her house. 
 
 On entering she said, in French, almost inco- 
 herently, so great was her agitation " Madam, I 
 am a poor serf belonging to a Polish family who 
 have lately arrived in Florence. I have escaped 
 from them ; protect, shelter me. They say I can 
 sing." 
 
 The Signora Teresina, a warm-hearted, passion- 
 ate Italian, was interested by her artless earnest- 
 ness. She said, " Poor child ! you must have suf- 
 fered much," she took Anielka's hand in hers. 
 " You say you can sing ; let me hear you." 
 Anielka seated herself on an ottoman. She clasped 
 her hands over knees, and tears fell into her lap. 
 
60 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 With plaintive pathos, and perfect truth of intona- 
 tion, she prayed in song. The Hymn to the Vir- 
 gin seemed to Teresina to be offered up by inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 The Signora was astonished. " Where," she 
 asked, in wonder, "were you taught? " 
 
 Anielka narrated her history, and when she had 
 finished, the prima donna spoke so kindly to her 
 that she felt as if she had known her for years. 
 Anielka was Teresina's guest that day and the 
 next. After the opera, on the third day, the prima 
 donna made her sit beside her, and said : 
 
 " I think you are a very good girl, and you shall 
 stay with me always." 
 
 The girl was almost beside herself with joy. 
 
 " We will never part. Do you consent, Ani- 
 elka?" 
 
 " Do not call me Anielka. Give me instead 
 some Italian name." 
 
 " Well, then, be Giovanna. The dearest friend 
 I ever had but whom I have lost was named 
 Giovanna," said the prima donna. 
 
THE SEKF OF PO'BEEEZE. 61 
 
 " Then, I will "be another Giovanna to you." 
 
 Teresina then said, " I hesitated to receive you at 
 first, for your sake as well as mine ; but you are 
 safe now. I learn that your, master and mistress, 
 after searching vainly for you, have returned to 
 Poland." 
 
 From this time Anielka commenced an entirely 
 new life. She took lessons in singing every 
 day from the Signora. and got an engagement 
 to appear in inferior characters at the theatre. 
 She had now her own income, and her own ser- 
 vant she, who had till then been obliged to 
 serve herself. She acquired the Italian language 
 rapidly, and soon passed for a native of the 
 country. 
 
 So passed three years. New and varied impress- 
 ions failed, however, to blot out the old ones. 
 Anielka arrived at great perfection in her singing, 
 and even began to surpass the prima donna, who 
 was losing her voice from weakness of the chest. 
 This sad discovery changed the cheerful temper of 
 Teresina. She ceased to sing in public; for she 
 
62 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 could not endure to excite pity where she had for- 
 merly commanded admiration. 
 
 She determined to retire. "You," she said to 
 Anielka, " shall now assert your claim to the first 
 rank in the vocal art. You will maintain it. 
 You surpass me. Often, on hearing you sing, I 
 have scarcely been able to stifle a feeling of jeal- 
 ousy." 
 
 Anielka placed her hand on Teresina's shoulder, 
 and kissed her. 
 
 " Yes," continued Teresina, regardless of every- 
 thing but the bright future she was shaping for 
 her friend. ""We will go to Vienna there you 
 will be understood and appreciated. You shall 
 sing at the Italian Opera, and I will be by your 
 side unknown, no longer sought, worshipped 
 but will glory in your triumphs. They will be a 
 repetition of my own ; for have I not taught you ? 
 "Will they not be the result of my work ? " 
 
 Though Anielka's ambition was fired, her heart 
 was softened, and she wept violently. 
 
 Five months had scarcely elapsed when a furore 
 
THESEKFOFPOBEKEZE. 63 
 
 was created in Vienna by the first appearance, 
 at the Italian Opera, of the Signora Giovanna. 
 Her enormous salary at once afforded her the 
 means of even extravagant expenditure. Her 
 haughty treatment of male admirers only attracted 
 new ones ; but in the midst of her triumphs, she 
 thought often of the time when the poor orphan 
 of Pobereze was cared for by nobody. This re- 
 membrance made her receive the flatteries of the 
 crowd with an ironical smile ; their fine speeches 
 fell coldly on her ear, their eloquent looks made 
 no impression on her heart : that, no change could 
 alter, no temptation win. 
 
 In the flood of unexpected success a new mis- 
 fortune overwhelmed her. Since their arrival at 
 Vienna, Teresina's health rapidly declined, and in 
 the sixth month of Anielka's operatic reign she 
 expired, leaving all her wealth, which was consid- 
 erable, to her friend. 
 
 Once more Anielka was alone in the world. 
 Despite all the honors and blandishments of her 
 position, the old feeling of desolateness came upon 
 
64: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 her. The new shock destroyed her health. She 
 was unable to appear on the stage. To sing was a 
 painful effort ; she grew indifferent to what passed 
 around her. Her greatest consolation was in suc- 
 coring the poor and friendless, and her generosity 
 was most conspicuous to all young orphan girls 
 without fortune. She had never ceased to love 
 her native land, and seldom appeared in society, 
 unless it was to meet her countrymen. If ever she 
 sang, it was in Polish. 
 
 A year had elapsed since the death of the Sig- 
 nora Teresina when the Count Selka, a rich noble 
 of Yolkynia, at that time in Vienna, solicited her 
 presence at a party. It was impossible to refuse 
 the Count and his lady, from whom she had re- 
 ceived great kindness. She went. When in their 
 saloons, filled with all the fashion and aristocracy 
 in Vienna, the name of Giovanna was announced, 
 a general murmur was heard. She entered, pale 
 and languid, and proceeded between the two rows 
 made for her by the admiring assembly, to the 
 seat of honor, beside the mistress of the house. 
 
THE SERF OF POBEKEZE. 65 
 
 Shortly after, the Count Selka led her to the 
 piano. She sat down before it, and thinking what 
 she should sing, glanced round upon the assembly. 
 She could not help feeling that the admiration 
 which beamed from the faces around her was the 
 work of her own merit, for had she neglected the 
 great gift of nature, her voice, she could not have 
 excited it. With a blushing cjieek, and eyes 
 sparkling with honest pride, she struck the piano 
 with a firm hand, and from her seemingly weak 
 and delicate chest poured forth a touching Polish 
 melody, with a voice pure, sonorous, and plaint- 
 ive. Tears were in many eyes, and the beating of 
 every heart was quickened. 
 
 The song was finished, but the wondering 
 silence was unbroken. Giovanna leaned exhaust- 
 ed on the arm of the chair, and cast down her 
 eyes. On again raising them, she perceived a 
 gentleman who gazed fixedly at her, as if he still 
 listened to echoes which had not yet died within 
 him. The master of the house, to dissipate his 
 thoughtlessness, led him towards Giovaiina. "Let 
 
66 PEAEL-FlSHING. 
 
 me present to you, Signora," he said, " a country- 
 man, the Count Leon Eoszynski." 
 
 The lady trembled ; she silently bowed, fixed 
 her eyes on the ground, and dared not raise them. 
 Pleading indisposition, which was fully justified 
 by her pallid features, she soon after withdrew. 
 
 "When, on the following day, Giovanna's servant 
 announced the Counts Selka and Eoszynski, a 
 peculiar smile played on her lips ; and when they 
 entered, she received the latter with the cold and 
 formal politeness of a stranger. Controlling the 
 feelings of her heart, she schooled her features to 
 an expression of indifference. It was manifest 
 from Leon's manner, that without the remotest 
 recognition, an indefinable presentiment regarding 
 her possessed him. The Counts had called to 
 know if Giovanna had recovered from her indis- 
 position. Leon begged to be permitted to call 
 again. 
 
 Where was his wife? why did he never mention 
 her? Giovanna continually asked herself these 
 questions when they had departed. 
 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 67 
 
 A few nights after, the Count Leon arrived, sad 
 and thoughtful. He prevailed on Giovanna to 
 sing one of her Polish melodies, which she told 
 him she had been taught, when a child, by her 
 nurse. Koszynski, unable to restrain the express- 
 ion of an intense admiration he had long felt, 
 frantically seized her hand, and exclaimed, " I love 
 you ! " 
 
 She withdrew it from his grasp,, remained silent 
 for a few minutes, and then said slowly, distinctly, 
 and ironically, "But I do not love you, Count 
 Boszynski." 
 
 Leon rose from his seat. He pressed his hands 
 to his brow, and was silent. Giovanna remained 
 calm and tranquil. "It is a penalty from Heav- 
 en," continued Leon, as if speaking to himself, 
 " for not having fulfilled my duty as a husband 
 towards one whom I chose voluntarily, but with- 
 out reflection. I wronged her, and am punished." 
 
 Giovanna turned her eyes upon him. Leon 
 continued, " Young, and with a heart untouched, 
 I married a princess about ten years older than 
 
68 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 myself, of eccentric habits and bad temper. She 
 treated me as an inferior. She dissipated the for- 
 tune hoarded up with so much care by my parents, 
 and yet was ashamed, on account of my origin, to 
 be called by my name. Happily for me, she was 
 fond of visiting and amusements. Otherwise, to 
 escape from her, I might have become a gambler, 
 or worse ; but to avoid meeting her, I remained at 
 home for there she seldom was. At first from 
 ennui, but afterwards from real delight in the 
 occupation, I gave myself up to study. Eeading 
 formed my mind and heart. I became a changed 
 being. Some months ago my father died, my 
 sister went to Lithuania, whilst my mother, in 
 her old age, and with her ideas, was quite inca- 
 pable of understanding my sorrow. So when my 
 wife went to the baths for the benefit of her 
 ruined health, I came here in the hope of meet- 
 ing with some of my former friends I saw 
 you" 
 
 Giovanna blushed like one detected ; but speed 
 ily recovering herself, asked, with calm pleasantry, 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 69 
 
 "Surely you do not number me among your 
 former friends ? " 
 
 "I know .not. I have been bewildered. It is 
 strange ; but from the moment I saw you at Count 
 Selka's, a powerful instinct of love overcame me ; 
 not a new feeling ; but as if some latent, long-hid, 
 undeveloped sentiment had suddenly burst forth 
 into an uncontrollable passion. I love, I adore 
 
 I -- " 
 
 The Prima Donna interrupted him not with 
 speech, but with a look which awed, which chilled 
 him. Pride, scorn, irony sat in her smile. Satire 
 darted from her eyes. After a pause she re- 
 peated slowly and pointedly, "Love me, Count 
 Eoszynski?" 
 
 "Such is my destiny," he replied. "Nor, de- 
 spite your scorn, will I struggle against it. I feel 
 it is my fate ever to love you ; I fear it is my fate 
 never to be loved by you. It is dreadful." 
 
 Giovanna witnessed the Count's emotion with 
 sadness. " To have," she said mournfully, "one's 
 first, pure, ardent, passionate affection unrequited, 
 
70 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 scorned, made a jest of, is indeed a bitterness, 
 almost equal to that of death." 
 
 She made a strong effort to conceal her emotion. 
 Indeed she controlled it so well as to speak the 
 rest with a sort of gaiety. 
 
 " You have at least been candid, Count Koszyn- 
 sM ; I will imitate you by telling a little history 
 that occurred in your country.' There was a poor 
 girl born and bred a serf to her wealthy lord and 
 master. "When scarcely fifteen years old, she was 
 torn from a state of happy rustic freedom the 
 freedom of humility and content to be one of the 
 courtly slaves of the Palace. Those who did not 
 laugh at her, scolded her. One kind word was 
 vouchsafed to her, and that came from the lord's 
 son. She nursed it and treasured it ; till, from 
 long concealing and restraining her feelings, she at 
 last found that gratitude had changed into a sin- 
 cere affection. But what does a man of the world 
 care for the love of a serf ? It does not even flat- 
 ter his vanity. The young nobleman did not un- 
 derstand the source of her tears a'nd her grief, and 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 71 
 
 L made a present of her, as lie would have done 
 of some animal, to his betrothed." 
 
 Leon, agitated and somewhat enlightened, would 
 have interrupted her ; but Giovanna said, " Allow 
 me to finish my tale. Providence did not abandon 
 this poor orphan, but permitted her to rise to dis- 
 tinction b y the talent with which she was endowed 
 by nature. The wretched serf of Poberoze became a 
 celebrated Italian cantatrice. Then her former lord 
 meeting her in society, and seeing her admired and 
 courted by all the world, without knowing who 
 she really was, was afflicted, as if by the dictates of 
 Heaven, with a love for this same girl, with, a 
 guilty love" 
 
 And Giovanna rose, as she said this, to remove 
 herself further from her admirer. 
 
 " No, no ! " he replied earnestly ; " with a pure 
 and holy passion." 
 
 " Impossible ! " returned Giovanna. " Are you 
 not married ? " 
 
 Koszynski vehemently tore a letter from his 
 vest, and handed it to Giovanna. It was sealed 
 
72 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 with black, for it announced the death of his wife 
 at the baths. It had only arrived that morning. 
 
 " You have lost no time," said the cantatrice, 
 endeavoring to conceal her feelings under an iron 
 mask of reproach. 
 
 There was a pause. Each dared not speak. 
 The Count knew but without actually and prac- 
 tically believing what seemed incredible that 
 Anielka and Giovanna were the same person his 
 slave. That terrible relationship checked him. 
 Anielka, too, had played her part to the end of 
 endurance. The long-cherished tenderness the 
 faithful love of her life, could not longer be wholly 
 mastered. Hitherto they had spoken in Italian. 
 She now said in Polish, 
 
 " You have a right, my Lord Eoszynski, to that 
 poor Anielka who escaped from the service of your 
 wife in Florence ; you can force her back to your 
 palace, to :ts meanest work, but" 
 
 " Have mercy on me ! " cried Leon. 
 
 " But," continued the serf of Pobereze, firmly, 
 "you cannot force me to love you." 
 
THE SERF OF POBEEEZE. 73 
 
 " Do not mock do not torture me more ; you 
 are sufficiently revenged. I will not offend you 
 by importunity. You must indeed hate me ! But 
 remember that we Poles wished to give freedom 
 to our serfs ; and for that very reason our country 
 was invaded and dismembered by despotic powers. 
 "We must therefore continue to suffer slavery as it 
 exists in Eussia ; but, soul and body, we are 
 averse to it ; and when our country once more 
 becomes free, be assured no shadow of slavery will 
 remain in the land. Curse then our enemies, and 
 pity us that we stand in such a desperate position 
 between Kussian bayonets and Siberia, and the 
 hatred of our serfs." 
 
 So saying, and without waiting for a reply, 
 Leon rushed from the room. The door was 
 closed. Giovanna listened to the sounds of his 
 rapid footsteps till they died in the street. She 
 would have followed, but dared not. She ran to 
 the window. Koszynski's carriage was rolling 
 rapidly away, and she exclaimed vainly, " I love 
 you, Leon ; I loved you always 1 " 
 
74: PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 Her tortures were unendurable. To relieve 
 them she hastened to her desk, and wrote these 
 words : 
 
 " Dearest Leon, forgive me ; let the past be for- 
 ever forgotten. Eeturn to your Anielka. She 
 always has been, ever will be yours." 
 
 She despatched the missive. "Was it too late ? 
 or would it bring him back ? In the latter hope 
 she retired to her chamber, to execute a little 
 project. 
 
 Leon was in despair. He saw he had been 
 premature in so soon declaring his passion after 
 the news of his wife's death, and vowed he would 
 not see Anielka again for several months. To 
 calm his agitation, he had ridden some miles into 
 the country. When he returned to his ho'e after 
 some hours, he found her note. With th wild 
 delight it had darted into his soul, he flew uack 
 to her. 
 
 On regaining her saloon a new and terrible 
 vicissitude seemed to sport with his passion : she 
 was nowhere to be seen. Had the Italian can- 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 75 
 
 tatrice fled? Again lie was in despair; stupefied 
 with disappointment. As he stood uncertain how 
 to act in the midst of the floor, he heard, as from a 
 distance, an Ave Maria poured forth in tones he 
 half-recognized. The sounds brought back to him 
 a host of recollections ; a weeping serf, the garden 
 of his own palace. In a state of new rapture he 
 followed the voice. He traced it to an inner 
 chamber, and he there beheld the lovely singer 
 kneeling in the costume of a Polish serf. She 
 rose, greeted Leon with a touching smile, and 
 stepped forward with serious bashfulness. Leon 
 extended his arms ; she sank into them ; and in 
 that fond embrace all past wrongs and sorrows 
 were forgotten ! Anielka drew from her bosom a 
 little purse, and took from it a piece of silver. It 
 was the rouble. Now, Leon did not smile at it. 
 He comprehended the sacredness of this little gift ; 
 and some tears of repentance fell upon Anielka's 
 hand. 
 
 A few months after, Leon wrote to the steward 
 of Olgogrod to prepare everything splendidly for 
 
76 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 the reception of his second wife. He concluded 
 his letter with these words : " I understand that 
 in the dungeon beneath my palace there are some 
 unfortunate men, who were imprisoned during 
 my father's lifetime. Let them be instantly liber- 
 ated. This is my first act of gratitude to God, 
 who has so infinitely blessed me ! " 
 
 Anielka longed ardently to behold her native 
 land. They left Vienna immediately after the 
 wedding, although it was in the middle of Jan- 
 uary. 
 
 It was already quite dark when the carriage, 
 with its four horses, stopped in front of the portico 
 of the palace of Olgogrod. Whilst the footman 
 was opening the door on one side, a beggar solicit- 
 ing alms appeared at the other, where Anielka was 
 seated. Happy to perform a good action, as she 
 crossed the threshold of her new home, she gave 
 him some money ; but the man, instead of thank- 
 ing her, returned her bounty with a savage laugh, 
 at the same time scowling at her in the fiercest 
 manner from beneath his thick and shaggy brows. 
 
THE SERF OF POBEEEZE. 77 
 
 The strangeness of this circumstance sensibly af- 
 fected Anielka, and clouded her happiness. Leon 
 soothed and re-assured her. In the arms of her 
 beloved husband, she forgot all but the happiness 
 of being the idol of his affections. 
 
 Fatigue and excitement made the night most 
 welcome. All was dark and silent around the 
 palace, and some hours of the night had passed, 
 when suddenly flames burst forth from several 
 parts of the building at once. The palace was en- 
 veloped in fire ; it raged furiously. The flames 
 mounted higher and higher ; the windows cracked 
 with a fearful sound, and the smoke penetrated 
 into the most remote apartments. 
 
 A single figure of a man was seen stealing over 
 the snow, which lay like a winding-sheet on the 
 solitary waste; his cautious steps were heard on 
 the frozen snow as it crisped beneath his tread. 
 It was the beggar who had accosted Anielka. On 
 a rising ground, he turned to gaze on the terrible 
 scene. " ISTo more unfortunate wretches will now 
 be doomed to pass their lives in your dungeons," 
 
78 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 lie exclaimed. " What was my crime ? Kemind- 
 ing my master of the lowness of his birth. For 
 this they tore me from my only child my darling 
 little Anielka; they had no pity even for her 
 orphan state ; let them perish all ! " 
 
 Suddenly a young and beautiful creature rushes 
 wildly to one of the principal windows : she 
 makes a violent effort to escape. For a moment 
 her lovely form, clothed in white, shines in terri- 
 ble relief against the background of blazing cur- 
 tains and walls of fire, and as instantly sinks back 
 into the blazing element. Behind her is another 
 figure, vainly endeavoring to aid her, he perishes 
 also ; neither are ever seen again ! 
 
 This appalling tragedy horrified even the per- 
 petrator of the crime. He rushed from the place ; 
 and as he heard the crash of the falling walls, he 
 closed his ears with his hands, and darted on 
 faster and faster. 
 
 The next day some peasants discovered the 
 body of a man frozen to death, lying on a heap 
 of snow, it was that of the wretched incendiary. 
 
THE SERF OF POBEREZE. 79 
 
 Providence, mindful of his long, of his cruel im- 
 prisonment and sufferings, spared him the an- 
 'guish of knowing that the mistress of the palace 
 he had destroyed, and who perished in the flames, 
 was his own beloved daughter the Serf of 
 Pobereze I 
 
III. 
 
 3S0ntorfttl JAtontem in 
 
 T AM fond of Gardening. I like to dig. If 
 among the operations of the garden any need 
 for such a work can be at any time discovered or 
 invented, I like to dig a hole. 
 
 On the 3d of March, 1849, 1 began a hole behind 
 the kitchen wall, whereinto it was originally in- 
 tended to transplant a plum tree. The exercise 
 was so much to my taste, that a strange humor 
 impelled me to dig on. A fascination held me 
 to the task. I neglected my business. I disap- 
 peared from the earth's surface. A boy who 
 worked a basket by means of a rope and pulley, 
 aided me ; so aided, I confined my whole atten- 
 tion to spade labor. The centripetal force seemed 
 to have made me its especial victim. I dug on 
 until Autumn. In the beginning of November I 
 
ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. 81 
 
 observed that, upon percussion, the sound given 
 by the floor of my pit was resonant. I did not 
 intermit my labor, urged as I was by a mysterious 
 instinct downwards. On applying my ear, I occa- 
 sionally heard a subdued sort of rattle, which 
 caused me to form a theory that the centre of the 
 earth might be composed of mucus. In Novem- 
 ber, the ground broke beneath me into a hollow, 
 and I fell a considerable distance. I alighted on 
 the box-seat of a four-horse coach, which happened 
 to be running at that time immediately underneath. 
 The coachman took no notice whatever of my sud- 
 den arrival by his side. He was so completely 
 muffled up, that I could observe only the skilful 
 way in which he manipulated reins and whip. 
 The horses were yellow. I had seen no more than 
 this, when the guard's horn blew, and presently we 
 pulled up at an inn. A waiter came out, and ap- 
 peared to collect four bags from the passengers 
 inside the coach. He then came round to me. 
 "Dine here, Sir?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said L I like to dinenot 
 6 
 
82 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 the sole point of resemblance between myself and 
 the great- Johnson. 
 
 " Trouble you for your stomach, Sir." 
 While the waiter was looking up with a polite 
 stare into my puzzled face, my neighbor, the coach- 
 man, put one hand within his outer coat, as if to 
 feel for money in his waistcoat pocket. Directly 
 afterwards his fingers came again to light, and 
 pulled forth an enormous sack. Notwithstanding 
 that it was abnormally enlarged, I knew by obser- 
 vation of its form and texture that this was a 
 stomach, with the ossophagus attached. This, 
 then, the waiter caught as it was thrown down to 
 him, and hung it carelessly over his arm, together 
 with the four smaller bags (which I now knew to 
 be also stomachs) collected from the passengers 
 within the coach. I started up, and as I happened 
 to look round, observed a skeleton face upon the 
 shoulders of a gentleman who sat immediately 
 behind my back. My own features were noticed 
 at the same time by the guard, who now oame fo? 
 ward touching his hat. 
 
ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. 83 
 
 " Beg your pardon, Sir, but you Ve been and 
 done it." 
 
 "Done what?" 
 
 " Why, Sir, you should have booked your place, 
 and not come up in this clandestine way. How- 
 ever, you Ve been and done it ! " 
 
 " My good man, what have I done ? " 
 
 " Why, Sir, the Baron Terroro's eyes had the 
 box seat, and I strongly suspect you Ve been and 
 sat upon them." 
 
 I looked involuntarily to see whether I had been 
 sitting upon anything except the simple cushion. 
 Truly enough, there was an eye, which I had 
 crushed and flattened. 
 
 " Only one," I said. 
 
 " Worse for you, and better for him. The other 
 eye had time to escape, and it will know you again, 
 that 's certain. Well, it 's no business of mine. 
 Of course you Ve no appetite now for dinner ? 
 Better pay your fare, Sir. To the Green Hippo- 
 potamus and Spectacles, where we put up, it 's ten- 
 and-six." 
 
g4 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 " Is there room inside ? " I inquired. It was 
 advisable to shrink from observation. 
 
 " Yes, Sir. The inside passengers are mostly 
 skeleton. There 's room for three, Sir. Inside, 
 one-pound-one." 
 
 I paid the money, and became an inside passen- 
 ger. 
 
 Professor Essig's Lectures on Anatomy had so 
 fortified me, that I did not shrink from entering 
 the Skitzton coach. It contained living limbs, 
 loose or attached to skeletons in other respects 
 bare, except that they were clothed with broadcloth 
 garments, cut after the English fashion. One pas- 
 senger only had a complete face of flesh, he had 
 also one living hand ; the other hand I guessed 
 was bony, because it was concealed in a glove 
 obviously padded. By observing the fit of his 
 clothes, I came to a conclusion that this gentleman 
 was stuffed throughout ; that all his limbs, except 
 the head and hand, were artificial. Two pair of 
 Legs, in woollen stockings, and a pair of Ears, 
 
ADVENTUKES IN SKITZLAND. 85 
 
 were in a corner of the coach, and in another cor- 
 ner there were nineteen or twenty Scalps. 
 
 I thought it well to look astonished at nothing, 
 and, having pointed in a careless manner to the 
 scalps, asked what might be their destination ? 
 The person with the Face and Hand replied 
 to me ; and although evidently himself a gentle- 
 man, he addressed me with a tone of unconcealed 
 respect. 
 
 " They are going to Skitzton, Sir, to the hair- 
 dresser's." 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," I said. " They are to make 
 Natural Skin Wigs. I might have known." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir. There is a ball to- 
 morrow night at Culmsey. But the gentry do not 
 like to employ village barbers, and therefore many 
 of the better class of people send their hair to 
 Skitzton, and receive it back by the return coach 
 properly cut and curled." 
 
 " Oh," said I. " Ah ! Oh, indeed ! " 
 
 " Dinners, gentlemen ! " said a voice at the win-, 
 dow, and the waiter handed in four stomachs, now 
 
86 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 tolerably well filled. Each passenger received his 
 property, and pulling open his chest with as much 
 composure as if he were unbuttoning his waistcoat, 
 restored his stomach, with a dinner in it, to the 
 right position. Then the reckonings were paid, 
 and the coach started. 
 
 I thought of my garden, and much wished that 
 somebody could throw Professor Essig down the 
 hole that I had dug. A few things were to be met 
 with in Skitzland which would rather puzzle him. 
 They puzzled me ; but I took refuge in silence, 
 and so fortified, protected my ignorance from an 
 exposure. 
 
 " You are going to court, Sir, I presume ? " said 
 my Face and Hand friend, after a short pause. 
 His was the only mouth in the coach, excepting 
 mine, so that lie \\ r as the only passenger able to 
 enter into conversation. 
 
 " My dear Sir," I replied, " let me be frank with 
 you. I have arrived here unexpectedly out of 
 another world. Of the manners and customs, nay, 
 of the very nature of the people who inhabit this 
 
ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. 87 
 
 country, I know nothing. For any information 
 you can give me, I shall be very grateful." 
 
 My friend smiled incredulity, and said, 
 
 " Whatever you are pleased to profess, I will 
 believe. "What you are pleased to feign a wish 
 for, I am proud to furnish. In Skitzland, the in- 
 habitants, until they come of age, retain that illus- 
 trious appearance which you have been so fortun- 
 ate as never to have lost. During the night of his 
 twenty-first birthday, each Skitzlander loses the 
 limbs which up to that period have received from 
 him no care, no education. Of those neglected 
 parts the skeletons alone remain, but all those 
 organs which he has employed sufficiently continue 
 unimpaired. I, for example, devoted to the study 
 of the law, forgot all occupation but to think, to 
 use my senses, and to write. I rarely used my 
 legs, and therefore Nature has deprived me of 
 them." 
 
 " But," I observed, " it seems* that in Skitzland 
 you are able to take yourselves to pieces." 
 
 " JSTo one has that power more largely than your- 
 
88 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 self. What organs we have we can detach on any 
 service. When dispersed, a simple force of Nature 
 directs all corresponding members whither to fly 
 that they may re-assemble. 
 
 " If they can fly," I asked, " why are they sent 
 in coaches? There were a pair of eyes on the 
 box-seat." 
 
 "Simply for safety against accidents. Eyes 
 flying alone are likely to be seized by birds, and 
 incur many dangers. They are sent, therefore, 
 usually under protection, like any other valuable 
 parcel." 
 
 " Do many accidents occur ? " 
 
 "Very few. For mutual protection, and also 
 because a single member is often all that has been 
 left existing of a fellow Skitzlander, our laws, as 
 you, Sir, know much better than myself, estimate 
 the destruction of any part absent on duty from 
 its skeleton as a crime equivalent to murder " 
 
 After this I held my tongue. Presently my 
 friend again inquired whether I was going up to 
 Court? 
 
ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. 89 
 
 " Why should I go to Court ? " 
 
 " Oh, Sir, it pleases you to be facetious. You 
 must be aware that any Skitzlander who has been 
 left by Nature in possession of every limb, sits in 
 the Assembly of the Perfect, or the Upper House, 
 and receives many State emoluments and dig- 
 nities." 
 
 " Are there many members of that Upper As- 
 sembly?" 
 
 " Sir, there were forty-two. But if you are now 
 travelling to claim your seat, -the number will be 
 raised to forty-three." 
 
 " The Baron Terroro " I hinted. 
 
 " My brother, Sir. His eyes are on the box-seat 
 under my care. Undoubtedly he is a Member of 
 the Upper House." 
 
 I was now anxious to get out of the coach as 
 soon as possible. My wish was fulfilled after the 
 next pause. One Eye, followed by six Pairs of 
 Arms, with strong hard Hands belonging to them, 
 flew in at the window. I was collared ; the door 
 was opened, and all hands were at work to drag 
 
90 PEABL-FISHING. 
 
 me out and away. The twelve Hands whisked me 
 through the air, while the one Eye sailed before 
 us, like an old bird, leader of the flight. 
 
 What sort of sky have they in Skitzlacd ? Our 
 earth overarches them, and, as the sun-light Miters 
 through, it causes a subdued illumination vith 
 very pure rays. Skitzland is situated nearly In 
 the centre of our globe, it hangs there like a 
 shrunken kernel in the middle of a nutshell. TV * 
 height from Skitzland to the over-arching canopv 
 is great ; so great, that if I had not fallen person 
 ally from above the firmament, I should have con- 
 sidered it to be a blue sky similar to ours. Al 
 night it is quite dark ; but during the day there is 
 an appearance in the Heaven of white spots ; their 
 glistening reminded me of stars. I noticed then? 
 as I -was being conveyed to prison by the strong 
 arms of justice, for it was by a detachment of 
 members from the Skitzton Police that I was now 
 hurried along. The air was very warm, and cor- 
 
ADVENTUKES IN SKITZLAND. 91 
 
 roborated the common observation of an increase 
 of heat as you get into the pith of our planet. 
 The theory of Central Fire, however, is, you per* 
 ceive, quite overturned by my experience. 
 
 "We alighted near the Outskirts of a large and 
 busy town. Through its streets I was dragged 
 publicly, much stared at, and much staring. The 
 street life was one busy nightmare of disjointed 
 limbs. Professor Essig, could he have been dragged 
 through Skitzton, would have delivered his fare- 
 well lecture upon his return. " Gentlemen, Fuit 
 Ilium Fuit Ischium Fuit Sacrum Anatomy 
 has lost her seat among the sciences. My occupa- 
 tion 's gone." Professor Owen's Book " On the 
 Nature of Limbs," must contain, in the next 
 edition, an Appendix " Upon Limbs in Skitz- 
 lancl." I was dragged through the streets, and all 
 dhat I saw there, in the present age of little faith, 
 I dare not tell you. I was dragged through the 
 streets to prison and there duly chained, after 
 having been subjected to the scrutiny of about 
 fifty couples of eyes drawn up in a line within the 
 
92 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 prison door. I was chained in a dark cell, a cell 
 so dark that I could very faintly perceive the 
 figure of some being who was my companion. 
 Whether this individual had ears wherewith to 
 hear, and mouth wherewith to answer me, I could 
 not see, but at a venture I addressed him. My 
 thirst for information was unconquerable ; I began, 
 therefore, immediately with a question : 
 
 " Friend, what are those stars which we see 
 shining in the sky at mid-day ? " 
 
 An awful groan being an unsatisfactory reply, 
 I asked again. 
 
 " Man, do not mock at misery. You will your- 
 self be one of them." 
 
 'The Teachers shall shine like Stars in the Fir- 
 mament.' I have a propensity for teaching, but 
 was puzzled to discover how I could give so prac- 
 tical an illustration of the text of Fichte. 
 
 " Believe me," I said, " I am strangely ignorant. 
 Explain yourself." 
 
 He answered with a hollow voice : 
 
 " Murderers are shot up out of mortars into the 
 
ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. 93 
 
 sky, and stick there. Those white, glistening 
 specks, they are their skeletons." 
 
 Justice is prompt in Skitzland. I was tried in- 
 credibly fast by a jury of twelve men who had 
 absolutely heads. The judges had nothing but 
 brain, mouth, and ear. Three powerful tongues 
 defended me, but as they were not suffered to talk 
 nonsense, they had little to say. The whole case 
 was too clear to be talked into cloudiness. Baron 
 Terroro, in person, deposed, that he had sent his 
 eyes to see a friend in Culmsey, and that they 
 were returning on the Skitzton coach, when I, ille- 
 gally, came with my whole bulk upon the box- 
 seat, which he occupied. That one of his eyes 
 was, in that manner, totally destroyed, but that 
 the other eye, having escaped, identified me, and 
 brought to his brain intelligence of the calamity 
 which had befallen. He deposed further, that 
 having received this information, he despatched 
 his uncrushed eye with arms from the police- 
 office, and accompanied with several members of 
 the detective force, to capture the offender, and to 
 
94: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 procure the full proofs of my crime. A sub-inspec- 
 tor of Skitzton Police then deposed that he sent 
 three of his faculties, with his mouth, eye, and ear, 
 to meet the coach. That the driver, consisting only 
 of a stomach and hands, had been unable to ob- 
 serve what passed. That the guard, on the con- 
 trary, had taxed me with my deed, that he had 
 seen me rise from my seat upon the murdered eye, 
 and that he had heard me make confession of my 
 guilt. The guard was brought next into court, 
 and told his tale. Then I was called upon for my 
 defence. If a man wearing a cloth coat and 
 trousers, and talking excellent English, were to 
 plead at the Old Bailey that he had broken into 
 some citizen's premises accidentally by falling 
 from the moon, his tale would be received in Lon- 
 don as mine was in Skitzton. I was severely 
 reprimanded for my levity, and ordered to be 
 silent. The Judge summed up and the Jury 
 found me Guilty. The Judge who had put on the 
 black cap before the verdict was pronounced, held 
 out no hope of mercy, and straightway sentenced 
 
ADVENTURES IN SKITZLAND. 95 
 
 me to Death, according to the laws and usage of 
 the Eealm. 
 
 The period which intervenes between the sen- 
 tence and execution of a criminal in Skitzland, is 
 not longer thai) three hours. In order to increase 
 the terror of death by contrast, the condemned 
 man is suffered to taste at the table of life from 
 which he is banished, the most luscious viands, 
 All the attainable enjoyment that his wit can ask 
 for, he is allowed to have, during the three hours 
 before he is shot, like rubbish, off the fields of 
 Skitzland. 
 
 Under guard, of course, I was now to be led 
 whithersoever I desired. 
 
 Several churches were open. They never are 
 all shut in Skitzton. I was taken into one. A 
 man with heart and life was preaching. People 
 with hearts were in some pews ; people with 
 brains, in others ; people with ears only, in some. 
 In a neighboring church there was a popular 
 
96 PEARL-DISHING. 
 
 preacher, a skeleton with life. His congregation 
 was a crowd of ears, and nothing more. 
 
 There was a day-performance at the Opera. I 
 went to that. Fine lungs and mouths possessed 
 the stage, and afterwards there was a great bewil- 
 derment with legs. I was surprised to notice that 
 many of the most beautiful ladies were carried in 
 and out, and lifted about like dolls. My guides 
 sneered at my pretence of ignorance, when I asked 
 why this was. But they were bound to please me 
 in all practicable ways, so they informed me, al- 
 though somewhat pettishly. It seems that in 
 Skitzland, ladies who possess and have cultivated 
 only their good looks, lose at the age of twenty- 
 one, all other endowments. So they become liter- 
 ally dolls, but dolls of a superior kind ; for they 
 can not only open and shut their eyes, but also 
 sigh ; wag slowly with their heads, and sometimes 
 take a pocket-handkerchief out of a bag, and drop 
 it. But as their limbs are powerless, they have to 
 be lifted and dragged about after the fashion that 
 excited my astonishment. 
 
ADVEN TUBES IN SKITZLAND. 97 
 
 I said then, " Let me see the Poor." They took 
 me to a Workhouse. The men, there, were all 
 yellow; and they wore a dress which looked as 
 though it were composed of asphalte ; it had also a 
 smell like that of pitch. I asked for explanation 
 of these things. 
 
 A Superintendent of Police remarked that I was 
 losing opportunities of real enjoyment for the 
 idle purpose of persisting in my fable of having 
 dropped down from the sky. However, I com- 
 pelled him to explain to me what was the reason 
 of these things. The information I obtained was 
 chiefly this : that Nature, in Skitzland, never re- 
 moves the stomach. Every man has to feed him- 
 self; and the necessity for finding food, joined to 
 the necessity for buying clothes, is a mainspring 
 whereby the whole clockwork of civilized life is 
 kept in motion. Now, if a man positively cannot 
 feed and clothe himself, he becomes a pauper. He 
 then goes to the Workhouse, where he has his 
 stomach filled with a cement. That stopping lasts 
 a life-time, and he thereafter needs no food His 
 
98 PEABL-FISHING. 
 
 body, nowever,"" becomes yellow by the superfluity 
 of bile. The yellow-boy, which is the Skitzland 
 epithet for pauper, is at the same time provided 
 with a suit of clothes. The clothes are of a mate- 
 rial so tough that they can be worn unimpaired 
 for more than eighty years. The pauper is now 
 freed from care, but were he in this state cast loose 
 upon society, since he has not that stimulus to 
 labor which excites industry in other men, he 
 would become an element of danger in the state. 
 .Nature no longer compelling him to work, the law 
 compels him. The remainder of his life is forfeit 
 to the uses of his country. He labors at the work- 
 house, costing nothing more than the expense of 
 lodging, after the first inconsiderable outlay for 
 cement wherewith to plug his stomach, and for the 
 one suit of apparel. 
 
 When we came out of the workhouse, all the 
 bells in the town were tolling. The Superintend- 
 ent told me that I had sadly frittered away time, 
 for I had now no more than half an hour to live. 
 Upon that I leaned my back against a post, and 
 
AD VENTUKES IN SKITZLAND. 99 
 
 a&ked him to prepare me for my part in the im- 
 pending ceremony by giving me a little informa- 
 tion on the subject of executions. 
 
 I found that it was usual for a man to be exe- 
 cuted with great ceremony upon the spot whereon 
 his crime had been committed. That in case of 
 rebellions or tumults in the provinces, when large 
 numbers were not unfrequently condemned to 
 death, the sentence of the law was carried out in 
 the chief towns of the disturbed districts. That 
 large numbers of people were thus sometimes dis- 
 charged from a single market-place, and that the 
 repeated strokes appeared to shake, or crack, or 
 pierce in some degree that portion of the sky to- 
 wards which the artillery had been directed. I 
 here at once saw that I had discovered the true 
 cause of earthquakes and volcanoes; and this 
 shows how great light may be thrown upon theo- 
 ries concerning the hidden constitution of this 
 earth, by going more deeply into the matter of it 
 than had been done by any one before I dug iny 
 hole. Our volcanoes, it is now proved, are sit 
 
100 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 uatecl over the market-places of various provincial 
 towns in Skitzland. When a revolution happens, 
 the rebels are shot up, discharged from mortars 
 by means of an explosive material evidently far 
 more powerful than our gunpowder, or gun-cotton ; 
 and they are pulverized by the friction in grinding 
 their way through the earth. How simple and 
 easy truth appears, when we have once arrived 
 at it. 
 
 The sound of muffled drums approached us, and 
 a long procession turned the corner of a street. I 
 was placed in the middle of it, Baron Terroro by 
 my side. All then began to float so rapidly away, 
 that I was nearly left alone, when forty arms came 
 back and collared me. It was considered to be a 
 proof of my refractory disposition, that I would 
 make no use of my innate power of flight. I was 
 therefore dragged in this procession swiftly through 
 the air, drums playing, fifes lamenting. 
 
 We alighted on the spot where I had fallen, and 
 the hole through which I had come I saw above 
 me. It was very small, but the light from above 
 
ADVENTUKES IN S KIT z LAND. 101 
 
 shining more vividly through, it made it look, with 
 its rough edges, like a crumpled moon. A quan- 
 tity of some explosive liquid was poured into a 
 large mortar, which had been erected (under the 
 eye of Baron Terroro) exactly where my misfor- 
 tune happened. I was then thrust in, the Baron 
 ramming me down, and pounding with a long 
 stock or pestle upon my head in a noticeably vi- 
 cious manner. The Baron then cried " Fire ! " and 
 as I shot out, in the midst of a blaze, I saw him 
 looking upward. 
 
 By great good fortune, they had planted their 
 artillery so well, that I was fired up through my 
 hole again, and alighted in my own garden, just a 
 little singed. My first thought was to run to an 
 adjoining bed of vegetable marrows. Thirty vege- 
 table marrows and two pumpkins I rained down 
 to astonish the Skitzlanders, and I fervently hope 
 that one of them may have knocked out the re- 
 maining eye of my vindictive enemy, the Baron. 
 
102 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 I then went into the pantry, and obtained a basket 
 full of eggs, and having rained these down upon 
 the Skitzlanders, I left them. 
 
 It was after breakfast when I went down to 
 Skitzland, and I came back while the dinner bell 
 was ringing. 
 
IV. 
 
 "\T7"HEN Death is present in a household on a 
 Christmas Day, t^ie very contrast between 
 the time as it now is, and the day as it has often 
 been, gives a poignancy to sorrow, a more utter 
 blankness to the desolation. James Leigh died 
 just as the far-away bells of Eochdale Church were 
 ringing for morning service on Christmas Day, 
 1836. A few minutes before his death he opened 
 his already glazing eyes, and made a faint motion 
 of his lips, that he had yet something to say. She 
 stooped close down, and caught the broken whis- 
 per, " I forgive her, Anne ! May God forgive 
 me." 
 
 " Oh my love, my dear ! only get well, and I 
 will never cease showing my thanks for those 
 words. May God in heaven bless thee for saying 
 
104 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 them. Thou 'rt not so restless, my lad ! may be 
 Oh God!" 
 
 For even while she spoke, he died. 
 
 They had been two-and-twenty years man and 
 wife; for nineteen of those years their life had 
 been as calm and happy, as the most perfect up- 
 rightness on the one side, and the most complete 
 confidence and loving submission on the other, 
 could make it. Milton's famous line might have 
 been framed and hung up as the rule of their mar- 
 ried life, for he was truly the interpreter, who 
 stood between God and her ; she would have con- 
 sidered herself wicked if she had ever dared even 
 to think him austere, though as certainly as he was 
 an upright man, so surely was he hard, stern, and 
 inflexible. But for three years the moan and the 
 murmur had never been out of her heart ; she had 
 rebelled against her husband as against a tyrant, 
 with a hidden sullen rebellion, which tore up the 
 old land-marks of wifely duty and affection, and 
 poisoned the fountains whence gentlest love and 
 reverence had been forever springing. 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 105 
 
 But those last blessed words replaced him on his 
 throne in her heart, and called out penitent an- 
 guish for all the bitter estrangement of later years. 
 It was this which made her refuse all the entreaties 
 of her sons, that she would see the kind-hearted 
 neighbors, who called on their way from church, 
 to sympathize and condole. No ! she would stay 
 with the dead husband that had spoken tenderly 
 at last, if for three years he had kept silence ; who 
 knew but what, if she had only been more gentle 
 and less angrily reserved he might have relented 
 earlier and in time. 
 
 She sat rocking herself to and fro by the side 
 of the bed, while the footsteps below went in and 
 out ; she had been in sorrow too long to have any 
 violent burst of deep grief now ; the furrows were 
 well worn in her cheeks, and the tears flowed qui- 
 etly, if incessantly, all the day long. But when 
 the winter's night drew on, and the neighbors had 
 gone away to their homes, she stole to the window, 
 and gazed out, long and wistfully, over the dark 
 gray moors. She did not hear her son's voice, as 
 
106 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 he spoke to her from the door, nor his footstep as 
 he drew nearer. She started when he touched 
 
 her. 
 
 "Mother! come down to us. There's no one 
 but Will and me. Dearest mother, we do so want 
 you." The poor lad's voice trembled, and he 
 began to cry. It appeared to require an effort on 
 Mrs. Leigh's part to tear herself away from the 
 window, but with a sigh she complied with his 
 request. 
 
 The two boys (for though Will was nearly 
 twenty-one, she still thought of him as a lad) had 
 done everything in their power to make the house- 
 place comfortable for her. She herself, in the old 
 days before her sorrow, had never made a brighter 
 fire or a cleaner hearth, ready for her husband's 
 return home, than now awaited her. The tea- 
 things were all put out, and the kettle was boiling; 
 and the boys had calmed their grief down into a 
 kind of sober cheerfulness. They paid her every 
 attention they could think of, but received little 
 notice on her part ; she did not resist she rather 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 107 
 
 submitted to all their arrangements ; but they did 
 not seem to touch her heart. 
 
 When the tea was ended, it was merely the 
 form of tea that had been gone through, Will 
 moved the things away to the dresser. His 
 mother leant back languidly in her chair. 
 
 "'Mother, shall Tom read you a chapter ? He 's 
 a better scholar than I." 
 
 " Aye, lad ! " said she, almost eagerly. " That's 
 it. Eead me the Prodigal Son. Aye, aye, lad. 
 Thank thee." 
 
 Tom found the chapter, and read it in the high- 
 pitched voice which is customary in village-schools. 
 His mother bent forward, her lips parted, her eyes 
 dilated ; her whole body instinct with eager atten- 
 tion. Will sat with his head depressed, and hung 
 down. He knew why that chapter had been 
 chosen; and to him it recalled the family's dis- 
 grace. When the reading was ended, he still hung 
 down his head in gloomy silence. But her face 
 was brighter than it had been before for the day. 
 Her eyes looked dreamy, as if she saw a vision ; 
 
108 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 and by-and-bye she pulled the Bible towards her, 
 and putting her finger underneath each word, 
 began to read them aloud in a low voice to her- 
 self; she read again the words of bitter sorrow and 
 deep humiliation ; but most of all she paused and 
 brightened over the father's tender reception of the 
 repentant prodigal 
 
 So passed the Christmas evening in the Upclose 
 Farm. 
 
 The snow had fallen heavily over the dark wav- 
 ing moorland, before the day of the funeral. The 
 black, storm-laden dome of heaven lay very still 
 and close upon the white earth, as they carried 
 the body forth out of the house which had known 
 his presence so long as its ruling power. Two 
 and two the mourners followed, making a black 
 procession, in their winding march over the un- 
 beaten snow, to Milne-Row Church now lost in 
 some hollow of the bleak moors, now slowly 
 climbing the heavy ascents. There was no long 
 tarrying after the funeral, for many of the neigh- 
 bors who accompanied the lx>dy to the grave had 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 109 
 
 far to go, and the great white flakes which came 
 slowly down, were the boding fore-runners of a 
 heavy storm. One old friend alone accompanied 
 the widow and her sons to their home. 
 
 The Upclose Farm had belonged for generations 
 to the Leighs ; and yet its possession hardly raised 
 them above the rank of laborers. There was the 
 house and outbuildings, all of an old-fashioned 
 kind, and about seven acres of barren, unproduc- 
 tive land, which they had never possessed capital 
 enough to improve ; indeed they could hardly rely 
 upon it for subsistence ; and it had been customary 
 to bring up the sons to some trade such as a 
 wheelwright's, or blacksmith's. 
 
 James Leigh had left a will, in the possession of 
 the old man who accompanied them home. He 
 read it aloud. James had bequeathed the farm to 
 his faithful wife, Anne Leigh, for her life-time, and f\j 
 afterwards to his son "William. The hundred and 
 odd- pounds in the savings-bank was to accumulate 
 for Thomas. 
 
 After the reading was ended, Anne Leigh sat 
 
110 PEARL -FISHING. 
 
 silent for a time ; and then she asked to speak to 
 Samuel Orme alone. The sons went into the 
 back-kitchen, and thence strolled out into the 
 fields regardless of the driving snow. The broth- 
 ers were dearly fond of each other, although they 
 were very different in character. Will, the elder, 
 was like his father, stern, reserved, scrupulously 
 upright. Tom (who was ten years younger) was 
 gentle and delicate as a girl, both in appearance 
 and character. He had always clung to his 
 mother, and dreaded his father. They did not 
 speak as they walked, for they were only in the 
 
 habit of talking about facts, and hardly knew the 
 
 t 
 
 more sophisticated language applied to the descrip- 
 tion of feelings. 
 
 Meanwhile their mother had taken hold of Sam- 
 uel Orme's arm with her trembling hand. 
 " Samuel, I must let the farm I must." 
 "Let the farm 1 What's come o'er the woman? " 
 " Oh, Samuel ! :? said she, her eyes swimming in 
 tears, u I 'm just fain to go and live in Manchester. 
 I mun let the farm." 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. Ill 
 
 Samuel looked, and pondered, but did not speak 
 for some time. At last he said 
 
 "If thou hast made up thy mind, there's no 
 speaking again it ; and thou must e'en go. Thou 'It 
 be sadly pottered wi' Manchester ways , but that 's 
 not my look out. Why, thou 'It have to buy 
 potatoes, a thing thou hast never done afore in all 
 thy born life. Well ! it 's not my look out. It 's 
 rather for me than again me. Our Jenny is 
 going to be married to Tom Higginbotham, and 
 he was speaking of wanting a bit of land to 
 begin upon. His father will be dying some- 
 time, I reckon, and then he '11 step into the Croft 
 Farm. But meanwhile" 
 
 " Then, thou 'It let the farm," said she, still as 
 eagerly as ever. 
 
 " Aye, aye, he '11 take it fast enough, I Ve a no- 
 tion. But I '11 not drive a bargain with thee just 
 now ; it would not be right ; we '11 wait a bit." 
 
 " No ; I cannot wait, settle it out at once." 
 
 " Well, well ; I '11 speak to Will about it. I see 
 him out yonder. I'll step to him, and talk it over." 
 
112 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Accordingly lie went and joined the two lads, 
 and without more ado, began the subject to 
 them. 
 
 " Will, thy mother is fain to go live in Man- 
 chester, and covets to let the farm. Now, I'm 
 willing to take it for Tom Higginbotham ; but I 
 like to drive a keen bargain, and there would be 
 no fun chaffering with thy mother just now. Let 
 thee and me buckle to, my lad ! and try and cheat 
 each other ; it will warm us this cold day." 
 
 "Let the farm!" said both the lads at once, 
 with infinite surprise. " Go live in Manchester ! " 
 
 When Samuel Orme found that the plan had 
 never before been named to either Will or Tom, 
 he would have nothing to do with it, he said, until 
 they had spoken to their mother ; likely she was 
 "dazed" by her husband's death; he would wait 
 a day or two, and not name it to any one ; not to 
 Tom Higginbotham himself, or may be he would 
 set his heart upon it. The 1-ads had better go in 
 and talk it over with their mother. He bade them 
 good day, and left them. 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 
 
 Will looked very gloomy, but he did not speak 
 till they got near the house. Then he said, 
 
 " Tom, go to th 7 shippon, and supper the cows. 
 I want to speak to mother alone." 
 
 When he entered the house-place, she was sit- 
 ting before the fire, looking into its embers. She 
 did not hear him come in ; for some time she had 
 lost her quick perception of outward things. 
 
 " Mother ! what 's this about going to Manches- 
 ter ? " asked he. 
 
 " Oh, lad ! " said she, turning round and speak- 
 ing in a beseeching tone, " I must go and seek our 
 Lizzie. I cannot rest here for thinking on her. 
 Many 's the time I Ve left thy father sleeping in 
 bed, and stole to th' window, and looked and 
 looked my heart out towards Manchester, till I 
 thought I must just set out and tramp over moor 
 and moss straight away till I got there, and then 
 lift up every downcast face till I came to our 
 Lizzie. And often, when the south wind was 
 blowing soft among the hollows, I've fancied (it 
 
 could but be fancy, thou knowest) I heard her 
 8 . 
 
114 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 crying upon me ; and I Ve thought the voice came 
 closer and closer, till at last it was sobbing out 
 'Mother' close to the door; and I've stolen 
 down, and undone the latch before now, and 
 looked out into the still black night, thinking to 
 see her, and turned sick and sorrowful when I 
 heard no living sound but the sough of the wind 
 dying away. Oh ! speak not to me of stopping 
 here, when she may be perishing for hunger, like 
 the poor lad in the parable." And now she lifted 
 up her voice and wept aloud. 
 
 Will was deeply grieved. He had been old 
 enough to be told the family shame when, more than 
 two years before, his father had had his letter to 
 his daughter returned by her mistress in Manches- 
 ter, telling him that Lizzie had left her service 
 some time and why. He had sympathized with 
 his father's stern anger; though he had thought 
 him something hard, it is true, when he had for- 
 bidden his weeping, heart-broken wife to go and 
 try to find her poor sinning child, and declared 
 that henceforth they would. have no daughtei 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 115 
 
 that she should be as one dead, and her name 
 never more be named at market or at meal time, 
 in blessing or in prayer. He had held his peace, 
 with compressed lips and contracted brow, when 
 the neighbors had noticed to him how poor Liz- 
 zie's death had aged both his father and his 
 mother; and how they thought the bereaved 
 couple would never hold up their heads again. 
 He himself had felt as if that one event had made 
 him old before his time ; and had envied Tom 
 the tears he had shed over poor, pretty, innocent, 
 dead Lizzie. He thought about her sometimes, 
 till he ground his teeth, and could have struck 
 her down in her shame. His mother had never 
 named her to him until now. 
 
 " Mother ! " said he at last. " She may be dead 
 Most likely she is." 
 
 "No, Will; she is not dead," said Mrs. Leigh 
 " God will not let her die till I 've seen her once 
 again. Thou dost not know how I Ve prayed and 
 prayed just once again to see her sweet face, and 
 tell her I've forgiven her, though she's broken 
 
116 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 my heart she has, Will." She could not go on 
 for a minute or two for the choking sobs. " Thou 
 dost not know that, or thou wouldst not say she 
 could be dead, for God is very merciful, "Will ; 
 He is, He is much more pitiful than man, I 
 could never ha' spoken to thy father as I did to 
 Him, and yet thy father forgave her at last. 
 The last words he said were that he forgave her. 
 Thou 'It not be harder than thy father, Will ? Do 
 not try and hinder me going to seek her, for it 's 
 no use." 
 
 Will sat very still for a long time before he 
 spoke. At last he said, "I'll not hinder you. I 
 think she's dead, but that 's no matter." 
 
 " She is not dead," said her mother, with low 
 earnestness. Will took no notice of the inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 "We will all go to Manchester for a twelve- 
 month, and let the farm to Tom Higginbotham. 
 I'll get blacksmith's work; and Tom can have 
 good schooling for awhile, which he's always 
 craving for. At the end of the year you'll come 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 117 
 
 back, mother, and give over fretting for Lizzie, 
 and think with me that she is dead, and, to my 
 mind, that would be more comfort than to think 
 of her living ; " he dropped his voice as he spoke 
 these last words. She shook her head, but made 
 no answer. He asked again, 
 
 " Will you, mother, agree to this ?" 
 
 "I'll agree to it a-this-ns," said she. "If I 
 hear and see nought of her for a twelvemonth, 
 me being in Manchester looking out, I '11 just ha j 
 broken my heart fairly before the year's ended, 
 and then I shall know neither love nor sorrow for 
 her any more, when I 'm at rest in the grave I '11 
 agree to that, Will." 
 
 " Well, I suppose it must be so. I shall not 
 tell Tom, mother, why we 're flitting to Manches- 
 ter. Best spare him." 
 
 " As thou wilt," said she, sadly, "so that we go, 
 that's all." 
 
 Before the wild daffodils were in flower in the 
 sheltered copses round Upclose Farm, the Leighs 
 were settled in their Manchester home ; if they 
 
118 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 could ever grow to consider that place as a home 
 where there was no garden, or outbuilding, no 
 fresh breezy outlet, no far-stretching view, over 
 moor and hollow, no dumb animals to be 
 tended, and, what more than all they missed, 
 no old haunting memories, even though those 
 remembrances told of sorrow, and the dead and 
 gone. 
 
 Mrs. Leigh heeded the loss of all these things 
 less than her sons. She had more spirit in her 
 countenance than she had had for months, because 
 now she had hope ; of a sad enough kind, to be 
 sure, but still it was hope. She performed all her 
 household duties, strange and complicated as they 
 were, and bewildered as she was with all the town- 
 necessities of her new manner of life ; but when 
 her house was " sided," and the boys come home 
 from their work, in the evening, she would put on 
 her things and steal out, unnoticed, as she thought, 
 but not without many a heavy sigh from Will, 
 after she had closed the house-door and departed. 
 It was often past midnight before she came back, 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 119 
 
 pale and weary, with almost a guilty look upon 
 her face ; but that face so full of disappointment 
 and hope deferred, that Will had never the heart 
 to say what he thought of the folly and hopeless- 
 ness of the search, Night after night it was re- 
 newed, till days grew to weeks and weeks to 
 months. All this time Will did his duty towards 
 her as well as he could, without having sympathy 
 with her. He staid at home in the evenings for 
 Tom's sake, and often wished he had Tom's pleas- 
 ure in reading, for the time hung heavy on his 
 hands, as he sat up for his mother. 
 
 I need not tell you how the mother spent the 
 weary hours. And yet I will tell you something. 
 She used to wander out, at first as if without a 
 purpose, till she rallied her thoughts, and brought 
 all her energies to bear on the one point ; then she 
 went with earnest patience along the least known 
 ways to some new part of the town, looking wist- 
 fully with dumb entreaty into people's faces ; some- 
 times catching a glimpse of a figure which had a 
 kind of momentary likeness to her child's, and fol- 
 
120 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 lowing that figure with never-wearying persever- 
 ance, till some light from shop or lamp showed the 
 cold strange face which was not her daughter's. 
 Once or twice a kind-hearted passer-by, struck by 
 her look of yearning woe, turned back and offered 
 help, or asked her what she wanted. "When so 
 spoken to, she answered only, "You don't know a 
 poor girl they call Lizzie Leigh, do you ? " and 
 when they denied all knowledge, she shook her 
 head, and went on again. I think they believed 
 her to be crazy. But she never spoke first to any 
 one. She sometimes took a few minutes' rest on 
 the door-steps, and sometimes (very seldom) cov- 
 ered her face and cried ; but she could not 8 fiord 
 to lose time and chances in this way ; while- her 
 eyes were blinded with tears, the lost one if Jght 
 pass by unseen. 
 
 One evening, in the rich time of shortening 
 autumn-days, Will saw an old man, who, -without 
 being absolutely drunk, could not g^iide himself 
 rightly along the foot-path, and was mocked for 
 his unsteadiness of gait by the idle boys of the 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 121 
 
 neighborhood. For his father's sake "Will regarded 
 old age with tenderness, even when most degraded 
 and removed from the stern virtues which digni- 
 fied that father ; so he took the old man home, and 
 seemed to believe his often-repeated assertions that 
 he drank nothing but water. The stranger tried 
 to stiffen himself up into steadiness as he drew 
 nearer home, as if there were some one there, for 
 whose respect he cared even in his half-intoxicated 
 state, or whose feelings he feared to grieve. His 
 home was exquisitely clean and neat even in out- 
 side appearance ; threshold, window, and window- 
 sill, were outward signs of some spirit of purity 
 within. Will was regarded for his attention by a 
 bright glance of thanks, succeeded by a blush of 
 shame, from a young woman of twenty or there- 
 abouts. She did not speak, or second her father's 
 hospitable invitations to him to be seated. She 
 seemed unwilling that a stranger should witness 
 her father's attempts at stately sobriety, and Will 
 could not bear to stay and see her distress. But 
 when the old man, with many a flabby shake of 
 
122 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 the hand, kept asking him to come again some 
 other evening and see them, Will sought her 
 down-cast eyes, and, though he could not read 
 their veiled meaning, he answered timidly, "If 
 it 's agreeable to everybody, I '11 come and thank 
 ye." But there was no answer from the girl, to 
 whom this speech was in reality addressed ; and 
 "Will left the house liking her all the better for 
 never speaking. 
 
 He thought about her a great deal for the next 
 day or two ; he scolded himself for being so fool- 
 . ish as to think of her, and then fell to with fresh 
 vigor, and thought of her more than ever. He 
 tried to depreciate her ; and told himself she was 
 not pretty, and then made indignant answer that 
 he liked her looks much better than any beauty of 
 them all. He wished he was not so country look- 
 ing, so red-faced, so broad-shouldered ; while she 
 was like a lady, with her smooth colorless com- 
 plexion, her bright dark hair and her spotless 
 dress. Pretty, or not pretty, she drew his foot- 
 steps towards her ; he could not resist the impulse 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 123 
 
 that made him wish to see her once more, and find 
 out some fault which should unloose his heart 
 from her unconscious keeping. But there she 
 was, pure and maidenly as before. He sat and 
 looked, answering her father at cross-purposes, 
 while she drew more and more into the shadow of 
 the chimney-corner out of sight. Then the spirit 
 that possessed him (it was not he himself, sure, 
 that did so impudent a thing !) made him get up 
 and carry the candle to a different place, under the 
 pretence of giving her more light at her sewing, 
 but, in reality, to be able to see her better ; she 
 could not stand this much longer, but jumped up, 
 and said she must put her little niece to bed ; and 
 surely, there never was, before or since, so trouble- 
 some a child of two years old ; for, though Will 
 staid an hour and a half longer, she never came 
 down again. He won the father's heart, though, 
 by his capacity as a listener, for some people are 
 not at all particular, and, so that they may talk on 
 undisturbed, are not so unreasonable as to expect 
 attention to what they say. 
 
124: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 "Will did gather this much, however, from the 
 old man's talk. He had once been quite in 
 a genteel line of business, but had failed for 
 more money than any greengrocer he had heard 
 of; at least, any who did not mix up fish and 
 game with greengrocery proper. This grand 
 failure seemed to have been the event of his life, 
 and one on which he dwelt with a strange kind 
 of pride. It appeared as if at present he rested 
 from his past exertions (in the bankrupt line), and 
 depended on his daughter, who kept a small 
 school for very young children. But all these 
 particulars Will only remembered and under- 
 stood, when he had left the house ; at the time he 
 heard them, he was thinking of Susan. After he 
 had made good his footing at Mr. Palmer's, he 
 was not long, you may be sure, without finding 
 some reason for returning again and again. He 
 listened to her father, he talked to the little niece, 
 but he looked at Susan, both while he listened 
 and while he talked. Her father kept on insisting 
 upon his former gentility, the. details of which 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 125 
 
 would have appeared very questionable to Will's 
 mind, if the sweet, delicate, modest Susan had not 
 thrown an inexplicable air of refinement over all 
 she came near. She never spoke much ; she was 
 generally diligently at work ; but when she 
 moved it was so noiselessly, and when she did 
 speak, it was in so low and soft a voice, that 
 silence, speech, motion and stillness, alike seemed 
 to remove her high above Will's reach into some 
 saintly and inaccessible air of glory high above 
 his reach ; even as she knew him ! And, if she 
 were made acquainted with the dark secret behind, 
 of his sister's shame, which was kept ever present 
 to his mind by his mother's nightly search among 
 the outcast and forsaken, would not Susan shrink 
 away from him with loathing as if he were tainted 
 by the involuntary relationship? This was his 
 dread ; and thereupon followed a resolution that he 
 would withdraw from her sweet company before it 
 was too late. So he resisted internal temptation, 
 and staid at home, and suffered and sighed. He 
 became angry with his mother for her untiring 
 
126 PEABL-FISHING, 
 
 patience in seeking for one who, he could not help 
 hoping, was dead rather than alive. He spoke 
 sharply to her, and received only such sad depre- 
 catory answers as made him reproach himself, and 
 still more lose sight of peace of mind. This strug- 
 gle could not last long without affecting his 
 health ; and Tom, his sole companion through the 
 long evenings, noticed his increasing languor, his 
 restless irrjtablity, with perplexed anxiety, and at 
 last resolved to call his mother's attention to his 
 brother's haggard, care-worn looks. She listened 
 with a startled recollection of Will's claims upon 
 her love. She noticed his decreasing appetite, 
 and half-checked sighs. 
 
 " Will, lad ! what 's come o 'er thee ? " said she 
 to him, as he sat listlessly gazing into the fire. 
 
 " There 's nought the matter with me," said he, 
 as if annoyed at her remark. 
 
 " Nay, lad, but there is." He did not speak 
 again to contradict her; indeed she did not 
 know if he had heard her, so unmoved did he 
 look. 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 127 
 
 " Would 'st like to go back to Upclose Farm ? " 
 asked she, sorrowfully. 
 
 " It 's just blackberrying time," said Tom. 
 
 Will shook his head. She looked at him awhile, 
 as if trying to read that expression of despondency 
 and trace it back to its source. 
 
 "Will and Tom could go," said she; "I must 
 stay here till I've found her, thouknow'st," con- 
 tinued she, dropping her voice. 
 
 He turned quickly round, and with the author- 
 ity he had at all times exercised over Tom, bade 
 him begone to bed. 
 
 When Tom had left the room he prepared to 
 speak. 
 
 " Mother," then said Will, " why will you keep 
 on thinking she 's alive ? If she were but dead, 
 we need never name her name again. We've 
 never heard nought on her since father wrote her 
 that letter ; we never knew whether she got it or 
 not. She 'd left her place before then. Many a 
 one dies is " 
 
128 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 "Oli my lad! durmot speak so to me, or my 
 heart will break outright," said his mother, with a 
 sort of cry. Then she calmed herself, for she 
 yearned to persuade him to her own belief. 
 "Thou never asked, and thou'rt too like thy 
 father for me to tell without asking but it were 
 all to be near Lizzie's old place that I settled down 
 on this side o' Manchester; and the very day 
 after we came, I went to her old misses, and asked 
 to speak a word wi' her. I had a strong mind to 
 cast it up to her, that she should ha' sent my poor 
 lass away without telling on it to us first ; but she 
 were in black, and looked so sad I could na' find 
 in my heart to threep it up. But I did ask her a 
 bit about our Lizzie. The master would have 
 turned her away at a day's warning, (he 's gone to 
 t'other place ; I hope he '11 meet wi' more mercy 
 there than he showed our Lizzie, I do, ) and 
 when the missus asked her should she write to us, 
 she says Lizzie shook her head; and when she 
 speered at her again, the poor lass went down on 
 her knees, and begged her not, for she said it 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 129 
 
 <7ould break my heart, (as it has done, Will God 
 knows it has)," said the poor mother, choking with 
 her struggle to keep down her hard overmastering 
 grief, " and her father would curse her Oh God, 
 teach me to be patient." She could not speak for 
 a few minutes, "and the lass threatened, and said 
 she 'd go drown herself in the canal, if the missus 
 wrote home, and so 
 
 "Well! I'd got a trace of my child, the 
 missus thought she 'd gone to th' workhouse to be 
 nursed ; and there I went, and there, sure 
 enough, she had been, and they 'd turned her out 
 as soon as she were strong, and told her she 
 were young enough to work, but whatten kind 
 o' work would be open to her, lad, and her baby 
 to keep?" 
 
 Will listened to his mother's tale with deep 
 sympathy, not unmixed with the old bitter shame. 
 But the opening of her heart had unlocked his, 
 and after awhile he spoke. 
 
 "Mother I I think I'd e'en better go home. 
 
 Tom can stay wi' thee. I know I should stay too, 
 9 
 
130 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 but I cannot stay in peace so near her without 
 craving to see her Susan Palmer I mean." 
 
 " Has the old Mr. Palmer thou telled me on a 
 daughter?" asked Mrs. Leigh. 
 
 " Aye, he has. And I love her above a bit. 
 And it's because I love her I. want to leave Man- 
 chester. That 's all." 
 
 Mrs. Leigh tried to understand this speech for 
 some time, but found it difficult of interpretation. 
 
 "Why should'st thou not tell her thou lov'st 
 her? Thou'rt a likely lad, and sure o' work. 
 Thou 'It have Upclose at my death; and as for 
 that I could let thee have it now, and keep mysel' 
 by doing a bit of charring. It seems to me a very 
 backwards sort o' way of winning her to think of 
 leaving Manchester." 
 
 "Oh mother, she's so gentle and so good, 
 she's downright holy. She's never known a 
 tquch of sin; and can I ask her to marry me 
 knowing what we do about Lizzie, and fearing 
 worse 1 I doubt if pne like her could ever care for 
 me ; but if she knew about my sister, it would put 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 131 
 
 a gulf between us, and she'd shudder at the 
 thought of crossing it. You don't know how good 
 she is, mother ! " 
 
 "Will, Will! if she's as good as thou say'st, 
 she '11 have pity on such as my Lizzie. If she has 
 no pity for such, she's a cruel Pharisee, and 
 thou 'rt best without her." 
 
 But he only shook his head, and sighed; and 
 for the time the conversation dropped. 
 
 But a new idea sprang up in Mrs. Leigh's head. 
 She thought that she would go and see Susan Palm- 
 er, and speak up for Will, and tell her the truth 
 about Lizzie; and according to her pity for the 
 poor sinner, would she be worthy or unworthy of 
 him. She resolved to' go the very next afternoon, 
 but without telling any one of her plan. Accord- 
 ingly she looked out the Sunday clothes she had 
 never before had the heart to unpack since she 
 came to Manchester, but which she now desired to 
 appear in, in order to do credit to Will. She put 
 on her old-fashioned black mode bonnet, trimmed 
 with real lace ; her scarlet cloth cloak, which she 
 
132 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 had had ever since she was married, and always 
 spotlessly clean, she set forth on her unauthorized 
 embassy. She knew the Palmers lived in Crown 
 Street, though \vhere she had heard it she could 
 not tell ; and modestly asking her way, she arrived 
 in the street about a quarter to four o'clock. She 
 stopped to inquire the exact number, and the 
 woman whom she addressed told her that Susan 
 Palmer's school would not be loose till four, .and 
 asked her to step in and wait until then at her 
 house. 
 
 "For," said she, smiling, "them that wants 
 Susan Palmer wants a kind friend of ours ; so we, 
 in a manner, call cousins. Sit down, missus, sit 
 down. I '11 wipe the chair, so that it shanna dirty 
 your cloak. My mother used to wear them bright 
 cloaks, and they're right gradely things agin a 
 green field." 
 
 "Han ye known Susan Palmer long? "asked 
 Mrs. Leigh, pleased with the admiration of her cloak. 
 
 " Ever since they corned to live in our street. 
 Our Sally goes to her school." 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 133 
 
 " Whatten sort of a lass is she, for I ha' never 
 seen her ? " 
 
 "Well, as for looks, I cannot say. It's so 
 long since I first knowed her, that I 've clean for- 
 gotten what I thought of her then. Mj master 
 says he never saw such a smile for gladdening the 
 heart. But maybe it 's not looks you 're asking 
 about. The best thing I can say of her looks is, 
 that she's just one a stranger would stop in the 
 street to ask help from if you needed it. All the 
 little childer creeps as close as they can to her ; 
 she '11 have as many as three or four hanging to 
 her apron all at once." 
 
 " Is she cocket at all ? " 
 
 " Cocket, bless you ! you never saw a creature 
 less set up in all your life. Her father 's cocket 
 enough. No ! she 's not cocket any way. You 've 
 not heard much of Susan Palmer, I reckon, if you 
 think she 's cocket. She 's just one to come 
 quietly in, and do the very thing most wanted ; 
 little things, maybe, that any one could do, but 
 that few would think on, for another. She '11 
 
134 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 bring her tliimble wi' her, and mend up after the 
 cliilder o' nights, and she writes all Betty 
 Barker's letters to her grandchild out at service, 
 and she 's in nobody's way, and that 's a 
 great matter, I take it. Here 's the childer 
 running past ! School is loosed. You '11 find 
 her now, missus, ready to hear and to help. But 
 we none on us frab her by going near her in 
 school-time." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Leigh's heart began to beat, and she 
 could almost have turned round and gone home 
 again. Her country breeding had made her shy of 
 strangers, and this Susan Palmer appeared to her 
 like a real born lady by all accounts. So she 
 knocked with a timid feeling at the indicated door, 
 and when it was opened, dropped a simple curtsey 
 without speaking. Susan had her little niece in 
 her arms, curled up with fond endearment against 
 her breast, but she put her gently down to the 
 ground, and instantly placed a chair in the best 
 corner of the room for Mrs. Leigh, when she told 
 her who she was. " It 's not "Will as has asked 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 135 
 
 me to come," said the mother, apologetically, "I'd 
 a wish just to speak to you myself ! " 
 
 Susan colored up to her temples, and stooped to 
 pick up the little toddling girl. In a minute or 
 two Mrs. Leigh began again. 
 
 " Will thinks you would na respect us if you 
 knew all ; but I think you could na help feeling 
 for us in the sorrow God has put upon us ; so I 
 just put on my bonnet, and came oil' unknownst 
 to the lads. Every one says you 're very good, 
 and that the Lord has keeped you from falling 
 from his ways ; but maybe you Ve never yet been 
 tried and tempted as some is. I 'm perhaps speak- 
 ing too plain, but my heart 's welly broken, and I 
 can't be choice in my words as them who are 
 happy can. "Well now ! I '11 tell you the truth. 
 Will dreads you to hear it, but I '11 just^tell it you. 
 You mun know," but here the poor woman's 
 words failed her, and she could do nothing but sit 
 rocking herself backwards and forwards, with sad 
 eyes, straight-gazing into Susan's face, as if they 
 tried to tell the tale of agony which the quivering 
 
1S6 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 lips refused to utter. Those wretched stony eyes 
 forced the tears down Susan's cheeks, and, as if 
 this sympathy gave the mother strength, she went 
 on in a low voice, " I had a daughter once, my 
 heart's darling. Her father thought I made too 
 much on her, and that she'd grow marred staying 
 at home ; so he said she mun go among strangers, 
 and learn to rough it. She were young, and liked 
 the thought of seeing a bit of the world ; and her 
 father heard on a place in Manchester. Well! 
 I '11 not weary you. That poor girl were led 
 astray ; and first thing we heard on it, was when 
 a letter of her father's was sent back by her missus, 
 saying she 'd left her place, or, to speak right, the 
 master had turned her into the street soon as he had 
 heard of her condition and she not seventeen I " 
 
 She now cried aloud ; and Susan wept too. 
 The little child looked up into their faces, and, 
 catching their sorrow, began to whimper and wail. 
 Susan took it softly up, and hiding her face in its 
 little neck, tried to restrain her tears, and think of 
 comfort for the mother. At last she said : 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 137 
 
 " "Where is she now ? " 
 
 " Lass ! I dunnot know," said Mrs. Leigh, check- 
 ing her sobs to communicate this addition to her 
 distress. " Mrs. Lomax telled me she went" 
 
 " Mrs. Lomax what Mrs. Lomax ? " 
 
 " Her as lives in Brabazon-street. She telled 
 me my poor wench went to the workhouse fra 
 there. I '11 not speak again the dead ; but if her 
 father would but ha' letten me, but he were one 
 who had no notion no, I '11 not say that ; best 
 say nought. He forgave her on his death-bed. I 
 dare say I did na go th' right way to work." 
 
 " Will you 'hold the child for me one instant ?" 
 said Susan. 
 
 " Ay, if it will come to me. Childer used to be 
 fond on me till I got the sad look on my face that 
 scares them, I think." 
 
 But the little girl clung to Susan ; so she car- 
 ried it upstairs with her. Mrs. Leigh sat by her- 
 self how long she did not know. 
 
 Susan came down with a bundle of far-worn 
 baby-clothes. 
 
138 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 " You must listen to me a bit, and not think too 
 much about what I 'm going to tell you. Nanny 
 is not my niece, nor any kin to me that I know of. 
 I used to go out working by the, day. One night, 
 as I came home, I thought some woman was fol- 
 lowing me ; I turned to look. The woman, before 
 I could see her face (for she turned it to one side), 
 offered me something. I held out my arms b^ 
 instinct : she dropped a bundle into them with a 
 bursting sob that went straight to my heart. It 
 was a baby. I looked round again ; but the 
 woman was gone. She had run away as quick as 
 lightning. There was a little packet of clothes 
 very few and as if they were made out of its 
 mother's gowns, for they were large patterns to 
 buy for a baby. I was always fond of babies ; 
 and I had not my wits about me, father says ; for 
 it was very cold, and when I 'd seen as well as I 
 could (for it was past ten) that there was no one in 
 the street, I brought it in and warmed it. Father 
 was very angry when he came, and said he 'd take 
 it to the workhouse the next morning, and flyted 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 139 
 
 me sadly about it. But when morning came I 
 could not bear to part with it ; it had slept in my 
 arms all night ; and I Ve heard what workhouse 
 bringing up is. So I told father I 'd give up going 
 out working, and stay at home and keep school, if 
 I might only keep the baby ; and after awhile, he 
 said if I earned enough for him to have his com- 
 forts, he 'd let me ; but he 's never taken to her. 
 Now, don't tremble so, I Ve but a little more to 
 tell, and maybe I 'm wrong in telling it ; but I 
 used to work next door to Mrs. Lomax's, in Bra- 
 bazon-street, and the servants were all thick to- 
 gether ; and I heard about Bessy (they called her) 
 being sent away. I don't know that ever I saw 
 her ; but the time would be about fitting to this 
 child's age, and I Ve sometimes fancied it was 
 her's. And now, will you look at the little clothes 
 that came with her bless her ! " 
 
 But Mrs. Leigh had fainted. The strange joy 
 and shame, and gushing love for the little child 
 had overpowered her; it was some time before 
 Susan could bring her round. There she was all 
 
HO PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 trembling, sick impatience to look at the little 
 frocks. Among them was a slip of paper which 
 Susan had forgotten to name, that had been pinned 
 to the bundle. On it was scrawled in a round 
 stiff hand. 
 
 " Call her Anne. She does not cry much, and 
 takes a deal of notice. Grod bless you and forgive 
 me." 
 
 The writing was no clue at all ; the name 
 " Anne," common though it was, seemed some- 
 thing to build upon. But Mrs. Leigh recognized 
 one of the frocks instantly, as being made out of 
 part of a gown that she and her daughter had 
 bought together in Eochdale. 
 
 She stood up, and stretched out her hands in 
 the attitude of blessing over Susan's bent head. 
 
 " God bless you, and show you His mercy in 
 your need, as you have shown it to this little 
 child." 
 
 She took the little creature in her arms, and 
 smoothed away her sad looks to a smile, and 
 kissed it fondly, saying over and over again, 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 141 
 
 " Nanny, Nanny, my little Nanny." At last the 
 child was soothed, and looked in her face and 
 smiled back again. 
 
 " It has her eyes," said she to Susan. 
 
 " I never saw her to the best of my knowledge. 
 I think it must be her 's by the frock. But where 
 can she be ? " 
 
 " God knows," said Mrs. Leigh ; "I dare not 
 think she 's dead. I 'm sure she isn't." 
 
 11 No ! she 's not dead. Every now and then a 
 little packet is thrust under our door, with maybe 
 two half-crowns in it ; once it was a half-sovereign. 
 Altogether I've got seven-and-thirty shillings 
 wrapped up for Nanny. I never touch it, but 
 I 've often thought the poor mother feels near to 
 God when she brings this money. Father wanted 
 to set the policeman to watch, but I said No, for I 
 was afraid if she was watched she might not 
 come, and it seemed such a holy thing to be 
 checking her in, I could not find in my heart to 
 do it." 
 
 " Oh, if we could but find her ! I tt take her 
 
142 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 in my arms, and we'd just lie down and die to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Nay, don 't speak so ! " said Susan gently, 
 " for all that 's come and gone, she may turn right 
 at last. Mary Magdalen did, you know." 
 
 " Eh ! but I were nearer right about thee than 
 Will. He thought you would never look on him 
 again if you knew about Lizzie. But thou 7 rt not 
 a Pharisee." 
 
 " I 'm sorry he thought I could be so hard," said 
 
 Susan in a low voice, and' coloring up. Then Mrs. 
 
 . Leigh was alarmed, and in her motherly anxiety, 
 
 she began to fear lest she had injured Will in 
 
 Susan's estimation. 
 
 "You see Will thinks so much of you gold 
 would not be good enough for you to walk on, in 
 his eye. He said you 'd never look at him as he 
 was, let alone his being brother to my poor wench. 
 He loves you so, it makes him think meanly on 
 everything belonging to himself, as not fit to come 
 near ye, but he 's a good lad, and a good son 
 thou 'It be a happy woman if thou 'It have 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 143 
 
 him so don't let my words go against him; 
 don't!" 
 
 But Susan hung her head and made no answer. 
 She had not known until now, that Will thought 
 so earnestly and seriously about her; and even 
 now she felt afraid that Mrs. Leigh's words prom- 
 ised her too much happiness, and that they could 
 not be true. At any rate the instinct of modesty 
 made her shrink from saying anything which 
 might seem like a confession of her own feelings 
 to a third person. Accordingly she turned the 
 conversation on the child. 
 
 "I'm sure he could not help loving Nanny," 
 said she. " There never was such a good little 
 darling ; don't you think she 'd win his heart if he 
 knew she was his niece, and perhaps bring him to 
 think kindly on his sister ? " 
 
 " I'dunnot know," said Mrs. Leigh, shaking her 
 head. " He has a turn in his eye like his father, 
 
 that makes me . He 's right down good 
 
 though. But you see I 've never been a good one 
 at managing folk ; one severe look turns me sick, 
 
144 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 and then I say just the wrong thing, I 'm so flut- 
 tered. Now I should like nothing better than to 
 take Nancy home with me, but Tom knows no- 
 thing but that his sister is dead, and I 've not the 
 knack of speaking rightly to "Will. I dare not do 
 it, and that 's the truth. But you mun not think 
 badly of Will. He 's so good hissel', that he can't 
 understand how any one can do wrong ; and, 
 above all, I 'm sure he loves you dearly." 
 
 " I don't think I could part with Nancy," said 
 Susan, anxious to stop this revelation of Will's at- 
 tachment to herself. "He'll come round to her 
 soon ; he can't fail ; and I '11 keep a sharp look- 
 out after the poor mother, and try and catch her 
 the next time she comes with her little parcels of 
 money." 
 
 "Aye, lass! we mun get hold of her; my 
 Lizzie. I love thee dearly for thy kindness to her 
 child ; but, if thou can'st catch her for me, I '11 
 pray for thee when I'm too near my death to 
 speak words; and while I live, I'll serve thee 
 next to her, she mun come first, thou know'st 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 145 
 
 God bless thee, lass. My heart is lighter by a 
 deal than it was when I corned in. Them lads 
 will be looking for me home, and I mun go, and 
 leave this little sweet one," kissing it. " If I can 
 take courage, I '11 tell "Will all that has come and 
 gone between us two. He may come and see 
 thee, mayn't he?" 
 
 "Father will be very glad to see him, I'm 
 sure," replied Susan. The way in which this was 
 spoken satisfied Mrs. Leigh's anxious heart that 
 she had done "Will no harm by what she had said ; 
 and with many a kiss to the little one, and one 
 more fervent tearful blessing on Susan, she went 
 homewards. 
 
 That night Mrs. Leigh stopped at home ; that 
 only night for many months. Even Tom, the 
 scholar, looked up from his books in amazement ; 
 but then he remembered that Will had not been 
 well, and that his mother's attention having been 
 called to the circumstance, it was only natural she 
 
 should stay to watch him. And no watching 
 
 10 
 
146 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 could be more tender, or more complete. Her 
 loving eyes seemed never averted from his face ; 
 his grave, sad, care-worn face. "When Tom went 
 to bed the mother left her seat, and going up to 
 Will where he sat looking at the fire, but not see- 
 ing it, she kissed his forehead, and said, 
 
 " Will! lad, I've been to see Susan Palmer I " 
 
 She felt the start under the hand which was 
 placed on his shoulder, but he was silent for a 
 minute or two. Then he said, 
 
 " What took you there, mother? " 
 
 " Why, my lad, it was likely I should wish to 
 see one you cared for ; I did not put myself for- 
 ward. I put on my Sunday clothes, and tried to 
 behave as yo 'd ha liked me. At least I remember 
 trying at first ; but after, I forgot all." 
 
 She rather wished that he would question her as 
 to what made her forget all. But he only said, 
 
 " How was she looking, mother? " 
 
 "Will, thou seest I never set eyes on her before; 
 but she 's a good gentle looking creature ; and I 
 love her dearly, as I 've reason to." 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 147 
 
 Will looked up with, momentary surprise; for 
 his mother was too shy to be usually taken with 
 strangers. But after all it was natural in this case, 
 for who could look at Susan without loving her ? 
 So still he did not .ask any questions, and his poor 
 mother had to take courage, and try again to 
 introduce the subject near to her heart. But 
 how? 
 
 " "Will ! " said she (jerking it out, in sudden de- 
 spair of her own powers to lead to what she wanted 
 to say), "I tolled her all." 
 
 "Mother! you've ruined me," said he, standing 
 up, and standing opposite to her with a stern white 
 look of affright on his face. 
 
 " No ! my own dear lad ; dunnot look so scared, 
 I have not ruined you ! " she exclaimed, placing 
 her two hands on his shoulders, and looking fondly 
 into his face. " She 's not one to harden her heart 
 against a mother's sorrow. My own lad she 's too 
 good for that. She 's not one to judge and scorn 
 
 <r:.~^ 
 
 the sinner. She 's too deep read in her New Tes- 
 tament for that. Take courage. Will; and thou 
 
148 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 may'st, for I watched her well, though it is not for 
 one woman to let out another's secret. Sit thee 
 down, lad, for thou look'st very white." 
 
 He sat down. His mother drew a stool towards 
 him, and sat at his feet. 
 
 "Did you tell her about Lizzie, then?" asked 
 he, hoarse and low. 
 
 " I did, I telled her all ; and she fell a crying 
 over my deep sorrow, and the poor wench's sin 
 And then a light corned into her face, trembling 
 and quivering with some new glad thought ; and 
 what dost thou think it was, Will, lad ? Nay, I '11 
 not misdoubt but that thy heart will give thanks 
 as mine did, afore God and His angels, for her 
 great goodness. That little Nanny is not her 
 niece, she 's our Lizzie's own child, my little 
 grandchild." She could no longer restrain her 
 tears, and they fell hot and fast, but still she looked 
 into his face. 
 
 "Did she know it was Lizzie's child? I do not 
 comprehend," said he, flushing red. 
 
 " She knows now : she did not at first, but took 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 149 
 
 the little helpless creature in, out of her own pitiful 
 loving heart, guessing only that it was the child 
 of shame, and she 's worked for it, and kept it, and 
 tended it ever sin' it were a mere baby, and loves 
 it fondly. "Will ! won't you love it ? " asked she, 
 beseechingly. 
 
 He was silent for an instant; then he said, 
 "Mother, I'll try. Give me time, for all these 
 things startle me. To think of Susan having to do 
 with such a child ! " 
 
 " Aye, Will! and to think (as may be yet) of 
 Susan having to do with the child's mother ! For 
 she is tender and pitiful, and speaks hopefully of 
 my lost one, and will try and find her for me, 
 when she comes, as she does sometimes, to thrust 
 money under the door, for her baby. Think of 
 that, Will. Here 's Susan, good and pure as the 
 angels in heaven, yet, like them, full of hope and 
 mercy, and one who, like them, will rejoice over 
 her as repents. Will, my lad, I 'm not afeared of 
 you now, and I must speak, and you must listen. 
 I am your mother, and I dare to command you, 
 
150 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 because I know I am in the right and that God is 
 on my side. If He should lead the poor wander- 
 ing lassie to Susan's door, and she comes back 
 crying and sorrowful, led by that good angel to us 
 once more, thou shalt never say a casting-up word 
 to her about her sin, but be tender and helpful 
 towards one "who was lost and is found," so may 
 God's blessing rest on thee, and so mayst- thou lead 
 Susan home as thy wife." 
 
 She stood, no longer as the meek, imploring, 
 gentle mother, but firm and dignified, as if the 
 interpreter of God's will. Her manner was so 
 unusual and solemn, that it overcame all Will's 
 pride and stubbornness. He rose softly while she 
 was speaking, and bent his head as if in reverence 
 at her words, and the solemn injunction which 
 they conveyed. "When she had spoken, he said in 
 so subdued a voice that she was almost surprised 
 at the sound, " Mother, I will." 
 
 " I may be dead and gone, but all the same, 
 thou wilt take home the wandering sinner, and 
 heal up her sorrows, and lead her to her Father's 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 151 
 
 bouse. Mj lad ! I can speak no more ; I 'm 
 turned very faint." 
 
 He placed her in a chair ; he ran for water. 
 She opened her eyes and smiled. 
 
 " God bless you, Will. Oh, I am so happy. It 
 seems as if she were found ; my heart is so filled 
 with gladness." 
 
 That night Mr. Palmer stayed out late and long. 
 Susan was afraid that he was at his old haunts and 
 habits, getting tipsy at some public-house ; and 
 this thought oppressed her, even though she had 
 so much to make her happy, in the consciousness 
 that Will loved her. She sat up long, and then 
 she went to bed, leaving all arranged as well as she 
 could for her father's return. She looked at the 
 little rosy sleeping girl who was her bed-fellow, 
 with redoubled tenderness, and with many a 
 prayerful thought. The little arms entwined her 
 neck as she lay down, for Nanny was a light 
 sleeper, and was conscious that she, who was loved 
 with all the power of that sweet childish heart, 
 was near her, and by her, although she was 
 
152 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 too sleepy to utter any of her half-formed 
 words. 
 
 And by-and-bye she heard her father come 
 home, stumbling uncertain, trying first the win- 
 dows, and next the door-fastenings, with many a 
 loud incoherent murmur. The little Innocent 
 twined around her seemed all the sweeter and more 
 lovely, when she thought sadly of her erring 
 father. And presently he called aloud for a light ; 
 she had left matches and all arranged as usual on 
 the dresser, but fearful of some accident from fire, 
 in his unusually intoxicated state, she now got up 
 softly, and putting on a cloak, went down to his 
 assistance. 
 
 Alas ! the little arms that were unclosed from 
 her soft neck belonged to a light, easily-awakened 
 sleeper. Nanny missed her darling Susy, and 
 terrified at being left alone in the vast mysterious 
 darkness, which had no bounds, and seemed in- 
 finite, she slipped out of bed, and tottered in her 
 little night-gown towards the door. There was a 
 light below and there was Susy and safety 1 So 
 
LlZZIE LEIGH. 153 
 
 she went onwards two steps towards the steep 
 abrupt stairs ; and then dazzled with sleepiness, 
 she stood, she wavered, she fell ! Down on her 
 head on the stone floor she fell ! Susan flew to 
 her, and spoke all soft, entreating, loving words ; 
 but her white lids covered up the blue violets of 
 eyes, and there was no murmur came out of the 
 pale lips. The warm tears that rained down did 
 not awaken her ; she lay stiff, and weary with her 
 short life, on Susan's knee. Susan went sick with 
 terror. She carried her upstairs, and laid her ten- 
 derly in bed ; she dressed herself most hastily, 
 with her trembling fingers. Her father was asleep 
 on the settle down stairs ; and useless, and worse 
 than useless if awake. But Susan flew out of the 
 door, and down the quiet resounding street, to- 
 wards the nearest doctor's house. Quickly she 
 went ; but as quickly a shadow followed, as if im- 
 pelled by some sudden terror. Susan rung wildly 
 at the night-bell, the shadow crouched near. The 
 doctor looked out from an upstairs window. 
 
 " A little child has fallen down stairs at No. 9 
 
164 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Crown -street, and is very ill, dying, I 'm afraid. 
 Please, for God's sake, sir, come directly. No. 9 
 Crown-street." 
 
 " I '11 be there directly," said he, and shut the 
 window. 
 
 " For that God you have just spoken about, 
 for His sake, tell me are you Susan Palmer ? Is 
 it my child that lies a-dying ? " said the shadow, 
 springing forwards, and clutching poor Susan's 
 arm. 
 
 " It is a little child of two years old, I do not 
 know whose it is ; I love it as my own. Come 
 with me, whoever you are ; come with me." 
 
 The two sped along the silent streets, as silent 
 as the night were they. They entered the house ; 
 Susan snatched up the light, and carried it upstairs. 
 The other followed. 
 
 She stood with wild glaring eyes by the bed- 
 side, never looking at Susan, but hungrily gazing 
 at the little white still child. She stooped down, 
 and put her hand tight on her own heart, as if to 
 still its beating, and bent her ear to the pale lips. 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 155 
 
 "Whatever the result was, she did not speak ; but 
 threw off the bed-clothes wherewith Susan had 
 tenderly covered the little creature, and felt its left 
 side. 
 
 Then she threw up her arms with a cry of wild 
 despair. 
 
 " She is dead ! she is dead I " 
 
 She looked so fierce, so mad, so haggard, that 
 for an instant Susan was terrified the next, the 
 holy God had put courage into her heart, and her 
 pure arms were round that guilty wretched crea- 
 ture, and her tears were falling fast and warm 
 upon her breast. But she was thrown off with 
 violence. 
 
 " You killed her you slighted her you let her 
 fall down those stairs ! you killed her ! " 
 
 Susan cleared off the thick mist before her, and 
 gazing at the mother with her clear, sweet, angel- 
 eyes, said mournfully 
 
 " I would have laid down my own life for her." 
 
 " Oh, the murder is on my soul ! " exclaimed 
 the wild bereaved mother, with the fierce impet- 
 
156 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 uosity of one who has none to love her and to bo 
 beloved, regard to whom might teach self-restraint. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Susan, her finger on her lips. 
 " Here is the doctor God may suffer her to live." 
 
 The poor mother turned sharp round. The 
 doctor mounted the stair. Ah I that mother 
 was right ; the little child was really dead and 
 gone. 
 
 And when he confirmed her judgment, the 
 mother fell down in a fit. Susan, with her 
 deep grief, had to forget herself, and forgot her 
 darling (her charge for years), and question the 
 doctor what she must do with the poor wretch, 
 who lay on the floor in such extreme of misery. 
 
 " She is the mother ! " said she. 
 
 " "Why did not she take better care of her 
 child ? " asked he, almost angrily. 
 
 But Susan only said, " The little child slept with 
 me ; and it was I that left her." 
 
 " I will go back and make up a composing 
 draught ; and while I am away you must get her 
 to bed." 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 157 
 
 Susan took out some of her own clothes, and 
 softly undressed the stiff, powerless, form. There 
 was no other bed in the house but the one in 
 which her father slept. So she tenderly lifted the 
 body of her darling ; and was going to take it. 
 down stairs, but the mother opened her eyes, and 
 seeing what she was about, she said, 
 
 " I am not worthy to touch her, I am so wicked ; 
 I have spoken to you as I never should have 
 spoken ; but I think you are very good ; may I 
 have my own child to lie in my arms for a little 
 while?" 
 
 Her voice was so strange a contrast to what it 
 had been before she had gone into the fit that 
 Susan hardly recognized it ; it was now so un- 
 speakably soft, so irresistibly pleading, the fea- 
 tures too had lost their fierce expression, and were 
 almost as placid as death. Susan could not speak, 
 but she carried the little child, and laid it in its 
 mother's arms ; then as she looked at them, some- 
 thing overpowered her, and she knelt down, cry- 
 ing aloud, 
 
158 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 " Oh, my God, my God, have mercy on her, 
 and forgive, and comfort her." 
 
 But the mother kept smiling, and stroking the 
 little face, murmuring soft tender words, as if it 
 were alive; she was going mad, Susan thought; 
 but she prayed on, and on, and ever still she 
 prayed with streaming eyes. 
 
 The doctor came with the draught. The mother 
 took it, with docile unconsciousness of its nature 
 as medicine. The doctor sat by her ; and soon she 
 fell asleep. Then he rose softly, and beckoning 
 Susan to the door, he spoke to her there. 
 
 "You must take the corpse out of her arms. 
 She will not awake. The draught will make her 
 sleep for many hours. I will call before noon 
 again. It 'is now daylight. Good-bye." 
 
 Susan shut him out; and then gently extricat- 
 ing the dead child from its mother's arms, she 
 could not resist making her own quiet moan over 
 her darling. She tried to learn off its little placid 
 face, dumb and pale before her. 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 159 
 
 '* ISTot all the scalding tears of care, 
 
 Shall wash away that vision fair ; 
 Not all the thousand thoughts that rise, 
 
 Not all the sights that dim her eyes, 
 Shall e'er usurp the place 
 
 Of that little angel face." 
 
 And then she remembered what remained to be 
 done. She saw that all was right in the house ; 
 her father was still dead asleep on the settle, in 
 spite of all the noise of the night. She went out 
 through the quiet streets, deserted still although it 
 was broad daylight, and to where the Leighs 
 lived. Mrs. Leigh, who kept her country hours, 
 was opening her window shutters. Susan took 
 her by the arm, and without speaking went into 
 the house-place. There she knelt down before the 
 astonished Mrs. Leigh, and cried as she had never 
 done before ; but the miserable night had over- 
 powered her, and she who had gone through so 
 much ca]mly, now that the pressure seemed re- 
 moved could not find the power to speak. 
 
 "My poor dear! What has made thy heart so 
 sore as to come and cry a-this-ons. Speak and tell 
 
160 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 me. Nay, cry on, poor wench, if thou canst not 
 speak yet. It will ease the heart, and then thou 
 canst tell me." 
 
 " Nanny is dead ! " said Susan. " I left her to 
 go to father, and she fell down stairs, and never 
 breathed again. Oh, that 's my sorrow ! but I ' ve 
 more to tell. Her mother is come is in oui 
 house ! Come and see if it 's your Lizzie." Mrs. 
 Leigh could not speak, but, trembling, put on her 
 things, and went with Susan in dizzy haste back 
 to Crown-street. 
 
 As they entered the house in Crown-street, they 
 perceived that the door would not open freely on 
 its hinges, and Susan instinctively looked behind 
 to see the cause of the obstruction. She imme- 
 diately recognized the appearance of a little parcel, 
 wrapped in a scrap of newspaper, and evidently 
 containing money. She stooped and picked it up. 
 "Look I "said she, sorrowfully, "the mother was 
 bringing this for her child last night." 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 161 
 
 But Mrs. Leigh did not answer. So near to 
 the ascertaining if it were her lost child or no, she 
 could not be arrested, but pressed onwards with 
 trembling steps and a beating, fluttering heart. 
 She entered the bed-room, dark and still. She 
 took no heed of the little corpse, over which 
 Susan paused, but she went straight to the bed, 
 and withdrawing the curtain, saw Lizzie, but not 
 the former Lizzie, bright, gay, buoyant, and un- 
 dimmed. This Lizzie was old before her time ; 
 her beauty was gone; deep lines of care, and 
 alas ! of want (or thus the mother imagined) were 
 printed on the cheek, so round, and fair, and 
 smooth, when last she gladdened her mother's 
 eyes. Even in her sleep she bore the look of woe 
 and despair which was the prevalent expression 
 of her face by day ; even in her sleep she had for- 
 gotten how to smile. But all these marks of the 
 sin and sorrow she had passed through only made 
 her mother love her the more. She stood look- 
 ing at her with greedy eyes, which seemed as 
 
 though no gazing could satisfy their longing ; and 
 11 
 
162 PEAKL-FlSHING. 
 
 at last she stooped down and kissed the pale, worn 
 hand that lay outside the bed-clothes. No touch 
 disturbed the sleeper ; the mother need not have 
 laid the hand so gently down upon the counter- 
 pane. There was no sign of life, save only now 
 and then a deep sob-like sigh. Mrs. Leigh sat down 
 beside the bed, and, still holding back the curtain, 
 looked on and on, as if she could never be satisfied. 
 Susan would fain have stayed by her darling 
 one ; but she had many calls upon her time and 
 thoughts, and her will had now, as ever, to be 
 given up to that of others. All seemed to de- 
 volve the burden of their cares on her. Her 
 father, ill-humored from his last night's intemper- 
 ance, did not scruple to reproach her with being 
 the cause of little Nanny's death ; and when, after 
 bearing his upbraiding meekly for some time, she 
 could no longer restrain herself, but began to cry, 
 he wounded her even more by his injudicious at- 
 tempts at comfort : for he said it was as well the 
 child was dead ; it was none of- theirs, and why 
 should they be troubled with it? Susan wrung 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 163 
 
 lier hands at this, and came and stood before her 
 father, and implored him to forbear. Then she 
 had to take all requisite steps for the coroner's 
 inquest ; she had to arrange for the dismissal of 
 her school ; she had to summon a little neighbor, 
 and send his willing feet on a message to William 
 Leigh, who, she felt, ought to be informed of his 
 mother's whereabouts, and of the whole state of 
 affairs. She asked her messenger to tell him to 
 come and speak to her, that his mother was at 
 her house. She was thankful that her father saun- 
 tered out to have a gossip at the nearest coach- 
 stand, and to relate as many of the night's adven- 
 tures as he knew ; for as yet he was in ignorance 
 of the watcher and the watched, who silently 
 passed away the hours up stairs. 
 
 At dinner-time Will came. He looked real 
 glad, impatient, excited. Susan stood calm and 
 white before him, her soft, loving eyes gazing 
 straight into his. 
 
 "Will," said she, in a low, quiet voice, "your 
 sister is up stairs." 
 
164 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 " My sister ! " said lie, as if affrighted at the 
 idea, and losing Ms glad look in one of gloom. 
 Susan saw it, and her heart sank a little, but 
 she went on, as calm to all appearance as 
 ever. 
 
 " She was little Nanny's mother, as perhaps you 
 know. Poor little Nanny was killed last night by 
 a fall down stairs." All the calmness was gone; 
 all the suppressed feeling was displayed in spite of 
 every effort. She sat down and hid her face from 
 him, and cried bitterly. He forgot everything but 
 the wish, the longing to comfort her. He put his 
 arm round her waist, and bent over her. But all 
 he could say, was, " Oh, Susan, how can I comfort 
 you ! Don't take on so, pray don't ! " He never 
 changed the words, but the tone varied every time 
 he spoke. At last she seemed to regain her power 
 over herself; and she wiped her eyes, and once 
 more looked upon him with her own quiet, earnest, 
 unfearing gaze. 
 
 " Your sister was near the house. She came in 
 on hearing my words to the doctor. She is asleep 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 165 
 
 now, and your mother is watching her. I wanted 
 to tell you all myself. "Would you like to see your 
 mother?" 
 
 " ]STo ! " said he. " I would rather see none but 
 thee. Mother told me thou knowest all." His 
 eyes were downcast in their shame. 
 
 But the holy and pure did not lower or vail her 
 eyes. 
 
 She said, " Yes, I know all all but her suffer- 
 ings. Think what they must have been ! " 
 
 He made answer low and stern, " She deserved 
 them all ; every jot." 
 
 "In the eye of God perhaps she does. He is 
 the judge : we are not." 
 
 "Oh!" she said with a sudden burst, "Will 
 Leigh ! I have thought so well of you ; don't go 
 and make me think you cruel and hard. Good- 
 ness is not goodness unless there is mercy and ten- 
 derness with it. There is your mother who has 
 been nearly heart-broken, now full of rejoicing 
 over her child think of your mother." 
 
 " I do think of her," said he. " I remember the 
 
166 PEAKL-FlSHHSTG. 
 
 promise I gave her last night. Thou shouldst 
 give me time. I would do right in time. I never 
 think it o'er in quiet. But I will do what is right 
 and fitting, never fear. Thou hast spoken out 
 very plain to me; and misdoubted me, Susan; I 
 love thee so, that thy words cut me. If I did hang 
 back a bit from making sudden promises, it was 
 because not even for love of thee, would I say 
 what I was not feeling ; and at first I could not 
 feel all at once as thou wouldst have me. But I 'm 
 not cruel and hard ; for if I had been, I should 
 na' have grieved as I have done." 
 
 He made as if he were going away ; and indeed 
 he did feel he would rather think it over in quiet. 
 But Susan, grieved at her incautious words, which 
 had all the appearance of harshness, went a step or 
 two nearer paused and then, all over blushes, 
 said in a low soft whisper 
 
 "Oh. "Will! I beg your pardon. I am very 
 sorry won't you forgive me ? " 
 
 She who had always drawn back, and been so 
 reserved, said this in the very softest manner; with 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 167 
 
 eyes now uplifted beseechingly, now dropped to 
 the ground. Her sweet confusion told more than 
 words could do ; and Will turned back, all joyous 
 in his certainty of being beloved, and took her in 
 his arms and kissed her." 
 
 " My own Susan ! " he said. 
 
 Meanwhile the mother watched her child in the 
 room above. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon L^fore she awoke; 
 for the sleeping draught had been very powerful. 
 The instant she awoke, her eyes were fixed on her 
 mother's face with a gaze as unflinching as if she 
 were fascinated. Mrs. Leigh did not turn away, 
 nor move. For it seemed as if motion would un- 
 lock the stony command over herself which, while 
 so perfectly still, she was enabled to preserve. But 
 by-and-bye Lizzie cried out in a piercing voice of 
 agony 
 
 "Mother, don't look at me! I have been so 
 wicked? " and instantly she hid her face, and grov- 
 elled among the bedclothes, and lay like one dead 
 motionless was she. 
 
168 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Mrs. Leigh knelt down by the bed, and spoke in 
 the most soothing tones. 
 
 " Lizzie, dear, don't speak so. I 'm thy mother, 
 darling; don't be afeard of me. I never left off 
 loving thee, Lizzie. I was always a-thinking of 
 thee. Thy father forgave thee afore he died." 
 (There was a little start here, but no sound was 
 heard). "Lizzie, lass, I'll do aught for thee; I'll 
 live for thee ; only don't be afeard of me. What- 
 e'er thou art or hast been, we'll ne'er speak on 't. 
 We'll leave th' oud times behind us, and go back 
 to the Upclose Farm. I but left it to find thee, 
 my lass ; and God has led me to thee. Blessed be 
 His name. And God is good too, Lizzie. Thou 
 hast not forgot thy Bible, I '11 be bound, for thou 
 wert always a scholar. I'm no reader, but I 
 learnt off them texts to comfort me a bit, and I 've 
 said them many a time a day to myself. Lizzie, 
 lass, don't hide thy head so, it 's thy mother as is 
 speaking to thee. Thy little child clung to me 
 only yesterday ; and if it 's gone to be an angel, it 
 will speak to God for thee. Nay, don't sob a 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 169 
 
 that 'as; thou shalt have it again in Heaven; I 
 know thou 'It strive to get there for thy little Nan- 
 cy's sake and listen! I'll tell thee God's prom- 
 ises to them that are penitent only don't be 
 afeard." 
 
 Mrs. Leigh folded her hands, and strove to 
 speak very clearly, while she repeated every ten- 
 der and merciful text she could remember. She 
 could tell from the breathing that her daughter 
 was listening; but she was so dizzy and sick her- 
 self when she had ended, that she could not go on 
 speaking. It was all she could do to keep from 
 crying aloud. 
 
 At last she heard her daughter's voice. 
 
 " "Where have they taken her to ? " she asked. 
 
 " She is down stairs. So quiet, and peaceful, 
 and happy she looks." 
 
 "Could she speak? Oh, if God if I might 
 but have heard her little voice! Mother, I used 
 to dream of it. May I see her*once again Oh 
 mother, if I strive very hard, and God is very 
 merciful, and I go to heaven, I shall not know 
 
170 PEARL- FISHING. 
 
 mj own again she will shun me as a stranger 
 and cling to Susan Palmer and to you. Oh woe ! 
 Oh woe ! " She shook with exceeding sorrow. 
 
 In her earnestness of speech she had uncovered 
 her face, and tried to read Mrs. Leigh's thoughts 
 through her looks. And when she saw those 
 aged eyes brimming fall of tears, and marked the 
 quivering lips, she threw her arms round the 
 faithful mother's neck, and wept there as she had 
 done in many a childish sorrow; but with a 
 deeper, a more wretched grief. 
 
 Her mother hushed her on her breast ; and 
 lulled her as if she were a baby; and she grew 
 still and quiet. 
 
 They sat thus for a long, long time. At last 
 Susan Palmer came up with some tea and bread 
 and butter for Mrs. Leigh. She watched the 
 mother feed her sick, unwilling child, with every 
 fond inducement to eat which she could devise ; 
 they neither of them took notice of Susan's pres- 
 ence. That night they lay in each other's arms ; 
 but Susan slept on the ground beside them. 
 
LIZZIE LEIGH. 171 
 
 They took the little corpse (the little uncon- 
 scions sacrifice, whose early calling-home had re- 
 claimed her poor wandering mother,) to the hills, 
 which in her life-time she had never seen. They 
 dared not lay her by the stern grand-father in 
 Milne-Kow churchyard, but they bore her to a 
 lone moorland graveyard, where long ago the 
 quakers used to bury their dead. They laid her 
 there on the sunny slope, where the earliest spring- 
 flowers blow. 
 
 "Will and Susan live at the Upclose Farm. Mrs. 
 Leigh and Lizzie dwell in a cottage so secluded 
 that, until you drop into the very hollow where it 
 is placed, you do not see it. Tom is a school- 
 master in Eochdale, and he and "Will help to sup- 
 port their mother. I only know that, if the cot- 
 tage be hidden in a gresn hollow of the hills, 
 every sound of sorrow in the whole upland is 
 heard there every call of suffering or of sickness 
 for help is listened to, by a sad, gentle-looking 
 woman, who rarely smiles (and when she does, 
 her smile is more sad than other people's tears), 
 
1 xv 'V~ A ~'^>.,1 
 
 172 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 "but who comes out of her seclusion whenever 
 there 's a shadow in any household. Many hearts 
 bless Lizzie Leigh, but she she prays always and 
 ever for forgiveness such forgiveness as may 
 enable her to see her child once more. Mrs. Leigh 
 is quiet and happy. Lizzie is to her eyes some- 
 thing precious, as the lost piece of silver found 
 once more. Susan is the bright one who brings 
 sunshine to all. Children grow around her and 
 call her blessed. One is called Nanny. Her, Lizzy 
 often takes to the sunny graveyard in the uplands, 
 while the little creature gathers the daisies, and 
 makes chains, Lizzie sits by a little grave, and 
 weeps bitterly. 
 
Y. 
 
 Ifc tfttrrrfc f m. 
 
 A PEOSE POEM. 
 
 rn HEBE is an old yew tree which stands by the 
 -*- wall in a dark quiet corner of the church- 
 yard. 
 
 And a child was at play beneath its wide- 
 spreading branches, one fine day in the early 
 spring. He had his lap full of flowers, which the 
 fields and lanes had supplied him with, and he 
 was humming a tune to himself as he wove them 
 into garlands. 
 
 And a little girl at play among the tombstones 
 crept near to listen; but the boy was so intent 
 upon his garland, that he did not hear the gentle 
 footsteps, as they trod softly over the fresh green 
 grass. When his work was finished, and all the 
 flowers that .were in his lap were woven together 
 
174 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 in one long wreath, he started up to measure its 
 length upon the ground, and then he saw the little 
 girl, as she stood with her eyes fixed upon him. . 
 He did not move or speak, but thought to himself 
 that she looked very beautiful as she stood there 
 with her flaxen ringlets, hanging down upon her 
 neck. The little girl was so startled by his sud- 
 den movement, that she let fall all the flowers she 
 nad collected in her apron, and ran away as fast 
 as she could. But the boy was older and taller 
 than she, and soon caught her, and coaxed her to 
 come back and play with him, and help him to 
 make more garlands ; and from that tune they 
 saw each other nearly every day, and became 
 great friends. 
 
 Twenty years passed away. Again he was 
 seated beneath the old yew tree in the church- 
 yard. 
 
 It was summer now ; bright, beautiful summer, 
 with the birds singing, and the flowers covering 
 the ground, and scenting the air with their per- 
 fume. 
 
THE OLD CHURCHYARD TREE. 175 
 
 But he was not alone now, nor did the little girl 
 steal near on tiptoe, fearful of being heard. She 
 was seated by his side, and his arm was round her, 
 and she looked up into his face, and smiled as she 
 whispered : " The first evening of our lives we 
 were ever together was passed here : we will spend 
 the first evening of our wedded life in the same 
 quiet, happy place." And he drew her closer to 
 him as she spoke. 
 
 The summer is gone ; and the autumn ; and 
 twenty more summers and autumns have passed 
 away since that evening, in the old church- 
 yard. 
 
 A young man, on a bright moonlight night, 
 comes reeling through the little white gate, and 
 stumbling over the graves. He shouts and he 
 sings, and is presently followed by others like 
 unto himself or worse. So, they all laugh at the 
 dark solemn head of the yew tree, and throw 
 stones up at the place where the moon has sil- 
 vered the boughs. 
 
 Those same boughs are again silvered by the 
 
176 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 moon, and they droop over Ms mother's grave. 
 There is a little stone which bears this inscrip- 
 tion: 
 
 "HER HEART BRAKE IN SILENCE." 
 
 But the silence of the churchyard fe now broken 
 by a voice not of the youth nor a voice of 
 laughter and ribaldry. 
 
 "My son ! dost thou see this grave? and dost 
 thou read the record in anguish, whereof may 
 come repentance ? " 
 
 "Of what should I repent?" answers the son; 
 "and why should my young ambition for fame 
 relax in its strength because my mother was old 
 and weak ? " 
 
 " Is this indeed our son ? " says the father, 
 bending in agony over the grave of his be- 
 loved. 
 
 " I can well believe I am not ; " exclaimeth the 
 youth. "It is well that you have brought me 
 here to say so. Our natures are unlike; our 
 
THE OLD CHUBCHTAED TREE. 177 
 
 courses must be opposite. Your way lieth here 
 mine yonder I " 
 
 So the son left the father kneeling by the grave. 
 
 Again a few years are passed. It is winter, 
 with a roaring wind and a thick gray fog. The 
 graves in the Church-yard are covered with snow, 
 and there are great icicles in the Church-porch. 
 The wind now carries a swathe of snow along the 
 tops of the graves, as though the " sheeted dead " 
 were at some melancholy play ; and hark ! the 
 icicles fall with a crash and jingle, like a solemn 
 mockery of the echo of the unseemly mirth of one 
 who is now coming to his final rest. 
 
 There are two graves near the old yew tree ; 
 and the grass has overgrown them. A third is 
 close by ; and the dark earth at each side has just 
 been thrown up. The bearers come ; with a 
 heavy pace they move along; the coffin heaveth 
 up and down, as they step over the intervening 
 graves. 
 
 Grief and old age had seized upon the father, 
 
 and worn out his life ; and premature decay soon 
 12 
 
178 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 seized upon the son, and gnawed away Ms vain 
 ambition, and Ms useless strength, till he prayed 
 to be borne, not the way yonder that was most 
 opposite to his father and his mother, but even 
 the same way they had gone the way which 
 leads to the Old Churchyard Tree. 
 
VI. 
 
 I. JOINING THE REGIMENT. 
 
 " T HAVE got some very sad news to tell you," 
 -*- wrote Lady Pelican to her friend, Mrs. Ver- 
 meil, a faded lady of fashion, who discontentedly 
 occupied a suite of apartments at Hampton Court ; 
 " our Irish estates are in such a miserable condi- 
 tion absolutely making us out to be in debt to 
 them, instead of adding to our income, that poor 
 George you will be shocked to hear it is 
 actually obliged to go into the Infantry ! " 
 
 The communication of this distressing fact may 
 stand instead of the regular Gazette, announcing 
 the appointment of the Hon. George Spoonbill to 
 an Ensigncy, by purchase, in the 100th regiment 
 of foot. His military aspirations had been " Cay- 
 
180 PEAKL-FlSHING. 
 
 airy," and lie had endeavored to qualify himself 
 for that branch of the service by getting up an 
 invisible moustache, when the Irish agent wrote to 
 say that no money was to be had in that quarter, 
 and all thoughts of the Household Brigade were, 
 of necessity, abandoned. But, though the more 
 expensive career was shut out, Lord Pelican's 
 interest at the Horse Guards remained as influen- 
 tial as before, and for the consideration of four 
 hundred and fifty pounds which embarrassed as 
 he was he contrived to muster, he had no diffi- 
 culty in procuring a commission for his son 
 George, in the distinguished regiment already 
 named. There were, it is true, a few hundred 
 prior claimants on the Duke's list; "but," as Lord 
 Pelican justly observed, "if the Spoonbill family 
 were not fit for the army, he should like to know 
 who were ! " An argument perfectly irresistible. 
 Gazetted, therefore, the young gentleman was, as 
 soon as the Queen's sign-manual could be obtained, 
 and the usual interval for preparation over, the 
 Hon. George Spoonbill set out to join. But before 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 181 
 
 he does so, we must say a word of wliat that 
 11 preparation " consisted in. 
 
 Some persons may imagine that he forthwith 
 addressed himself to the study of Polybius, dab- 
 bled a little in Cormontaigne, got up Napier's His- 
 tory of the Peninsular War, or read the Duke's 
 Despatches; others, that he went down to Bird- 
 cage-Walk, and placed himself under the tuition 
 of Color-Sergeant Pike, of the Grenadier Guards, a 
 warrior celebrated for his skill in training military 
 aspirants, or that he endeavored by some other 
 means to acquire a practical knowledge, however 
 slight, of the profession for which he had always 
 been intended. The Hon. George Spoonbill knew 
 better. The preparation he made, was a visit, at 
 least three times a day, to Messrs. Gorget and 
 Plume, the military tailors in Jermyn Street, 
 whose souls he sorely vexed by the persistance 
 with which he adhered to the most accurate fit of 
 his shell-jacket and coatee, the set of his epaulettes, 
 the cut of his trowsers, and the shape of his chako. 
 He passed his days in "trying on his things," and 
 
182 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 his evenings when not engaged in the Casino, 
 the Gider Cellar, or the Adelphi in dining with 
 his military friends at St. James's Palace, or at 
 Knightsbridge Barracks. In their society he 
 greatly improved himself, acquiring an accurate 
 knowledge of lansquenet and ecarte, cultivating 
 his taste for tobacco, and familiarizing his mind 
 with that reverence for authority which is engen- 
 dered by the anecdotes of great military command- 
 ers that freely circulate at the mess-table. His 
 education and his uniform being finished at about 
 the same time, George Spoonbill took a not un- 
 cheerful farewell of the agonized Lady Pelican, 
 whose maternal bosom streamed with the sacrifice 
 she made in thus consigning her offspring to the 
 vulgar hardships of a marching regiment. 
 
 An express train conveyed the honorable 
 Ensign in safety to the country town where the 
 "Hundredth" were then quartered, and in con- 
 formity with the instructions which he received 
 from the Assistant Military Secretary at the Horse 
 Guards the only instructions, by-the-bye, which 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 183 
 
 were given him by that functionary he " report- 
 ed " himself at the Orderly -room on his arrival, 
 was presented by the Adjutant to the senior Major, 
 Oy the senior Major to the Lieutenant-Colonel, and 
 oy the Lieutenant-Colonel to the officers generally 
 when they assembled for mess. 
 
 The . " Hundredth," being " Light Infantry," 
 called itself " a crack regiment : " the military 
 adjective signifying, in this instance, not so much 
 a higher reputation for discipline and warlike 
 achievements, as an indefinite sort of superiority 
 arising from the fact that no man was allowed to 
 enter the corps who depended on his pay only for 
 the figure he cut in it. Lieutenant-Colonel Tulip, 
 who commanded, was very strict in this particular, 
 and, having the good of the service greatly at 
 heart, set his face entirely against the admission of 
 any young man who did not enjoy a handsome 
 paternal allowance, or was not the possessor of a 
 good income. He was himself the son of a cele- 
 brated army clothier, and in the course of ten 
 years, had purchased the rank he now held, so 
 
184 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 that he had a right, as he thought, to see that his 
 regiment was not contaminated by contact with 
 poor men. His military creed was, that no man 
 had any business in the army who could not afford 
 to keep his horses or tilbury, and drink wine every 
 day ; that he called respectable, anything short of 
 it the reverse. If he ever relaxed from the sever- 
 ity of this rule, it was only in favor of those who 
 had high connections; "a handle to a name" 
 being as reverently worshipped by him as money 
 itself; indeed, in secret, he preferred a lord's son, 
 though poor, to a commoner, however rich; the 
 poverty of a sprig of nobility not being taken 
 exactly in a literal sense. Colonel Tulip had an- 
 other theory also : during the aforesaid ten years, 
 he had acquired some knowledge of drill, and pos- 
 sessing an hereditary taste for dress, considered 
 himself, thus endowed, a first-rate officer, though 
 what he would have done with his regiment in the 
 field is quite another matter. In the meantime he 
 was gratified by thinking that he did his best to 
 make it a crack corps, according to his notion of 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 185 
 
 the thing, and such, minor points as the moral 
 training of the officers, and their proficiency in 
 something more than the forms of the parade 
 ground, were not allowed to enter into his consid- 
 eration. The "Hundredth" were acknowledged 
 to be "a devilish well-dressed, gentlemanly set of 
 fellows," and were looked after with great interest 
 at country -balls, races, and regattas; and if this 
 were not what a regiment ought to be, Colonel 
 Tulip was, he flattered himself, very much out in 
 his calculations. 
 
 The advent of the Hon. George Spoonbill was a 
 very welcome one, as the vacancy to which he 
 succeeded had been caused by the promotion of a 
 young baronet into "Dragoons," and the new 
 comer being the second son of Lord Pelican, with 
 a possibility of being graced one day by wearing 
 that glittering title himself, the hiatus caused by 
 Sir Henry Muff's removal was happily filled up 
 without any derogation to the corps. Having also 
 ascertained, in the course of five minutes' conver- 
 sation, that Mr. Spoonbill's "man" and two horses 
 
186 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 were to follow in a few days with the remainder 
 of his baggage ; and the young gentlemen having 
 talked rather largely of what the Governor allowed 
 him (two hundred a-year is no great sum, but he 
 kept the actual amount in the back ground, speak- 
 ing "promiscuously" of- "a few hundreds"), and 
 of his intimacy with " the fellows in the Life 
 Guards ; " Colonel Tulip at once set him down as 
 a decided acquisition to the "Hundredth," and 
 intimated that he was to be made much of 
 accordingly. 
 
 "When we described the regiment as being com- 
 posed of wealthy men, the statement must be re- 
 ceived with a certain reservation. It was Colonel 
 Tulip's hope and intention to make it so in time, 
 when he had sufficiently "weeded" it, but en 
 attendant there were three or four officers who did 
 not quite belong to his favorite category. There 
 were the senior Major, and an old Captain, both 
 of whom had seen a good deal of service, the Sur- 
 geon, who was a necessary evil, and the Quarter- 
 master, who was never allowed to show with the 
 
MODEEN "OFFIOEE'S" PEOGEESS. 187 
 
 rest of the officers except at " inspection," or some 
 other unusual demonstration. But the rank and 
 "allowance " of the first, and something in the char- 
 acter of the second, which caused him to be looked 
 upon as a military oracle, made Colonel Tulip tol- 
 erate their presence in the corps, if he did not enjoy 
 it. Neither had the Adjutant quite as much money 
 as the commanding officer could have desired, but 
 as his position kept him close to his duties, doing 
 that for which Colonel Tulip took credit, he also 
 was suffered to pass muster ; he was a brisk, pre- 
 cise, middle-aged personage, who hoped in the 
 course of time to get his company, and whose mil- 
 itary qualifications consisted chiefly in knowing 
 "Torrens," the " Articles of War," the "Military 
 [Regulations," and the "Army List," by heart. 
 The last-named work was, indeed, very generally 
 studied in the regiment, and may be said to have 
 exhausted almost all the literary resources of its 
 readers, exceptions being made in favor of the 
 weekly military newspaper, the monthly military 
 magazine, and an occasional novel from the circu- 
 
188 PEABL-FISHING. 
 
 lating library. The rest of the officers must speak 
 for themselves, as they incidentally make their 
 appearance. Of their character, generally, this 
 may be said ; none were wholly bad, but all of 
 them might easily have been a great deal better. 
 
 Brief ceremony attends a young officer's intro- 
 duction to his regiment, and the honorable prefix 
 to Ensign Spoonbill's name was anything but a 
 bar to his speedy initiation. Lieutenant-Colonel 
 Tulip took wine with him the first thing, and his 
 example was so quickly followed by all present, 
 that by the time the cloth was off the table, Lord 
 Pelican's second son had swallowed quite as much 
 of Duff Gordon's sherry as was good for him. 
 Though drinking is no longer a prevalent military 
 vice, there are occasions when the wine circulates 
 rather more freely than is altogether safe for 
 young heads, and this was one of them. Claret 
 was not the habitual " tipple," even of the crack 
 " Hundredth ; " but as Colonel Tulip had no objec- 
 tion to make a little display now and then, he had 
 ordered a dozen in honor of the new arrival, and 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 189 
 
 all felt disposed to do justice to it. The young 
 Ensign had flattered himself that, amongst other 
 accomplishments, he possessed " a hard head ; " 
 but, hard as it was, the free circulation of the 
 bottle was not without its effect, and he soon 
 began to speak rather thick, carefully avoiding 
 such words as began with a difficult letter, which 
 made his discourse somewhat periphrastic, or 
 roundabout. But though his observations reached 
 his hearers circuitously, their purpose was direct 
 enough, and conveyed the assurance that he was 
 one of those admirable Crichtons who are " wide 
 awake " in every particular, and available for any- 
 thing that may chance to turn up. 
 
 The conversation which reached his ears from 
 the jovial companions who surrounded him, was 
 of a similarly instructive and exhilarating kind, 
 and tended greatly to his improvement. Captain 
 Hackett, who came from " Dragoon Guards," and 
 had seen a great deal of hard service in Ireland, 
 elaborately set forth every particular of " I '11 give 
 you my honor, the most remarkable steeple-chase 
 
190 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 that ever took place in the three kingdoms," of 
 which he was, of course, the hero. Lieutenant 
 "Wadding, who prided himself on his small waist, 
 broad shoulders, and bushy whiskers, and was 
 esteemed " a lady-killer," talked of every woman 
 he knew, and damaged every reputation he talked 
 about. Lieutenant Bray, who was addicted to 
 sporting and played on the French horn, came out 
 strong on the subject of hackles, May -flies, gray 
 palmers, badgers, terriers, dew-claws, snap-shots 
 and Eley's cartridges. Captain Cushion, a great 
 billiard-player, and famous in every sense for 
 " the one-pocket game," was eloquent on the supe- 
 riority of his own cues, which were tipped with 
 gutta percha instead of leather, and offered, as a 
 treat, to indulge " any man in garrison with the 
 best of twenty, one 'up/ for a hundred a-side." 
 Captain Huff, who had a crimson face, a stiff arm, 
 and the voice of a Stentor, and whose soul, like his 
 visage, was steeped in port and brandy, boasted of 
 achievements in the drinking line, which, fortun- 
 ately, are now only traditional, though he did his 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 191 
 
 best to make them positive. From the upper end 
 of the table, where sat the two veterans and the 
 doctor, came, mellowed by distance, grim recollec- 
 tions of the Peninsula, with stories of Picton and 
 Crawford, "the fighting brigade" and "the light 
 division," interspersed with endless Indian narra- 
 tives, equally grim, of " how our fellows were car- 
 ried off by the cholera at Cawnpore," and how 
 many tigers were shot, " when we lay in Canton- 
 ments at Dum-dum ; " the running accompaniment 
 to the whole being a constant reference to so-and- 
 so "of ours" without allusion to which possessive 
 pronoun, few military men are able to make much 
 progress in conversation. 
 
 Nor was Colonel Tulip silent, but his conversa- 
 tion was of a very lofty and,, as it were, ethereal 
 order, quite transparent, in fact, if any one had 
 been there to analyze it. It related chiefly to the 
 magnates at the Horse Guards, to what "the 
 Duke " said to him on certain occasions specified, 
 to Prince Albert's appearance at the last levee, 
 to a favorite bay charger of his own, to the prob- 
 
192 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 ability that Lord Dawdle would get into the 
 corps on the first exchange, and to a partly- 
 formed intention of applying to the Commander- 
 in-Chief to change the regimental facings from buff 
 to green. 
 
 The mess-table, after four hours' enjoyment of 
 it in this intellectual manner, was finally aban- 
 doned for Captain Cushion's "quarters," that 
 gallant officer having taken " quite a fancy to the 
 youngster," not so much, perhaps, on account of 
 the youngster being a Lord's youngster, as because, 
 in all probability, there was something squeezeable 
 in him, which was slightly indicated in his coun- 
 tenance. But whatever of the kind there might 
 indeed have been, did not come out that evening, 
 the amiable Captain preferring rather to initiate by 
 example and the show of good fellowship, than by 
 directly urging the neophyte to play. The rubber, 
 therefore, was made up without him, and the new 
 Ensign, with two or three more - of his rank, con- 
 fined themselves to cigars and brandy and water, a 
 liberal indulgence in which completed what the 
 
MODEEN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 193 
 
 wine had begun, and before midnight chimed the 
 Hon. George Spoonbill was to use the mildest 
 expression, as unequivocally tipsy as the fondest 
 parent or guardian could possibly have desired a 
 young gentleman to be on the first night of his 
 entering " the Service." 
 
 Not yet established in barracks, Mr. Spoonbill 
 slept at an hotel, and thither he was assisted by 
 two of his boon companions, whom he insisted on 
 regaling on devilled biscuits and more bran'dy and 
 water, out of sheer gratitude for their kindness. 
 Nor was this reward thrown away, for it raised the 
 spirits of these youths to so genial a pitch that, on 
 their way back with a view, no doubt, to give 
 encouragement to trade they twisted off, as they 
 phrased it, " no end to knockers and bell-handles," 
 broke half a dozen lamps, and narrowly escaping 
 the police (with whom, however, they would glo- 
 riously have fought rather than have surrendered) 
 succeeded at length in reaching their quarters, a 
 little excited it is true, but by no means under the 
 
 impression that they had done anything as the 
 13 
 
194: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 articles of war say " unbecoming the character of 
 an officer and a gentleman." 
 
 In the meantime, the jaded waiter at the hotel 
 had conveyed their fellow-Ensign to bed, to dream 
 if he were capable of dreaming of the brilliant 
 future which his first day's experience of actual 
 military life held out. 
 
 ii. A SUBALTERN'S DAY. 
 
 However interesting it might prove to the 
 noble relatives of Ensign Spoonbill to learn his 
 progress, step by step, we must for reasons of 
 our own pa'ss over the first few weeks of his new 
 career, with ouly a brief mention of the leading 
 facts. 
 
 His brother-officers had instructed him in the 
 art of tying on his sash, wearing his forage cap on 
 one side, the secret of distinguishing his right 
 hand from his left, and the mysteries of marching 
 and coTinter-marching. The art of holding up 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 195 
 
 his head and throwing out his chest, had been 
 carefully imparted by the drill-serjeant of his com- 
 pany, and he had, accordingly, been pronounced 
 " fit for duty." 
 
 What this was may best be shown, by giving 
 an outline of "a subaltern's day," as he and the 
 majority of his military friends were in the habit 
 of passing it. It may serve to explain how it 
 happens that British officers are so far in advance 
 of their continental brethren in arms in the science 
 of their profession, and by what process they have 
 arrived at that intellectual superiority, which ren- 
 ders it a matter of regret that more serious in- 
 terests than the mere discipline and well-being of 
 only a hundred and twenty thousand men have 
 not been confided to their charge. 
 
 The scene' opens in a square room of tolerable 
 size which, if simply adorned with "barrack fur- 
 niture," (to wit, a deal table, two windsor-chairs, a 
 coal scuttle, and a set of fire-irons,) would give an 
 idea of a British subaltern's "interior," of rather 
 more Spartan-like simplicity than is altogether 
 
196 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 true. But to these were added certain elegant 
 "extras," obtained not out of the surplus of five 
 and three-pence a day after mess and band sub- 
 scriptions, cost of uniform, servant's wages, &c., 
 had been deducted but on credit, which it was 
 easier to get than to avoid incurring expense. A 
 noble youth, like Ensign Spoonbill, had only to 
 give the word of command to be obeyed by 
 Messrs. Eosewood and Mildew, with the alacrity 
 shown by the slaves of the lamp, and in an incred- 
 ibly short space of time, the bare walls and floor 
 of his apartment were covered with the gayest 
 articles their establishment afforded. They in- 
 cluded those indispensable adjuncts to a young 
 officer's toilette, a full length cheval, and a par- 
 ticularly lofty pier-glass. A green-baize screen 
 converted the apartment into as many separate 
 rooms as its occupant desired, cutting it up, per- 
 haps, a little here and there, but adding, on the 
 whole, a great deal to its comfort and privacy. 
 What was out of the line of Messrs. Eosewood and 
 Mildew and that, as Othello says, was "not 
 
MODERN ''OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 197 
 
 much" the taste of Ensign Spoonbill himself 
 supplied. To his high artistic taste were due the 
 presence of a couple of dozen gilt-framed and 
 highly-colored prints, representing the reigning 
 favorites of the ballet, the winners of the Derby 
 and Leger, and the costumes of the "dressiest," 
 and consequently the most distinguished corps in 
 the service ; the nice arrangement of cherry-stick 
 tubes, amber mouth-pieces, meerschaum bowls, 
 and embroidered bags of Latakia tobacco ; pleas- 
 ing devices of the well-crossed foils, riding whips, 
 and single sticks evenly balanced by fencing 
 masks and boxing gloves ; and, on the chimney- 
 piece, the brilliant array of nick-nacks, from the 
 glittering shop of Messrs. Moses, Lazarus and Son, 
 who called themselves "jewellers and dealers in 
 curiosities," and who dealt in a few trifles which 
 were not alluded to above their door-posts. ..> 
 
 The maxim of " Early to bed" was not known 
 in the Hundredth ; but the exigencies of the ser- 
 vice required that Ensign Spoonbill should rise 
 with the reveillee. He complained of it in more 
 
198 PEARL-FISHING, 
 
 forcible language than Dr. "Watts' celebrated slug- 
 gard ; but discipline is inexorable, and he was not 
 permitted to "slumber again." This early rising 
 is a real military hardship. We once heard a lady 
 of fashion counselling her friend never to marry a 
 Guardsman. "You have no idea, love, what 
 you '11 have to go through ; every morning of 
 his life in the season he has to be out with the 
 horrid regiment at half-past six o'clock ! " 
 
 The Hon. Ensign Spoonbill then rose with the 
 lark, though much against .his will, his connection 
 with that fowl having by preference a midnight 
 tendency. Erect at last, but with a strong taste 
 of cigars in his mouth, and a slight touch of 
 whiskey -headache, the Ensign arrayed himself in 
 his blue frock coat and Oxford gray trowsers; 
 wound himself into his sash ; adjusted his sword 
 and cap ; and, with faltering step, made the best 
 of his way into the barrack-square, where the 
 squads were forming, which, with his eyes only 
 half-open, he was called upon to inspect, prior to 
 their being re-inspected by both lieutenant and 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 199 
 
 captain. He then drew his sword, and "falling 
 in " in the rear of his company, occcupied that dis- 
 position till the regiment was formed and set in 
 motion. 
 
 His duties on the parade-ground were as a su- 
 pernumerary of a very arduous nature, and con- 
 sisted chiefly in getting in the way of his captain 
 as he continually "changed his flank," in making 
 the men " lock up," and in avoiding the personal 
 observation of the adjutant as much as possible ; 
 storing his mind, all the time, with a few of the 
 epithets, more vigorous than courtly, which the 
 commanding officer habitually made use of to 
 quicken the movements of the battalion. He en- 
 joyed this recreation for about a couple of hours, 
 sometimes utterly bewildered by a "change of 
 front," which developed him in the most inoppor- 
 tune manner ; sometimes inextricably entangled 
 in the formation of "a hollow square," when he 
 became lost altogether ; sometimes confounding 
 himself with "the points," and being confounded 
 by the senior-major for his awkwardness ; and 
 
200 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 sometimes following a " charge" at such a pace as 
 to take away his voice for every purpose of utility, 
 supposing he had desired to exercise it in the 
 way of admonitory adjuration to the rear-rank. 
 In this manner he learnt the noble science of 
 strategy, and by this means acquired so much 
 proficiency that, had he been suddenly called 
 upon to manoeuvre the battalion, it is possible he 
 might have gone on for five minutes without 
 " clubbing" it. 
 
 The regiment was then marched home ; and 
 Ensign Spoonbill re-entered the garrison with all 
 the honors of war, impressed with the conviction 
 that he had already seen an immense deal of 
 service; enough, certainly, to justify the ample 
 breakfast which two or three other famished subs 
 his particular friends assisted him in discuss- 
 ing, the more substantial part of which, involved 
 a private account with the messman, who had a 
 good many more of the younger officers of the 
 regiment on his books. At these morning feasts 
 with the exception, perhaps, of a few remarks 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 201 
 
 on drill as " a cussed bore" no allusion was made 
 to the military exercises of the morning, or to the 
 prospective duties of the day. The conversation 
 turned, on the contrary, on lighter and more 
 
 agreeable topics ; the relative merits of bull and 
 
 , 
 Scotch terriers ; who made the best boots ; whether 
 
 "that gaerl at the pastrycook's" was "as fine a 
 woman" as " the barmaid of the Eose and Crown ; " 
 if Hudson's cigars didn't beat Pontet's all to 
 nothing ; who married the sixth daughter of Jones 
 of the Highlanders ; interspersed with a few bets, 
 a few oaths, and a few statements not strikingly 
 remarkable for their veracity, the last having 
 reference, principally, to the exploits for which 
 Captain Smith made himself famous, to the detri- 
 ment of Miss Bailey. 
 
 Breakfast over, and cigars lighted, Ensign 
 Spoonbill and his friends, attired in shooting 
 jackets of every pattern, and wearing felt hats of 
 every color and form, made their appearance in 
 front of the officers' wing of the barracks ; some 
 semi-recumbent on the door-steps, others lounging 
 
202 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 with their hands in their coat pockets, others 
 gracefully balancing themselves on the iron rail- 
 ings, all smoking and talking on subjects of the 
 most edifying kind. These pleasant occupations 
 were, however, interrupted by the approach of an 
 11 orderly," who, from a certain clasped bobk 
 which he carried, read out the unwelcome intelli- 
 gence that, at twelve o'clock that day, a regimental 
 court-martial, under the presidency of Captain 
 Huff, would assemble in the officers' mess-room 
 " for the trial of all such prisoners as might be 
 brought before it," and that two lieutenants and 
 two ensigns of whom the honorable Mr. Spoon- 
 bill was one were to constitute the members. 
 This was a most distressing and unexpected blow, 
 for it had previously been arranged that a badger 
 should be drawn by Lieutenant "Wadding's bull 
 bitch Juno, at which interesting ceremony all the 
 junior members of the court were to have "as- 
 sisted." It was the more provoking, because the 
 proprietor of the animal to be baited, a gentle- 
 man in a fustian suit, brown legging, high-lows, a 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 203 
 
 white hat with, a black crape round it, and a very 
 red nose, indicative of a most decided love for 
 "cordials and compounds" had just "stepped 
 up" to say that "the badger must be dror'd that 
 mornin'," as he was under a particular engagement 
 to repeat the amusement in the evening for some 
 gents at a distant town, and " couldn't no how, not 
 for no money, forfeit his sacred word." The ma- 
 jority of the young gentlemen present understood 
 perfectly what this corollary meant, but, with 
 Ensign Spoonbill amongst them, were by no 
 means in a hurry to " fork out" for so immoral a 
 purpose as that of inducing a fellow-man to break 
 a solemn pledge. That gallant officer, however, 
 labored under so acute a feeling of disappoint- 
 ment, that regardless of the insult offered to the 
 worthy man's conscience, he at once volunteered 
 to give him "a couple of sovs" if he would just 
 
 " throw those snobs over," and defer his departure 
 
 
 
 till the following day ; and it was settled that the 
 badger should be u drawn" as soon as the patrons 
 of Joe Baggs could get away from the court- 
 
204 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 martial, for winch in no very equable frame of 
 mind they now got ready, retiring to their sev- 
 eral barrack-rooms, divesting themselves of their 
 sporting costume and once more assuming military 
 attire. 
 
 At the appointed hour, the court assembled. 
 Captain Huff prepared for his judicial labors by 
 calling for a glass of his favorite "swizzle," which 
 he dispatched at one draught, and then, having 
 sworn in the members, and being sworn himself, 
 the business began by the appointment of Lieuten- 
 ant Hackett as secretary. There were two prison- 
 ers to be tried: one had "sold his necessaries" in 
 order to get drunk ; the second had made use of 
 " mutinous language " when drunk ; both of them 
 high military crimes, to be severely visited by 
 those who had no temptation to dispose of their 
 wardrobes, and could not understand why a sol- 
 dier's beer money was not sufficient for his daily 
 potations ; but who omitted the consideration that 
 they themselves, when in want of cash, occasionally 
 sent a pair of epaulettes to " my uncle," and had a 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PEOGEESS. 205 
 
 champagne supper out of the proceeds, at which 
 neither sobriety nor decorous language were 
 rigidly observed. 
 
 The case against him who had sold his necessa- 
 ries, to wit, " a new pair of boots, a shirt, and a 
 pair of stockings," for which a Jew in the town 
 had given him two shillings >was sufficiently 
 clear. The captain and the pay-serjeant of the 
 man's company swore to the articles, and the Jew 
 who bought them (an acquintance of Lieutenant 
 Hackett, to whom he nodded with pleasing famil- 
 iarity), stimulated by the fear of a civil prosecu- 
 tion, gave them up. and appeared as evidence 
 against the prisoner. He was found "guilty," and 
 sentenced to three months' solitary confinement, 
 and " to be put under stoppages," according to the 
 prescribed formula. 
 
 But the trial of the man accused of drunkenness 
 and mutinous language was not so readily disposed 
 of; though the delay occasioned by his calling 
 witnesses to character served only to add to the 
 irritation of his virtuous and impartial judges. He 
 
206 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 was a fine-looking fellow, six feet high, and had 
 as soldier-like a bearing as any man in the Gren- 
 adier company to which he belonged. The spe- 
 cific acts which constituted his crime consisted in 
 having refused to leave the canteen when some- 
 what vexatiously ordered to do so by the orderly 
 serje'ant, who forthwith sent for a file of the guard 
 to compel him; thus urging him, when in an 
 excited state, to an act of insubordination, the gist 
 of which was a threat to knock the serjeant down, 
 a show of resistance, and certain maledictions on 
 the head of that functionary. In this, as in the 
 former instance, there could be no doubt that the 
 breach of discipline complained of had been com- 
 mitted, though several circumstances were pleaded 
 in extenuation of the offence. The man's previous 
 character, too, was very good ; he was ordinarily a 
 steady, well-conducted soldier, never shirked his 
 hour of duty, was not given to drink, and, there 
 fore, as the principal witness in his favor said, 
 " the more aisily overcome when he tuck a dhrop, 
 but as harrumless as a lamb, unless put upon." 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 207 
 
 These things averred and shown, the Court was 
 cleared, and the members proceeded to deliberate. 
 It was a question only of the nature and extent of 
 the punishment to be awarded. The general 
 instructions, no less than the favorable condition 
 of the case, suggested leniency. But Captain 
 Huff was a severe disciplinarian of the old school, 
 an advocate for red-handed practice the drum 
 head and the halberds and his opinion, if it 
 might be called one, had only too much weight 
 with the other members of the Court, all of whom 
 were prejudiced against the prisoner, whom they 
 internally if not openly condemned for inter- 
 fering with their day's amusements. "Corporal 
 punishment, of course," said Captain Huff, angri- 
 ly; and his words were echoed by the Court, 
 though the majority of them little knew the fearful 
 import of the sentence, or they might have paused 
 before they delivered over a fine resolute young 
 man, whose chief crime was an ebullition of tem- 
 per, to the castigation of the lash, which destroys 
 the soldier's self-respect; degrades him in the eyes 
 
208 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 of his fellows ; mutilates his body, and leaves an 
 indelible scar upon his mind. But the fiat went 
 forth, and was recorded in " hundreds " against the 
 unfortunate fellow; and Captain Huff having 
 managed to sign the proceedings, carried them off 
 to the commanding officer's quarters, to be "ap- 
 proved and confirmed ; " a ratification which the 
 Colonel was not slow to give ; for he was one of 
 that class who are in the habit of reconciling 
 themselves to an act of cruelty, by always assert- 
 ing in their defence that "an example is neces- 
 sary." He forgot in doing so, that this was not 
 the way to preserve for the "Hundredth" the 
 name of a crack corps, and that the best example 
 for those in authority is Mercy. 
 
 With minds buoyant and refreshed by the dis- 
 charge of the judicial functions, for which they 
 were in every respect so admirably qualified, 
 Ensign Spoonbill and his companions, giving 
 themselves leave of absence from the afternoon pa- 
 rade, and having resumed their favorite a mufty," 
 repaired to an obscure den in a stable-yard at the 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 209 
 
 back of the Blue Boar a low public house in the 
 filthiest quarter of the town which Mr. Joseph 
 Baggs made his head-quarters, and there, fqr a 
 couple of hours, solaced themselves with the agree- 
 able exhibition of the contest between the badger 
 and the dog Juno, which terminated by the latter 
 being bitten, through both her fore-paws, and 
 nearly losing one of her eyes ; though, as Lieuten- 
 ant "Wadding exultingly observed, "she was a 
 deuced deal too game to give over for such trifles 
 as those." The unhappy badger, that only fought 
 in self-defence, was accordingly "dror'd," as Mr. 
 Baggs reluctantly admitted, adding, however, that 
 she was " nuffin much the wuss," which was more 
 than could be said of the officers of the " Hun- 
 dredth " who had enjoyed the spectacle. 
 
 This amusement ended, which had so far a mili- 
 tary character that it familiarized the spectator 
 with violence and bloodshed, though in an unwor- 
 thy and contemptible degree, badgers and dogs, 
 not men, being their subject, the young gentlemen 
 
 adjourned to the High Street, to loiter away half 
 14 
 
210 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 an hour at the shop of Messrs. Moses, Lazarus and 
 Son, whose religious observances and daily occu- 
 pations were made their jest, while they ran in 
 debt to the people from whom they afterwards 
 expected consideration and forbearance. But not 
 wholly did they kill their time there. The pretty 
 pastry-cook, an innocent, retiring girl, but com- 
 pelled to serve in the shop, came in for her share 
 of their half-admiring and all insolent persecutions, 
 and when their slang and sentiment were alike 
 exhausted, they dawdled back again to the bar- 
 racks, to dress for the fifth time for mess. 
 
 The events of the day, that is, the events on 
 which their thoughts had been centered, again fur- 
 nished the theme of the general conversation. 
 Enough wine was drunk, as Captain Huff said, 
 with the wit peculiar to him, " to restore the equi- 
 librium ;" the most abstinent person being Captain 
 Cushion, who that evening gave convincing proof 
 of the advantages of abstinence, by engaging 
 Ensign Spoonbill in a match at billiards, the result 
 of which was, that Lord Pelican's son found him- 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 211 
 
 self, at midnight, minus a full half of the allowance 
 for which his noble father had given him liberty to 
 draw. But that he had fairly lost the money there 
 could be no doubt, for the officer on the main- 
 guard, who had preferred watching the game to 
 going his rounds, declared to the party, when they 
 afterwards adjourned to take a glass of grog with 
 him before he turned in, that, "except Jonathan, 
 he had never seen any man make so good a bridge 
 as his friend Spoonbill," and this fact Captain 
 Cushion himself confirmed, adding, that he 
 thought, perhaps, he could afford next time to 
 give points. With the reputation of making a 
 good bridge a Pons asinorum over which his 
 money had travelled Ensign Spoonbill was fain 
 to be content, and in this satisfactory manner he 
 closed one Subaltern's day, there being many like 
 it in reserve. 
 
212 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 i 
 
 III. THE CATASTROPHE. 
 
 What the Psalmist said in sorrow, those who 
 witnessed the career of the Honorable Ensign 
 Spoonbill and his companions might have said, 
 not in sorrow only but in anger : tl One day told 
 another, and one night certified another." 
 
 When duty was to be performed (for even 
 under the command of such an officer as Colonel 
 Tulip the routine of duty existed) it was slurred 
 over as hastily as possible, or got through as it 
 best might be. When, on the other hand, pleasure 
 was the order of the day, and this was sought 
 hourly, no resource was left untried, no expedient 
 unattempted ; and strange things, in the shape of 
 pleasure, were often the result. 
 
 The nominal duties were multifarious, and, had 
 they been properly observed, would have left but 
 a comparatively narrow margin for recreation, 
 foi there was much in the old forms which took 
 up time, without conveying any great amount of 
 military instruction. 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 213 
 
 The orderly officer for the day we speak of the 
 subaltern was supposed to go through a great 
 deal. His duty it was to assist at inspections, 
 superintend drills, examine the soldiers' provisions, 
 see their breakfasts and dinners served, and attend 
 to any complaints, visit the regimental guards by 
 day and night, be present at all parades and mus- 
 ters, and, finally, deliver in a written report of the 
 proceedings of the four-and-twenty hours. 
 
 To go through this routine, required as it re- 
 ceived in some regiments a few days' training ; 
 but in the Hundredth there was none at all. 
 Every officer in that distinguished corps was . sup- 
 posed to be " a Heaven-born genius," and acquired 
 his military education as pigeon's pick up peas. 
 The Hon. Ensign Spoonbill looked at his men after 
 a fashion, ; could swear at them if they were ex- 
 cessively dirty, and perhaps awe them into silence 
 by a portentous scowl, or an exaggerated loudness 
 of voice ; but with regard to the real purpose of 
 inspection, he knew as little, and cared as much, as 
 the valet who aired his noble father's morning 
 
214 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 newspaper. His eye wandered over the men's kits 
 as they were exposed to his view ; but to his 
 mind they only conveyed the idea of a kaleido- 
 scopic rag-fair, not that of an assortment of neces- 
 saries for the comfort and well-being of the soldier. 
 He saw large masses of beef, exhibited in a raw 
 state by the quartermaster, as the daily allowance 
 for the men ; but if any one had asked him if the 
 meat was good, and of proper weight, how could 
 he have answered, whose head was turned away in 
 disgust, with his face buried in a scented cambric 
 handkerchief, and his delicate nature loathing the 
 whole scene ? In the same spirit he. saw the men's 
 breakfasts and dinners served ; fortifying his opin- 
 ion, at the first, that coffee could only be made in 
 France, and wondering, at the second, what sort of 
 potane it could be that contrived to smell so dis- 
 agreeably. These things might be special affecta- 
 tions in the Hon. Ensign, and depended, probably, 
 on his own peculiar organization ; but if the rest 
 of the officers of the Hundredth did not manifest 
 as intense a dislike to this part of their duties, they 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 215 
 
 were members of much too "crack" a regiment to 
 give themselves any trouble about the matter. 
 The drums beat, the messes were served, there was 
 a hasty gallop through the barrack-rooms, scarcely 
 looking right or left, and the orderly officer 
 was only too happy to make his escape with 
 out being stopped by any impertinent com 
 plaint. 
 
 The "turning out" of the barrack guard was a 
 thing to make an impression on a bystander. A 
 loud shout, a sharp clatter of arms, a scurry of 
 figures, a hasty formation, a brief inquiry if all 
 was right, and a terse rejoinder that all was re- 
 markably so, constituted the details of a visit to 
 the body of men on whom devolved the task 01 
 extreme watchfulness, and the preservation of 
 order. If the serjeant had replied "All wrong," 
 it would have equally enlightened Ensign Spoon- 
 bill, who went towards the guardhouse because his 
 instructions told him to do so ; but why he went 
 there, and for what purpose he turned out the 
 guard, never entered into his comprehension. Not 
 
216 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 even did a sense of responsibility awaken in Mm 
 when, with much difficulty, he penned the report 
 which gave, in a narrative form, the summary of 
 the duties he had performed in so exemplary a 
 manner. Performed, do we say? Yes, once or 
 twice wholly, but for the most part with many 
 gaps in the schedule. Sometimes the dinners were 
 forgotten, now and then the tattoo, generally the 
 afternoon parade, and not unfrequently the whole 
 affair. For the latter omission, there was occasion- 
 ally a nominal "wigging" administered, not by 
 the commanding officer himself, but through the 
 adjutant ; and as that functionary was only looked 
 upon by the youngsters in the light of a bore, 
 without the slightest reverence for his office, his 
 words like those of Cassius passed like the idle 
 wind which none regarded. "When Ensign Spoon- 
 bill "mounted guard" himself, his vigilance on his 
 new post equalled the assiduity we have seen him 
 exhibit in barracks. After the formality of troop- 
 ing, marching down, and relieving, was over, the 
 Honorable Ensign generally amused himself by a 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 217 
 
 lounge in the vicinity of the guardhouse, until the 
 field-officer's "rounds" had been made ; and that 
 visitation at an end for the day, a neighboring 
 uilliard-room, with Captain Cushion for his antag- 
 onist or " a jolly pool" occupied him until dinner- 
 time. It was the custom in the garrison where the 
 Hundredth were quartered, as it was, indeed, in 
 many others, for the officers on guard to dine with 
 their mess, a couple of hours or so being granted 
 for this indulgence. This relaxation was made up 
 for, by their keeping close for the rest of the even- 
 ing ; but as there were generally two or three off 
 duty sufficiently at leisure to find cigars and 
 brandy-and-water attractive, even when consumed 
 in a guard-room, the hardship of Ensign Spoon- 
 bill's official imprisonment was not very great. 
 With these friends, and these creature-comforts to 
 solace, the time wore easily away till night fell, 
 when the field-officer, if he was " a good-fellow," 
 came early, and Ensign Spoonbill, having given 
 his friends their conge, was at liberty to " turn in" 
 for the night, the onerous duty of visiting sentries 
 
218 
 
 PEARL-DISHING. 
 
 and inspecting the reliefs every two hours, devolv- 
 ing upon the Serjeant. 
 
 It may be inferred from these two examples of 
 Ensign Spoonbill's ideas of discipline and the ser- 
 vice, what was the course he generally adopted on 
 duty, without our being under the necessity of 
 going into further details. "What he did when off 
 duty helped him on still more effectually. 
 
 Lord Pelican's outfit having "mounted" the 
 young gentleman,' and the credit he obtained on 
 the strength of being Lord Pelican's son, keeping 
 his stud in order, he was enabled to vie with the 
 crackest of the crack Hundredth ; subject, how- 
 ever, to all the accidents which horseflesh is heir 
 to especially when allied to a judgment of which 
 green was the prevailing color. A "swap" to a 
 disadvantage ; an indiscreet purchase ; a mis- 
 take tis to the soundness of an animal ; and such 
 other errors of opinion, entailed certain losses, 
 which might, after all, have been borne, without 
 rendering the applications for money at home 
 more frequent than agreeable ; but when under 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 219 
 
 the influence of a natural obstinacy, or the advice 
 of some very " knowing ones," Ensign Spoonbill 
 proceeded to back his opinion ID. private matches, 
 handicaps, and steeple-chases, the privy purse of 
 Lady Pelican collapsed -in a most unmistakable 
 manner. Nor was this description of amusement 
 the only rock-a-head in th.e course of the Honora- 
 ble Ensign. The art or science of betting embraces 
 tho Tridest field, and the odds, given or taken, are 
 equally fatal, whether the subject that elicits them 
 be a match at billiards or a horse-race. Nor are 
 the stakes at blind-hookey or unlimited loo less 
 harmless, when you hav' n't got luck and have 
 such opponents as Captain Cushion. 
 
 In spite of the belief in his own powers, which 
 Ensign Spoonbill encouraged, he could not shut 
 his eyes to the fact that he was every day a loser ; 
 but wiser gamblers than he if any there be place 
 reliance on a " turn of luck," and all he wanted to 
 enable him to take advantage of it, was a com- 
 mand of cash ; for even one's best friends prefer the 
 coin of the realm to the most unimpeachable 1. 0. U. 
 
220 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 The want of money is a common dilemma, not 
 the less disagreeable, however, .because it is com- 
 mon but in certain situations this want is more 
 apparent than real. The Hon. Ensign Spoonbill 
 was in the predicament of impecuniosity ; but 
 there were as a celebrated statesman is in the 
 habit of saying three courses open to him. He 
 might leave off play, and do without the money ; 
 he might '- throw himself" on Lord Pelican's 
 paternal feelings ; or he might somehow contrive 
 to raise a supply on his own account. To leave 
 off just at the moment when he was sure to win 
 back all he had lost, would have been ridiculous ; 
 besides, every man of spirit in the regiment would 
 have cut him. To throw himself upon the gener- 
 osity of his sire was a good poetical idea ; but, 
 practically, it would have been of no value : for, 
 in the first place, Lord Pelican had no money to 
 give in the next, there was an elder brother, 
 whose wants were more imperative than his own ; 
 and lastly, he had already tried "the experiment, 
 and failed in the most signal manner. There re- 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 221 
 
 mained, therefore, only the last expedient ; and 
 being advised, moreover,- to have recourse to it, he 
 Went into the project tete baissee. The " advice" 
 was tendered in this form. 
 
 " Well, Spooney, my boy, how are you, this 
 morning ? " kindly inquired Captain Cushion, one 
 day on his return from parade, from which the 
 Honorable Ensign had been absent on the plea of 
 indisposition. 
 
 " Deuced queer," was the reply ; " that Eoman 
 punch always gives me the splittingest head- 
 aches ! " 
 
 " Ah ! you 're not used to it. I ? m as fresh as 
 a four-year-old. Well, what did you do last night, 
 f "Vpooney ? " 
 
 " Do ! why, I lost, of course ; you ought to 
 mow that." 
 
 " I my dear fellow ! Give you my honor I got 
 up a loser ! " 
 
 " Not to me, though," grumbled the Ensign. 
 
 " Can't say as to that," replied the Captain ; " all 
 I know is, that I'm devilishly minus." 
 
PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 " Who won, then ? " inquired Spoonbill. 
 
 " Oh ! " returned the Captain, after a slight 
 pause, " I suspect Chowser he has somebody's 
 luck and his own too ! " 
 
 " I think he must have mine," said the Ensign, 
 with a faint smile, as the alternations of the last 
 night's Blind Hookey came more vividly to his 
 remembrance. What did I lose to you, Cushion ? " 
 he continued, in the hope that his memory had 
 deceived him. 
 
 The Captain's pocket-book was out in an instant. 
 
 " Sixty-five, my dear fellow ; that was all. By- 
 the-bye, Spooney, I 'm regularly hard up ; can 
 you let me have the tin ? I wouldn't trouble you, 
 upon my soul, if I could possibly do without it, 
 but I Ve got a heavy bill coming due to-morrow, 
 and I can't renew." 
 
 The Honorable Ensign sank back on his pillow, 
 and groaned impotently. Eallying, however, from 
 this momentary weakness, he raised his head, and, 
 after apostrophising the spirit of darkness as his 
 best friend, exclaimed, "I '11 tell you what it is, 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 223 
 
 Cushion, I 'm thoroughly cleaned out. I haven't 
 got a dump ! " 
 
 " Then you must fly a kite," observed the Cap- 
 tain, coolly. " No difficulty about that." 
 
 This was merely the repetition of counsel of the 
 same friendly nature previously urged. The shock 
 was not greater, therefore, than the young man's 
 nerves could bear. 
 
 " How is it to be done ? " asked the neophyte. 
 
 " Oh, I think I can manage that for you. Yes," 
 pursued the Captain, musing, " Lazarus would let 
 you have as much as you want, I dare say. His 
 terms are rather high, to be sure ; but then the 
 cash is the thing. He '11 take your acceptance at 
 once. "Who will you get to draw the bill ? " 
 
 *' Draw ! " said the Ensign, in a state of some 
 bewilderment. "I don't understand these things 
 couldn't you do it ? " 
 
 " Why," replied the Captain, with an air of in- 
 tense sincerity, " I 'd do it for you with pleasure 
 nothing would delight me more ; but I promised 
 my grandmother when first I entered the service, 
 
224 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 that I never would draw a bill as long as I lived ; 
 and as a man of honor, YOU know, and a soldier, I 
 can't break mj word." 
 
 " But I thought you said you had a bill of your 
 own coming due to-morrow," observed the astute 
 Spoonbill. 
 
 " So I did," said the Captain, taken rather aback 
 in the midst of his protestations, "but then it 
 isn't exactly a thing of this sort ; it 's a kind of 
 a bond as it were old family matters the es- 
 tate down in Lincolnshire that I 'm clearing off. 
 Besides," he added hurriedly, " there are plenty 
 of fellows who '11 do it for you. There 's young 
 Brittles the Manchester man, who joined just 
 after you. I never saw anybody screw into baulk 
 better than he does, except yourself he 's the one. 
 Lazarus, I know, always prefers a young customer 
 to an old one ; knowing chaps, these Jews, arn't 
 they?" 
 
 Captain Cushion's last remark was, no doubt, a 
 just one but he might have applied the term to 
 himself with little dread of disparagement ; and the 
 
MODEEN "OFFICER'S" PEOGRESS. 225 
 
 end of the conversation was, that it was agreed a 
 bill should be drawn as proposed, " say for three 
 hundred pounds," the Captain undertaking to get 
 the affair arranged, and relieving Spoonbill of all 
 trouble, save that of "merely" writing his name 
 across a bit of stamped paper. These points being 
 settled, the Captain left him, and the unprotected 
 subaltern called for brandy and soda-water, by the 
 aid of which stimulus he was enabled to rise and 
 perform his toilette. 
 
 Messrs. Lazarus and Sons were merchants who 
 perfectly understood their business, and, though 
 they started difficulties, were only too happy to 
 get fresh birds into their net. They knew to a 
 certainty that the sum they were asked to advance 
 would not be repaid at the end of the prescribed 
 three months : it would scarcely have been worth 
 their while to enter into the matter if it had ; the 
 profit on the hundred pounds' worth of jewelry, 
 which Ensign Spoonbill was required to take as 
 part of the amount, would not have remunerated 
 
 them sufficiently. Guessing pretty accurately 
 
 15 
 
226 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 which, way the money would go, they foresaw 
 renewed applications, and a long perspective of 
 accumulating acceptances. Lord Pelican might be 
 a needy nobleman ; but he was Lord Pelican, and 
 the Honorable George Spoonbill was his son ; and 
 if the latter did not succeed to the title and family 
 estates, which was by no means improbable, there 
 was Lady Pelican's settlement for division amongst 
 the younger children. So they advanced the 
 money ; that is to say, they produced a hundred 
 and eighty pounds in cash, twenty they took for 
 the accommodation (half of which found its way 
 into the pocket of never mind, we won't say 
 anything about Captain Cushion's private affairs), 
 and the value of the remaining hundred was made 
 up with a series of pins and rings of the most 
 stunning magnificence. 
 
 This was the Honorable Ensign Spoonbill's first 
 Ipillrtransaction, but, the ice once broken, the sec- 
 ond and third soon followed. He found it the 
 pleasantest way in the world of raising money, 
 and in a short time his affairs took a turn so decid^- 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 227 
 
 edly commercial, that he applied the system to 
 all his mercantile transactions. He paid his tailors 
 after this fashion, satisfied Messrs. Mildew and his 
 upholsterers with negotiable paper, and did " bits 
 of stiff" with Galloper, the horse-dealer, to a very 
 considerable figure. He even became facetious, 
 not to say inspired, by this great discovery; for, 
 amongst his papers, when they were afterwards 
 overhauled by the official assignee or some such 
 fiscal dignitary, a bacchanalian song in manu- 
 script was found, supposed to have been written 
 about this period, the refrain of which ran as 
 follows : 
 
 "When creditors clamor, and cash fails the till, 
 There is nothing so easy as giving a bill." 
 
 It needs no ghost to rise from the grave to 
 prophesy the sequel to this mode of " raising the 
 wind." It is recorded twenty times a month in 
 the daily papers now in the Bankruptcy Court, 
 now in that for the Eelief of Insolvent Debtors. 
 Ensign Spoonbill's career lasted about eighteen 
 months, at the end of which period not having 
 
228 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 prospered by the means of gaining to the extent 
 he anticipated he found himself under the neces- 
 sity of selling out and retiring to a continental 
 residence, leaving behind him debts, which were 
 eventually paid, to the tune of seven thousand, 
 two hundred and fourteen pounds, seventeen shil- 
 lings, and tenpence three farthings, the vulgar 
 fractions having their origin in the hair-splitting 
 occasioned by reduplication of interest. He chose 
 for his abode the pleasant town of Boulogne-sur- 
 Mer, where he cultivated his moustaches, acquired 
 a smattering of French, and an insight into the 
 mystery of pigeon-shooting. For one or other of 
 these qualifications we cannot exactly say which 
 he was subsequently appointed attache to a 
 foreign embassy, and at the present moment, we 
 believe, is considered one of those promising young 
 men whose diplomatic skill will probably declare 
 itself one of these days, by some stroke of finesse, 
 which shall set all Europe by the ears. 
 
 "With respect to Colonel Tulip 1 s "crack" regi- 
 ment, it went, as the saying is, "to. the Devil." 
 
MODERN "OFFICER'S" PROGRESS. 229 
 
 The exposure caused by the affair of Ensign 
 Spoonbill the smash of Ensign Brittles, which 
 shortly followed the duel between Lieutenant 
 "Wadding and Captain Cushion, the result of which 
 was a ball (neither "spot" nor "plain," but a 
 bullet) through the head of the last-named gentle- 
 man, and a few other trifles of a similar descrip- 
 tion, at length attracted the "serious notice" of 
 his Grace the Commander-in-Chief. It was signi- 
 ficantly hinted to Colonel Tulip that it would be 
 for the benefit of the service in general, and that 
 of the Hundredth in particular, if he exchanged to 
 half-pay, as the regiment required re-modelling. 
 A smart Lieutenant-Colonel who had learnt some- 
 thing, not only of drill, but of discipline, under 
 the hero of " Young Egypt," in which country he 
 had shared that general's laurels, was sent down 
 from the Horse Guards. " Weeding" to a consid- 
 erable extent took place; the Majors and the Ad- 
 jutant were replaced by more efficient men, and, 
 to sum up all, the Duke's "Circular" came out, 
 laying down a principle of practical military educa- 
 
230 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 tion, while on service, which, if acted up to, and 
 there seems every reason to hope it will now be, 
 bids fair to make good officers of those who here- 
 tofore were merely idlers. It will also diminish 
 the opportunities for gambling, drinking, and bill 
 discounting, and substitute, for the written words 
 on the Queen's Commission, the real character of 
 a soldier and a gentleman. 
 
VII. 
 
 evening in the month of March, 1798, 
 that dark time in Ireland's rmnals whose 
 memory (overlooking all minor subsequent emeutes) 
 is still preserved among us, as " the year of the 
 rebellion" a lady and gentleman were seated 
 near a blazing fire in the old-fashioned dining- 
 room of a large lonely mansion. They had just 
 dined ; wine and fruit were on the table, both un- 
 touched, while Mr. Hewson and his wife sat 
 silently gazing at the fire, watching its flickering 
 light becoming gradually more vivid as the short 
 Spring twilight faded into darkness. 
 
 At length the husband poured out a glass of 
 wine, drank it off, and then broke silence, by 
 saying 
 
 "Well, well, Charlotte, these are awful times; 
 
232 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 there were ten men taken up to-day for burning 
 Cotter's house at Knockane ; and Tom Dycer says 
 that every magistrate in the country is a marked 
 man." 
 
 Mrs. Hewson cast a frightened glance towards 
 the windows, which opened nearly to the ground, 
 and gave a view of the wide tree-besprinkled lawn, 
 through whose centre a long straight avenue led to 
 the high-road. There was also a footpath at either 
 side of the house, branching off through close 
 thickets of trees, and reaching the road by a circui- 
 tous route. 
 
 " Listen, James ! " she said, after a pause ; " what 
 noise is that ? " 
 
 " Nothing but the sighing of the wind among 
 the trees. Come, wife, you must not give way to 
 imaginary fears." 
 
 " But really I heard something like footsteps on 
 the gravel, round the gable-end I wish " 
 
 A knock at the parlor door interrupted her. 
 
 "Come in." 
 
 The door opened, and Tim Grahan, Mr. Hewson's 
 
FATHEE AND SON. 233 
 
 confidential steward and right-hand man, entered, 
 followed by a fair-haired delicate-looking boy of 
 six years' old, dressed in deep mourning. 
 " Well, Gahan, what do you want? " 
 " I ask your Honor's pardon for disturbing you 
 and the mistress ; but I thought it right to come 
 tell you the bad news I heard." 
 
 " Something about the rebels, I suppose ? " 
 "Yes, Sir; I got a whisper just now that there's 
 going to be a great rising intirely, to-morrow; 
 thousands are to gather before daybreak at Kil- 
 crean bog, where I 'm told they have a power of 
 pikes hiding ; and then they 're to march on and 
 sack every house in the country. I'll engage, 
 when I heard it, I didn't let the grass grow under 
 my feet, but came off straight to your Honor, ^ 
 thinking maybe you 'd like to walk over this fine 
 evening to Mr. "Warren's, and settle with him 
 what 's best to be done." 
 
 "Oh, James! I beseech you, don't think of 
 going." 
 
 "Make your mind easy, Charlotte; I. don't 
 
234: PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 intend it : not that I suppose there would be much 
 risk ; but, all things considered, I think I 'm just 
 as comfortable at home." 
 
 The steward's brow darkened, as he glanced 
 nervously towards the end window, which, jutting 
 out in the gable, formed a deep angle in the outer 
 wall. 
 
 <: Of course 'tis just as your honor plases, but 
 I '11 warrant you there would be no harm in going. 
 Come, Billy," he added, addressing the child, who 
 by this time was standing close to Mrs. Hewson, 
 "make your bow, and bid good night to master 
 and mistress." 
 
 The boy did not stir, and Mrs. Hewson, taking 
 his little hand in hers, said 
 
 "You need not go home for half-an-hour, 
 Gahan ; stay and have a chat with the servants in 
 the kitchen, and leave little Billy with me and 
 with the apples and nuts " she added, smiling as 
 she filled the child's hands with- fruit. 
 
 " Thank you, Ma'am," said the steward hastily. 
 "I can't stop I'm in a hurry home, where I 
 
FATHER AND SON.' 235 
 
 wanted to leave this brat to-night ; but he would 
 follow me. Come, Billy ; come this minute, you 
 young rogue." 
 
 Still the child looked reluctant, and Mr. Hewson 
 said preremptorily. 
 
 " Don't go yet, Gahan ; I want to speak to you 
 by-and-bye; and you know the mistress always 
 likes to pet little Billy." 
 
 Without replying, the steward left the room; 
 and the next moment his hasty footsteps resounded 
 through the long flagged passage that led to the 
 offices. 
 
 " There 's something strange about Gahan, since 
 his wife died," remarked Mrs. Hewson. "I sup- 
 pose 'tis grief for her that makes him look so dark- 
 ly, and seem almost jealous when any one speaks 
 to his child. Poor little Billy ! your mother was 
 a sore loss to you." 
 
 The child's blue eyes filled with tears, and press- 
 ing closer to the lady's side, he said : 
 
 " Old Peggy doesn't wash and dress me as nicely 
 as mammy used." 
 
236 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 " But your father is good to you? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Ma'am, but he 's out all day busy, and 
 I 've no one to talk to me as mammy used ; for 
 Peggy is quite deaf, and besides she 's always busy 
 with the pigs and chickens." 
 
 "I wish I had you, Billy, to take care of, and to 
 teach, for your poor mother's sake." 
 
 "And so you may, Charlotte," said her hushand. 
 " I 'm sure Gahan, with all his odd ways, is too 
 sensible a fellow not to know how much it would 
 be for his child's benefit to be brought up and edu- 
 cated by us, and the boy would be an amusement 
 to us in this lonely house. I'll speak to him 
 about it before he goes home. Billy, my fine fel- 
 low, come here," he continued, "jump up on my 
 knee, and tell me if you 'd like to live here always, 
 and learn to read and write." 
 
 "I would, Sir, if I could be with father 
 too." 
 
 " So you shall ; and what about old Peggy ? " 
 
 The child paused 
 
 " I 'd like to give her a pen'north of snuff and a 
 
FATHEK AND SON. 237 
 
 piece of tobacco every week, for she said the other 
 day that that would make her quite happy." 
 
 Mr. Hewson laughed, and Billy prattled on, still 
 seated on his knee ; when a noise of footsteps on 
 the ground, mingled with low suppressed talking, 
 was heard outside. 
 
 "James, listen ! there 's the noise again." 
 
 It was now nearly dark, but Mr. Hewson, still 
 holding the boy in his arms, walked towards the 
 window and looked out. 
 
 "I can see nothing," he said "stay there are 
 figures moving off among the trees, and a man 
 running round to the back of the house very like 
 Gahan he is too ! " 
 
 Seizing the bell-rope he rang it loudly, and said 
 to the servant who answered his summons : 
 
 "Fasten the shutters and put up the bars, 
 Connell; and then tell Gahan I want to see 
 him." 
 
 The man obeyed; candles were brought, and 
 Gahan entered the room. 
 
 Mr. Hewson remarked that, though his cheeks 
 
238 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 were flushed, his lips were very white, and his 
 bold dark eyes were cast on the ground. 
 
 "What took you round the house just now, 
 Tim ? " asked his master, in a careless manner. 
 
 " What took me round the house is it? Why, 
 then, nothing in life, Sir, but that just as I went 
 outside the kitchen door to take a smoke, I saw 
 the pigs that Shaneen forgot to put up in their 
 stye, making right for the mistress' flower-garden ; 
 so I just put my dudheen, lighting as it was, into 
 my pocket, and ran after them. I caught them on 
 the grand walk under the end window, and indeed, 
 Ma'am, I had my own share of work turning them 
 back to their proper spear." 
 
 Gahan spoke with unusual volubility, but with- 
 out raising his eyes from the ground. 
 
 u Who were the people," asked his master, 
 " whom I saw moving through the western 
 grove ? " 
 
 "People! your Honor not a sign of any 
 people moving there, I '11 be bound, barring the 
 pigs." 
 
FATHER AND SON. 239 
 
 " Then," said Mr. Hewson, smiling, to his wife, 
 " the miracle of Circe must have been reversed 
 and swine turned into men ; for, unftoubtedl y, the 
 dark figures I saw were human beings." 
 
 "Come, Billy," said Gahan, anxious to turn the 
 conversation, " will you come home with me 
 now ? I am sure 'twas very good of the mistress 
 to give you all them fine apples." 
 
 Mrs. Hewson was going to propose Billy's re- 
 maining, but her husband whispered: "Wait 
 till to-morrow." So Gahan and his child were al- 
 lowed to depart. 
 
 Next morning the magistrates of the district 
 were on the alert, and several suspicious-looking 
 men found lurking about, were taken up. A hat 
 which fitted one of them was picked up in Mr. 
 Hewson's grove; the gravel under the end win- 
 dow bore many signs of trampling feet ; and there 
 were marks on the wall as if guns had rested 
 against it. Gahan's information touching the in- 
 tended meeting at Kilcrean bog proved to be 
 <*>tally without foundation; and after a careful 
 
240 PEAKL-FlSHING. 
 
 search not a single pike or weapon of any descrip- 
 tion could be found there. All these circum- 
 stances comMned certainly looked suspicious; 
 but, after a long investigation, as no guilt could be 
 actually brought home to Grahan, he was dis- 
 missed. One of his examiners, however, said pri- 
 vately, " I advise you take care of that fellow, 
 Hewson. If I were in your place, I 'd just trust 
 him as far as I could throw him, and not an inch 
 beyond." 
 
 An indolent hospitable Irish country gentleman, 
 such as Mr. Hewson, is never without an always 
 shrewd and often roguish prime minister, who 
 saves his master the trouble of looking after his 
 own affairs, and manages everything that is to be 
 done in both the home and foreign departments, 
 from putting a new door to the pig-stye, to letting 
 a farm of an hundred acres on lease. Now in this, 
 or rather these capacities, Gahan had long served 
 Mr. Hewson ; and some seven years previous to 
 the evening on which our story commences, he had 
 strengthened the tie and increased his influence 
 
FATHER AND SON. 241 
 
 considerably "by marrying Mrs. Hewson's favorite 
 and faithful maid. One child was the result of 
 this union ; and Mrs. Hewson, who had no family 
 of her own, took much interest in little Billy, 
 more especially after the death of his mother, who, 
 poor thing! the neighbors said, was not very 
 happy, and would gladly, if she dared, have ex- 
 changed her lonely cottage for the easy service of 
 her former mistress. 
 
 Thus, though for a time Mr. and Mrs. Hewson 
 regarded Gahan with some doubt, the feeling 
 gradually wore away, and the steward regained 
 Ids former influence. 
 
 After the lapse of a few stormy months the re- 
 bellion was quelled: all the prisoners taken up 
 were severally disposed of by hanging, transporta- 
 tion or acquittal, according to the nature and 
 amount of the evidence brought against them ; 
 and the country became as peaceful as it is in the 
 volcanic nature of our Irish soil ever to be. 
 
 The Hewsons' kindness towards Gahan's child 
 
 was steady and unchanged* They took him into 
 16 
 
242 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 their house, and gave him a plain but solid educa- 
 tion ; so that William, while yet a boy, was en- 
 abled to be of some use to his patron, and daily 
 enjoyed more and more of his confidence. 
 
 Another Evening, the twentieth anniversary of 
 that with which this narrative commenced, came 
 round. Mr. and Mrs. Hewson were still hale 
 and active, dwelling in their hospitable home. 
 About eight o'clock at night, Tim Grahan, now a 
 stooping, gray-haired man, entered Mr. Hewson's 
 kitchen, and took his seat on the corner of the 
 settle, near the fire. 
 
 The cook directing a silent significant glance of 
 compassion towards her fellow-servants, said : 
 
 " Would you like a drink of cider, Tim, or will 
 you wait and take a cup of tay with myself and 
 Kitty?" 
 
 The old man's eyes were fixed on the fire, and a 
 wrinkled hand was planted firmly on each knee, 
 as if to check their involuntary trembling. " I '11 
 
FATHER AND S ON. 243 
 
 not drink anything this night, thank you kindly, 
 Nelly," he said, in a slow musing manner, dwell- 
 ing long on each word. 
 
 " Where 's Billy ? " he asked, after a pause, in a 
 quick hurried tone, looking up suddenly at the 
 cook, with an expression in his eyes, which, as she 
 afterwards said, "took away her breath." 
 
 " Oh, never heed Billy ! I suppose he 's busy 
 with the master." 
 
 " Where 's the use, Nelly," said the coachman, 
 "in hiding it from him? Sure, sooner or later he 
 must know it. Tim," he continued, " Grod knows 
 'tis sorrow to my heart this blessed night to make 
 yours sore, but the truth is, that William has 
 done what he oughtn't to do to the man that was 
 all one as a father to him." 
 
 " What has he done ? what will you dar say 
 again my boy ? " 
 
 " Taken money, then," replied the coachman, 
 " that the master had marked and put by in his 
 desk ; for he suspected this some time past that 
 gold was missing. This morning 'twas gone; a 
 
244 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 search was made, and the marked guineas were 
 found with your son William." 
 
 The old man covered his face with his hands, 
 and rocked himself to and fro. 
 
 "Where is he now?" at length he asked, in a 
 hoarse voice. 
 
 " Locked up safe in the inner store-room ; the 
 master intends sending him to gaol early to-mor- 
 row morning." 
 
 "He will not," said Gahan slowly, "kill the 
 boy that saved his life ! no, no." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! the grief is setting his mind 
 astray and sure no wonder ! " said the cook, 
 compassionately. 
 
 "I'm not astray!" cried the old man, fiercely. 
 
 " Where 's the master ? take me to him." 
 
 " Come with me," said the butler ; "and I'll ask 
 him will he see you ? " 
 
 With faltering steps the father complied; and 
 when they reached the parlor, he trembled exceed- 
 ingly, and leant against the wall for support, 
 while the butler opened the door, and said : 
 
FATHER AND SON. 245 
 
 " Gahan is here, Sir, and wants to know will 
 you let him speak to you for a minute ? " 
 
 " Tell him to come in," said Mr. Hewson, in a 
 solemn tone of sorrow, very different from his or- 
 dinary cheerful voice. 
 
 " Sir," said the steward, advancing, " they tell 
 me you are going to send my boy to prison, is it 
 true ? " 
 
 "Too true, indeed, Gahan. The lad who was 
 reared in my house, whom my wife watched over 
 in health, and nursed in sickness whom we loved 
 almost as if he were our own, has robbed us, and 
 that not once or twice, but many times. He is 
 silent, and sullen, too, and refuses to tell why he 
 stole the money, which was never withheld from 
 him when he wanted it. I can make nothing of 
 him, and must only give him up to justice in the 
 morning." 
 
 "No, Sir, no The boy saved your life; you 
 can't take his" 
 
 " You 're raving, Gahan." 
 
 "Listen to me, Sir, and you won't say so. You 
 
246 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 remember this night twenty years ? I came here 
 with my motherless child, and yourself and the 
 mistress pitied us, and spoke loving words to him. 
 Well for us all you did so ! That night little 
 you thought it! I was banded with them that 
 were sworn to take your life. * They were watch- 
 ing you outside the window, and I was sent to 
 inveigle you out, that they might shoot you. A 
 faint heart I had for the bloody business, for you 
 were ever and always a good master to me ; but I 
 was under an oath to them that I darn't break, 
 supposing they ordered me to shoot my own 
 mother. Well ! the hand of God was over you, 
 and you wouldn't come with me. I ran out to 
 them, and I said "Boys, if you want to shoot 
 him, you must do it through the window," think- 
 ing they 'd be afeard of that ; but they weren't 
 they were daring fellows, and 'one of them, 
 sheltered by the angle of the window, took deadly 
 aim at you. That very moment you took Billy 
 on your knee, and I saw his fair head on a line 
 with the musket. I don't know exactly then what 
 
FATHER AND SON. 247 
 
 I said or did, but I remember I caught the man's 
 band, threw it up, and pointed to the child. 
 Knowing I was a determined man, I believe they 
 didn't wish to provoke me ; so they watched you 
 for awhile, and when you didn't put him down 
 they got daunted, hearing the sound of soldiers 
 riding by the road, and they stole away through 
 the grove. Most of that gang swung on the 
 gallows, but the last of them died this morning 
 quietly in his bed. Up to yesterday he used to 
 make me give him money, sums of money to 
 buy his silence and it was for that I made my 
 boy a thief. It was wearing out his very life. 
 Often he went down on his knees to me, and said : 
 'Father, I 'd die myself sooner than rob my master, 
 but I can't see you disgraced. Oh, let us fly the 
 country ! ' Now, Sir, I have told you all do what 
 you like with me send me to goal, I deserve it 
 but spare my poor, deluded, innocent boy ! " 
 
 It would be difficult to describe Mr. Hewson's 
 feelings, but his wife's first impulse was to hasten 
 to liberate the prisoner. With a few incoherent 
 
248 PEARL-FISHING, 
 
 words of explanation she led him into the presence 
 of his master, who, looking at him sorrowfully but 
 kindly, said : 
 
 "William, you nave erred deeply, but not so 
 deeply as I supposed. Your father has told me 
 everything. I forgive him freely and you also." 
 
 The young man covered his face with his hands, 
 and wept tears more bitter and abundant than he 
 had ever shed since the day when he followed his 
 mother to the grave. He could say but little, but 
 he knelt on the ground, and clasping the kind 
 hand of her who had supplied to him that mother's 
 place, he murmured : 
 
 " "Will you tell him I would rather die than sin 
 again. 
 
 Old Gahan died two years afterwards, truly 
 penitent, invoking 'blessings on his son and on his 
 benefactors; and the young man's conduct, now 
 no longer under evil influence, was so steady and 
 so upright, that his adopted parents felt that their 
 pious work war- rewarded, and that, in William 
 Gahan, they had indeed a son. 
 
VIII. 
 
 i. THE CHILD'S TKAGEDY. 
 
 mHEKE is no really beautiful part of this king- 
 -*' dom so little known as the Peak of Derby- 
 shire. Matlock, with its tea-garden trumpery, and 
 mock-heroic wonders ; Buxton, with its bleak hills 
 and fashionable bathers; the truly noble Chats- 
 worth and the venerable Haddon, engross almost 
 all that the public generally have seen of the Peak. 
 It is talked of as a land of mountains, which in 
 reality are only hills ; but its true beauty lies in 
 valleys that have been created by the rending of 
 the earth in some primeval convulsion, and which 
 present a thousand charms to the eyes of the lover 
 of nature. How deliciously do the crystal waters 
 of the Wye and the Dove rush along such valleys, 
 or dales, as they are called. With what a wild 
 
250 PEAKL -FISHING. 
 
 variety do the gray rocks soar up amid their 
 woods and copses. How airily stand in the clear 
 heavens the lofty limestone precipices, and the 
 gray edges of rock gleam out from the bare green 
 downs there never called downs. What a genu- 
 ine Saxon air is there cast over the population, 
 what a Saxon, bluntness salutes you in their 
 speech ! 
 
 It is into the heart of this region that we pro- 
 pose now to carry the reader. Let him suppose 
 himself with us now on the road from Ashford-in- 
 the-water to Tidesi7ell. "We are at the Bulls- 
 Head, a little inn on that road. There is nothing 
 to create wonder, or a suspicion of a hidden Ar- 
 cadia in anything you see, but another step for- 
 ward, and there ! There sinks a world of valleys 
 at your feet. To your left lies the delicious Mon- 
 sol Dale. Old Finn Hill Hfts his gray head grand- 
 ly over it. Hobthrush's Castle stands bravely 
 forth in the hollow of his side gray, and deso- 
 late, and mysterious. The sweet Wye goes wind- 
 ing and sounding at his feet, amid its narrow 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 251 
 
 green meadows, green as the emerald, and its dark 
 glossy alders. Before us stretches on, equally 
 beautiful, Cressbrook Dale ; Little Edale shows its 
 cottages from amidst its trees ; and as we advance, 
 the Mousselin-de-laine Mills stretch across the 
 mouth of Miller's Dale, and startle with the aspect 
 of so much life amid so much solitude. 
 
 But our way is still onward. "We resist the 
 attraction of Cressbrook village on its lofty emi- 
 nence, and plunge to the right, into Wardlow 
 Dale. Here we are buried deep in woods, and yet 
 behold still deeper the valley descend below us. 
 There is an Alpine feeling upon us. We are 
 carried once more, as in a dream, into the Saxon 
 Switzerland. Above us stretch the boldest ranges 
 of lofty precipices, and deep amid the woods are 
 heard the voices of children. These come from a 
 few workman's houses couched at the foot of a 
 cliff that rises high and bright amid the sun. 
 That is Wardlow Cop ; and there we mean to halt 
 for a moment. Forwards lies a wild region of 
 hills, and valleys, and lead mines, but forward 
 
252 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 goes no road, except such as you can make your- 
 self through the tangled woods. 
 
 At the foot of Wardlow Cop, before this little 
 hamlet of Bellamy Wick was built, or the glen 
 was dignified with the name of Kaven Dale, there 
 lived a miner who had no term for his place of 
 abode. He lived, he said, under Wardlow Cop, 
 and that contented him. 
 
 His house was one of those little, solid, gray 
 limestone cottages, with gray flagstone roofs which 
 abound in the Peak. It had stood under that 
 lofty precipice when the woods which now so 
 densely fill the valley were but newly planted. 
 There had been a mine near it, which had no 
 doubt been the occasion of its erection in so soli- 
 tary a place ; but that mine was now worked out, 
 and David Dunster, the miner, now worked at a 
 mine right over the hills in Miller's Dale. He was 
 seldom at home, except at night, and on Sundays. 
 His wife, besides keeping her little house, and dig- 
 ging and weeding in the strip of garden that lay 
 on the steep slope above the house, hemmed in 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 253 
 
 with a stone wall, also seamed stockings for a 
 framework-knitter in Ashford, whither she went 
 once or twice in the week. 
 
 They had three children, a boy and two girls. 
 The boy was about eight years of age ; the girls 
 were about five and six. These children were 
 taught their lessons of spelling and reading by the 
 mother, amongst her other multifarious tasks ; for 
 she was one of those who are called regular plod- 
 ders. She was quiet, patient, and always doing, 
 though never in a bustle. She was not one of 
 those who acquire a character for vast industry by 
 doing everything in a mighty flurry, though they 
 contrive to find time for a tolerable deal of gossip 
 under the plea of resting a bit, and " which rest- 
 ing a bit " they always terminate by an exclama- 
 tion that " they must be off, though, for they 
 have a world of work to do." Betty Dunster, on 
 the contrary, was looked on as rather " a slow 
 coach." If you remarked that she was a hard- 
 working woman, the reply was, "Well, she's 
 always doing Betty's work 's never done ; but 
 
254: PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 then she does na hurry hersen." The fact was, 
 Betty was a thin, spare woman, of no very strong 
 constitution, but of an untiring spirit. Her pleas- 
 ure and rest were, when David came home at 
 night, to have his supper ready, and to sit down 
 opposite to him at the little round table, and help 
 him, giving a bit now and then to the children, 
 that came and stood round, though they had had 
 their suppers, and were ready for bed as soon as 
 they had seen something of their " dad." 
 
 David Dunster was one of those remarkably 
 tall fellows that you see about these hills, who 
 seem of all things the very worst made men to 
 creep into the little mole holes on the hill sides 
 that they call lead-mines. But David did manage 
 to burrow under and through the hard limestone 
 rocks as well as any of them. He was a hard- 
 working man, though he liked a sup of beer, as 
 most Derbyshire men do, and sometimes came 
 home none of the soberest. He was naturally of 
 a very hasty temper, and would fly into great 
 rages ; and if he were put out by anything in the 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 255 
 
 working of the mines, or the conduct of his fellow- 
 workmen, he would stay away from home for 
 days, drinking at Tideswell, or the Bull's Head at 
 the top of Monsal Dale, or down at the Miners' 
 Arms at Ashford-in-the- water. 
 
 Betty Dunster bore all this patiently. She 
 looked on these things somewhat as matters of 
 course. At that time, and even now, how few 
 miners do not drink and "roll a bit," as they 
 call it. She was, therefore, tolerant, and let the 
 storms blow over, ready always to persuade her 
 husband to go home and sleep off his drink and 
 anger, but if he were too violent, leaving him till 
 another attempt might succeed better. She was 
 very fond of her children, and not only taught 
 them on week days their lessons, and to help her 
 to seam, but also took them to the Methodist 
 Chapel in " Tidser," as they called Tideswell, 
 whither, whenever she could, she enticed David. 
 David, too, in his way, was fond of the children, 
 especially of the boy, who was called David after 
 him. He was quite wrapped up in the lad, to use 
 
256 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 the phrase of the people in that part ; in fact, he 
 was foolishly and mischievously fond of him. 
 He would give him beer to drink, "to make a 
 true Briton on him," as he said, spite of Betty's 
 earnest endeavor to prevent it, telling him that 
 he was laying the foundation in the lad of the 
 same faults that he had himself. But David 
 Dunster did not look on drinking as a fault at all. 
 It was what he had been used to all his life. It 
 was what all the miners had been used to for gen- 
 erations. A man was looked on as a milk-sop 
 and a Molly Coddle, that would not take his mug 
 of ale, and be merry with his comrades. It re- * 
 quired the light of education, and the efforts that 
 have been made by the Temperance Societies, to 
 break in on this ancient custom of drinking, 
 which, no doubt, has flourished in these hills since 
 the Danes and other Scandinavians, bored and 
 perforated them of old for the ores of lead and 
 copper. To Betty Dunster's .remonstrances, and 
 commendations of tea, David would reply, 
 " Botheration Betty, wench ! Dunna tell me 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTEK. 257 
 
 about thy tea and such-like pig's-wesh. It's all 
 very well for women] but a man, Betty, a man 
 mun ha' a sup of real stingo, lass. He mun ha j 
 summut to prop his ribs out, lass, as he delves 
 through th' chert and tood-stone. When tha 
 weylds th' maundrel (the pick), and I wesh th 7 
 dishes, tha shall ha' th' drink, my wench, and I '11 
 ha' th' tea. Till then, prithee let me aloon, and 
 dunna bother me, for it 's no use. It only kicks 
 my monkey up." 
 
 And Betty found that it was of no use ; that it 
 did only kick his monkey up, and so she let him 
 alone, except when she could drop in a persuasive 
 word or two. The mill-owners at Cressbrook and 
 Miller's Dale had forbidden any public-house 
 nearer than Edale, and they had more than once 
 called the people together to point out to them the 
 mischiefs of drinking, and the advantages to be 
 derived from the very savings of temperance. But 
 all these measures, though they had some effect on 
 the mill people, had very little on the miners. 
 They either sent to Tideswell or Edale for kegs of 
 
258 . PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 beer to peddle at the mines, or they went thither 
 themselves on receiving their wages. 
 
 And let no one suppose that David Dunster 
 was worse than his fellows ; or that Betty Dunster 
 thought her case a particularly hard one. David 
 * ( was pretty much of a muchness," according to 
 the country phrase, with the rest of his hard-work- 
 ing tribe, which was, and always had been, a hard- 
 drinking tribe ; and Betty, though she wished it 
 different, did not complain, just because it was of 
 no use, and because she was no worse off than her 
 neighbors. 
 
 Often when she went to "carry in her hose" to 
 Ashford, she left the children at home by them- 
 selves. She had no alternative. They were there in 
 that solitary valley for many hours playing alone. 
 And to them it was not solitary. It was all that 
 they knew of life, and that all was very pleasant 
 to them. In spring, they hunted for bird's-nests 
 in the copses, and amongst the rocks and gray 
 stones that had fallen from them. In the copses 
 built the blackbirds and thrushes: in the rocks 
 
THE MINSK'S DAUGHTEE. 259 
 
 tlie firetails ; and tlie gray wagtails in the stones, 
 which were so exactly of their own color, as to 
 make it difficult to see them. In summer, they 
 gathered flowers and berries, and in the winter 
 they played at horses, kings, and shops, and sun- 
 dry other things in the house. 
 
 On one of these occasions, a bright afternoon in 
 autumn, the three children had rambled down the 
 glen, and found a world of amusement in being 
 teams of horses, in making a little mine at the foot 
 of a tall cliff,, and in marching for soldiers, for they 
 had one day the only time in their lives seen 
 some soldiers go through the village of Ashford, 
 when they had gone there with their mother, for 
 she now and then took them with her when she 
 had something from the shop to carry besides her 
 bundle of hose. At length they came to the foot 
 of an open hill which swelled to a considerable 
 height, with a round and climbable side, on which 
 grew a wilderness- of bushes, amid which lay scat- 
 tered masses of gray crag. A small winding path 
 went up this, and they followed it. It was not 
 
260 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 long, however, before they saw something which 
 excited their eager attention. Little David, who 
 was the guide, and assumed to himself much im- 
 portance as the protector of his sisters, exclaimed, 
 " See here ! " and springing forward, plucked a fine 
 crimson cluster of the mountain bramble. His 
 sisters, on seeing this, rushed on with like eager- 
 ness. They soon forsook the little winding and 
 craggy footpath, and hurried through sinking 
 masses of moss and dry grass, from bush to bush 
 and place to place. They were soon far up above 
 the valley, and almost every step revealed to them 
 some delightful prize. The clusters of the moun- 
 tain-bramble, resembling mulberries^nd known 
 only to the inhabitants of the hills, were abundant, 
 and were rapidly devoured. The dewberry was 
 as eagerly gathered, its large, purple fruit passing 
 with them for blackberries. In their hands were 
 soon seen posies of the lovely grass of Parnassus, 
 the mountain cistus, and the bright blue geranium. 
 Higher and higher the little group ascended in 
 this quest, till the sight of the wide, naked hills, 
 
THE MINSK'S DAUGHTER. 261 
 
 and the hawks circling round the lofty, tower-like 
 crags over their heads, made them feel serious and 
 somewhat afraid. 
 
 "Where are we?" asked Jane, the elder sister. 
 " Arn't we a long way from horn ? " 
 
 "Let us go horn," said little Nancy. "I'm 
 afreed here ;" clutching hold of Jane's frock. 
 
 "Pho, nonsense!" said David, "what are you 
 afreed on ? I '11 tak care on you, niver fear." 
 
 And with this he assumed a bold and defying 
 aspect, and said, "Come along; there are nests in 
 th' hazzels up yonder." 
 
 He began to mount again, but the two girls 
 hung back%nd said, "Nay, David, dunna go 
 higher; we are both afreed;" and Jane added, 
 " It 's a long wee from horn, I 'm sure." 
 
 " And those birds screechin' so up there ; I 
 darna go up," added little Nancy. They were the 
 hawks that she meant, which hovered, whimpering 
 and screaming, about the highest cliffs. David 
 called them little cowards, but began to descend ; 
 and, presently, seeking for berries and flowers as 
 
262 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 they descended, they regained the little winding, 
 craggy road, and, while they were calling to each 
 other, discovered a remarkable echo on the oppo- 
 site hill side. On this they shouted to it, and 
 laughed, and were half-frightened when it laughed 
 and shouted again. Little Nancy said it must be 
 an old man in the inside of the mountain; at 
 which they were all really afraid, though David 
 put on a big look, and said, "Nonsense! it was 
 nothing at all." But Jane asked how nothing at 
 all could shout and laugh as it did ? and on this 
 little Nancy plucked her again by the frock, and 
 said in turn, " Oh, dear, let 's go horn ! " 
 
 But at this David gave a wild whoop to frighten 
 them, and when the hill whooped again, and the 
 sisters began to run, he burst into laughter, and 
 the strange spectral Ha! ha! ha! that ran along 
 the inside of the hill as it were, completed theii 
 fear, and they stopped their ears with their hands, 
 and scuttled away down the hill. But now David 
 seized them, and pulling their hands down from 
 their heads, he said, "See here! what a nice place, 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 263 
 
 with, the stones sticking out like seats. Why it J s 
 like a little house ; let us stay and play a bit here." 
 It was a little hollow in the hill side surrounded 
 by projecting stones like an amphitheatre. The 
 sisters were still afraid, but the sight of this little 
 hollow with its seats of crag had such a charm for 
 them that they promised David they would stop 
 awhile, if he would promise not to shout and 
 awake the echo. David readily promised this, and 
 so they sat down; David proposed to keep a 
 school, and cut a hazel wand from a bush and 
 began to lord it over his two scholars in a very 
 pompous manner. The two sisters pretended to 
 oe much afraid, and to read very diligently on 
 pieces of flat stone which they had picked up. 
 And then David became a serjeant and was drill- 
 ing them for soldiers, and stuck pieces of fern into 
 their hair for cockades. And then, soon after, 
 they were sheep, and he was the shepherd ; and he 
 was catching his flock and going to shear them, 
 and made so much noise that Jane cried, "Hold I 
 there 's the echo mocking us." 
 
264: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 At. this they all were still. But David said, 
 " Pho ! never mind the echo ; I must shear my 
 sheep ;" but just as he was seizing little Nancy to 
 pretend to shear her with a piece of stick, Jane 
 cried out, "Look! look! how black it's coming 
 down the valley there! There's going to be a 
 dreadful starm ; let us hurry horn ! " 
 
 David and Nancy both looked up, and agreed 
 to run as fast down the hill as they could. But 
 the next moment the driving storm swept over 
 the hill, and the whole valley was hid in it. The 
 three children still hurried on, but it became quite 
 dark, and they soon lost the track, and were 
 tossed about by the wind, so that they had diffi- 
 culty to keep on ilheir legs. Little Nancy begau 
 to cry, and the three taking hold of each other en- 
 deavored in silence to make their way homewards. 
 But presently they all stumbled over a large 
 stone, and fell some distance down the hill. They 
 were not hurt, but much frightened, for they now 
 remembered the precipices, and were afraid every 
 minute of going over them. They now strove to 
 
THE MINEB'S DAUGHTEK. 265 
 
 find the track by going up again, but they could 
 not find it anywhere. Sometimes they went up- 
 wards till they thought they were quite too far, 
 and then they went downwards till they were 
 completely bewildered ; and then, like the Babes 
 in the Wood, " They sate them down and 
 cried." 
 
 But ere they had sate long, they heard footsteps, 
 and listened. They certainly heard them and 
 shouted, but there was no answer. David shouted, 
 " Help ! fayther ! mother ! help ! " but there was 
 no answer. The wind swept fiercely by; the 
 hawks whimpered from the high crags, lost in the 
 darkness of the storm ; and the rain fell, driving 
 along icy cold. Presently, ther&^was a gleam of 
 light through the clouds; the hill-side became 
 visible, and through the haze they saw a tall 
 figure as of an old man ascending the hill. He 
 appeared to carry two loads slung from his shoul- 
 ders by a strap ; a box hanging before, and a bag 
 hanging at his back. He wound up the hill 
 slowly and wearily, and presently he stopped, and 
 
266 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 relieving himself of his load, seated himself on a 
 piece of crag to rest. Again David shouted, but 
 there still was no answer. The old man sate as if 
 no shout had been heard immovable. 
 
 " It is a man," said David, " and I will mak him 
 hear ; " and with that he shouted once more with 
 all his might. But the old man made no sign of 
 recognition. He did not even turn his head, but 
 he took off his hat and began to wipe his brow as 
 if warm with the ascent. 
 
 " What can it be ? " said David in astonishment. 
 " It is a man, that 's sartain. I '11 run and see." 
 
 "Nay, nay!" shrieked the sisters. "Don't, 
 David ! don't ! It 's perhaps the old man out of 
 the mountain that 's been mocking us. Perhaps," 
 added Jane, " he only comes out in starms and 
 darkness." 
 
 "Stuff I" said David, "an echo isn't a man; 
 it 's only our own voices. I '11 see who it is ; " 
 and away he darted, spite of the poor girls' 
 crying in terror, "Don't; don't, David I Oh, 
 don't." 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 267 
 
 But David was gone. He was not long in 
 reaching the old man, who sate on his stone 
 breathing hard, as if out of breath with his ascent, 
 but not appearing to perceive David's approach. 
 The rain and the wind drove fiercely upon him, but 
 he did not seem to mind it. David was half afraid 
 to approach close to him, but he called out, "Help; 
 help, mester ! " The old man remained as uncon- 
 scious of his presence. " Hillo ! " cried David 
 again. " Can you tell us the way down, mester? " 
 There was no answer, and David was beginning to 
 feel a shudder of terror run through every limb, 
 when the clouds cleared considerably, and he 
 suddenly exclaimed, " Why it 's old Tobias Tur- 
 ton of top of Edale, and he 's as deaf as a door- 
 nail!" 
 
 In an instant, David was at his side ; seized his 
 coat to make him aware of his presence, and, on 
 the old man perceiving him, shouted in his ear, 
 " Which is the way down liere, Mester Turton ? 
 Where's the track?" 
 
 "Down? Weighs o' the back?" said the old 
 
268 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 man ; " ay, my lad, I was fain to sit down ; it does 
 weigh o' th' back, sure enough." 
 
 "Where's the foot-track?" shouted David 
 again. 
 
 " Th' foot-track ? Why, what art ta doing here, 
 my lad, in such a starm? Is'nt it David Dun- 
 ster'slad?" 
 
 David nodded. " Why, the track 's here ! see ; " 
 and the old man stamped his foot. " Get down 
 horn, my lad, as fast as thou can. What dun they 
 do letting thee be upon th' hills in such a dee as 
 this?" 
 
 David nodded his thanks, and turned to descend 
 the track, while the old man adjusting his burden 
 again, silently and wearily recommenced his way 
 upwards. 
 
 David shouted to his sisters as he descended, 
 and they quickly replied. He called to them to 
 come towards him, as he was on the track, and 
 was afraid to quit it again. They endeavored .to 
 do this ; but the darkness was now redoubled, 
 and the wind and rain became more furious than 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 269 
 
 ever. The two sisters were soon bewildered 
 amongst the bushes, and David, who kept calling 
 to them at intervals to direct their course towards 
 him, soon heard them crying bitterly. At this, 
 he forgot the necessity of keeping the track, 
 and darting towards them, soon found them 
 by continuing to call to them, and took their 
 hands to lead them to the track. But they 
 were now drenched through with the rain, and 
 shivered with cold and fear. David with a 
 stout heart endeavored to cheer them. He told 
 them the track was close by, and that they 
 would soon be at home. But though the track 
 was not ten yards off, somehow they did not find 
 it. Bushes and projecting rocks turned them out 
 of their course ; and owing to the confusion caused 
 by the wind, the darkness, and their terror, they 
 searched in vain for the track. Sometimes they 
 thought they had found it, and went on a few 
 paces, only to stumble over loose stones, or get 
 entangled in the bushes. 
 
 It was now absolutely becoming night. Their 
 
270 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 terrors increased greatly. They shouted and 
 cried aloud, in the hope of making their parents 
 hear them. They felt sure that both father and 
 mother must be come home; and as sure that 
 they would be hunting for them. But they did 
 not reflect that their parents could not tell in what 
 direction they had gone. Both father and mother- 
 were come home, and the mother had instantly 
 rushed out to try to find them, on perceiving that 
 they were not in the house. She had hurried to 
 and fro, and called not at first supposing they 
 would be far. But when she heard nothing of 
 them, she ran in, and begged of her husband to 
 join in the search. But at first David Dunster 
 would do nothing. He was angry at them for 
 going away from the house, and said he was too 
 tired to go on a wild-goose chase through the 
 plantations after them. "They are i' th' planta- 
 tions," said he; "they are sheltering there some- 
 where. Let them alone, and they '11 come home, 
 with a good long tail behind them." 
 
 With this piece of a child's song of sheep, David 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 271 
 
 sat down to his supper, and Betty Dunster hurried 
 up the valley, shouting "Children, where are 
 you ? David ! Jane 1 Nancy ! where are you ? " 
 
 When she heard nothing of them, she hurried 
 still more wildly up the hill towards the village. 
 "When she arrived there the distance of a mile 
 she inquired from house to house, but no one had 
 seen anything of them. It was clear they had not 
 been in that direction. An alarm was thus created 
 in the village ; and several young men set out to 
 join Mrs. Dunster in the quest. They again de- 
 scended the valley towards Dunster's house, shout- 
 ing every now and then, and listening. The 
 night was pitch dark, and the rain fell heavily; 
 but the wind had considerably abated, and once 
 they thought they heard a faint cry in answer to 
 their call, far down the valley. They were right ; 
 the children had heard the shouting, and had re- 
 plied to it. But they were far off. The young 
 men shouted again, but there was no answer ; and 
 after shouting once more without success, they 
 hastened on. When they reached David Dun- 
 
272 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 ster's house, they found the door open, and no one 
 within. They knew that David had set off in 
 quest of the children himself, and they determined 
 to descend the valley. The distracted mother 
 went with them, crying silently to herself, and 
 praying inwardly, and every now and then trying 
 to shout. But the young men raised their strong 
 voices above hers, and made the cliffs echo with 
 their appeals. 
 
 Anon a voice answered them down the valley. 
 They ran on as well as the darkness would let 
 them, and soon found that it was David Dunster, 
 who had been in the plantations on the other side 
 of the> valley ; but hearing nothing of the lost chil- 
 dren, now joined them. He said he had heard the 
 cry from the hill-side farther down, that answered 
 to their shouts, and he was sure that it was his 
 boy David's voice. But he had shouted again, 
 and there had been no answer but a wild scream 
 as of terror, that made his blood run cold. 
 
 "0 God!" exclaimed the distracted mother, 
 "what can it be? David! David! Jane! Nancy!" 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 273 
 
 There was no answer. The young man bade 
 Betty Dunster to contain, herself, and they would 
 find the children before they went home again. 
 All held on down the valley, and in the direction 
 whence the voice came. Many times did the 
 young men and the now strongly agitated father 
 shout and listen. At length they seemed to hear 
 voices of weeping and moaning. They listened 
 they were sure they heard a lamenting it could 
 only be the children. But why then did they not 
 answer? On struggled the men, and Mrs. Dun- 
 ster followed wildly after. Now, again, they stood 
 and shouted, and a kind of terrified scream followed 
 the shout. 
 
 "God in heaven!" exclaimed the mother; 
 "what is it? There is something dreadful. My 
 children ! my children ! where are you ? " 
 
 "Be silent, pray do, Mrs. Dunster," said one of 
 the young men, " or we cannot catch the sounds so 
 as to follow them." They again listened, and the 
 wailings of the children were plainly heard. The 
 
 whole party pushed forward over stock and stone up 
 
 18 
 
274 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 the hill. They called again, and there was a cry of 
 " Here ! here ! fayther 1 mother ! where are you ? " 
 
 In a few moments more the whole party had 
 reached the children, who stood drenched with 
 rain, and trembling violently, under a cliff that 
 gave no shelter, but was exposed especially to the 
 wind and rain. 
 
 "0 Christ! My children !" cried the mother, 
 wildly, struggling forwards and clasping one in her 
 arms. "Nancy! Jane! But where is David? 
 David ! David ! Oh, where is David ? Where is 
 your brother ? " 
 
 The whole party was startled at not seeing the 
 boy, and joined in a simultaneous " Where is he ? 
 Where is your brother ? " 
 
 The two children only wept and trembled more 
 violently, and burst into loud crying. 
 
 "Silence I" shouted the father. "Where is 
 David, I tell ye? Is he lost? David, lad, where 
 arta?" 
 
 All listened, but there was no answer but the 
 renewed crying of the two girls. 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 275 
 
 "Where is the lad, then? " thundered forth the 
 father with a terrible oath. 
 
 The two terrified children cried, "Oh, down 
 there ! down there ! " 
 
 " Down where ? Oh, (rod ! " exclaimed one of the 
 young men ; " why it 's a precipice ! Down there? " 
 
 At this dreadful intelligence the mother gave a 
 wild shriek, and fell senseless on the ground. The 
 young men caught her, and dragged her back from 
 the edge of the precipice. The father in the same 
 moment, furious at what he heard, seized the 
 younger child that happened to be near him, and 
 shaking it violently, swore he would fling it down 
 after the lad. 
 
 He was angry with the poor children, as if they 
 had caused the destruction of his boy. The young 
 men seized him, and bade him think what he was 
 about ; but the man believing his boy had fallen 
 down the precipice, was like a madman. He 
 kicked at his wife as she lay on the ground, as if 
 she were guilty of this calamity by leaving the 
 children at home. He was furious against the 
 
276 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 poor girls, as if they had led their brother into 
 danger. In his violent rage he was a perfect 
 maniac, and the young men, pushing him away, 
 cried shame on him. In a while, the desperate 
 man, torn by a hurricane of passion, sate himself 
 down on a crag, and burst into a tempest of tears, 
 and struck his head violently with his clenched 
 fists, and cursed himself and everybody. It was a 
 dreadful scene. 
 
 Meantime, some of the young men had gone 
 down below the precipice on which the children 
 had stood, and, feeling amongst the loose stones, 
 had found the body of poor little David. He was 
 truly dead! 
 
 When he had heard the shout of his father, or 
 of the young men, he had given one loud shout in 
 answer, and saying " Come on ! never fear now ! " 
 sprang forward, and was over the precipice in the 
 dark, and flew down and was dashed to pieces. 
 His sisters heard a rush, a faint shriek, and sud- 
 denly stopping, escaped the destruction that poor 
 David had found. 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 277 
 
 II. MILL LIFE. 
 
 We must pass over the painful and dreadful 
 particulars of that night, and of a long time to 
 come; the maniacal rage of the father, the shat- 
 tered heart and feelings of the mother, the dreadful 
 state of the two remaining children, to whom their 
 brother was one of. the most precious objects in a 
 world which, like theirs, contained so few. One 
 moment to have seen him full of life, and fun, and 
 bravado, and almost the next a lifeless and battered 
 corpse, was something too strange and terrible to 
 be soon surmounted. But this was wofully aggra- 
 vated by the cruel anger of their father, who 
 continued to regard them as guilty of the death of 
 his favorite boy. He seemed to take no pleasure 
 in them. He never spoke to them but to scold 
 them. He drank more deeply than ever, and 
 came home later ; and when there was sullen and 
 morose. When their mother, who suffered severe- 
 ly, but still plodded on with all her duties, said, 
 " David, they are thy children too ;" he would 
 
278 PEAEL-FISHING, 
 
 reply savagely, "Hod thy tongue! "What's a 
 pack o' wenches to my lad ? " 
 
 "What tended to render the minei more hard 
 towards the two girls was a circumstance which 
 would have awakened a better feeling in a softer 
 father's heart. Nancy, the younger girl, since the 
 dreadful catastrophe, had seemed to grow gradu- 
 ally dull and defective in her intellect, she had a 
 slow and somewhat idiotic air and manner. Her 
 mother perceived it, and was struck with conster- 
 nation by it. She tried to rouse her, but in vain. 
 She could not perform her ordinary reading and 
 spelling lessons. She seemed to have forgotten 
 what was already learned. She appeared to have 
 a difficulty in moving her legs, and carried her 
 hands as if she had suffered a partial paralysis. 
 Jane, her sister, was dreadfully distressed at it, 
 and she and her mother wept many bitter tears 
 over her. One day, in the following spring, they 
 took her with them to Ashford, and consulted the 
 doctor there. On examining her, and hearing 
 fully what had taken place at the time of the 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 279 
 
 "brother's death the fact of which he well knew, 
 for it, of course, was known to the whole country 
 round he shook his head, and said he was afraid 
 they must make up their minds to a sad case; that 
 the terrors -of that night had affected her brain, and 
 that, through it, the whole nervous system had 
 suffered, and was continuing to suffer the most 
 melancholy effects. The only thing, he thought, 
 in her favor, was her youth; and added, that it 
 
 might have a good effect if they could leave the 
 
 * 
 place where she Had undergone such a terrible 
 
 shock. But whether they did or not, kindness 
 and soothing attentions to her would do more than 
 anything else. 
 
 Mrs. Dunster and little Jane returned home with 
 heavy hearts. The doctor's opinion had only con- 
 firmed their fears; for Jane, though but a child, 
 had quickness and affection for her sister enough 
 . to make her comprehend the awful nature of poor 
 Nancy's condition. Mrs. Dunster had told her 
 husband the doctor's words, for she thought they 
 would awaken some tenderness in him towards the 
 
280 PEARL -FISHING, 
 
 unfortunate child. But he said, " That 's just what 
 I expected. Hou '11 grow soft, and then who 's to 
 maintain her ? Hou mun goo to th' workhouse." 
 
 With that he took his maundrel and went off to 
 his work. Instead of softening his nature, this 
 intelligence seemed only to harden and brutalize 
 it. He drank now more and more. But all that 
 summer the mother and Jane did all they could 
 think of to restore the health and mind of poor 
 Nancy. Every morning, when the father was 
 gone to work, Jane went to a spring up in the 
 opposite wood, famed for the coolness and sweet- 
 ness of its waters. On this account the proprietors 
 of the mills at Cressbrook had put down a large 
 trough there under the spreading trees, and the 
 people fetched the water even from the village. 
 Hence Jane brought, at many journeys, this cold, 
 delicious water to bathe her sister in ; they then 
 rubbed her warm with cloths, and gave her new 
 milk for her breakfast. Her lessons were not left 
 off, lest the mind should sink into fatuity, but 
 were made as easy as possible. Jane continued to 
 
THE MlNER'sDAUGHTER. 281 
 
 talk to her, and laugh with her, as if nothing was 
 amiss, though she did it with a heavy heart, and 
 she engaged her to weed and hoe with her in their 
 little garden. She did not dare to lead her far out 
 into the valley, lest it might excite her memory of 
 the past fearful time, but she gathered her flowers, 
 and continued to play with her at all their accus- 
 tomed sports, of building houses with pieces of 
 pots and stones, and imagining gardens and parks. 
 The anxious mother, when some weeks were gone 
 by, fancied that there was really some improve- 
 ment. The cold-bathing seemed to have strength- 
 ened the system : the poor child walked, and bore 
 herself vdth more freedom and firmness. She 
 became ardently fond of being with her sister, and 
 attentive to her directions. But there was a dull 
 cloud over her intellect, and a vacancy in her eyes 
 and features. She was quiet, easily pleased, but 
 seemed to have little volition of her own. Mrs. 
 Dunster thought if they could but get her away 
 from that spot, it might rouse her mind from its 
 sleep. But perhaps the sleep was better than the 
 
282 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 awakening might be ; however, the removal came, 
 though in a more awful way than was looked for. 
 The miner, who had continued to drink more and 
 more, and seemed to have almost estranged him- 
 self from his home, staying away in his drinking 
 bouts for a week or more together, was one day 
 blasting a rock in the mine, and being half-stupe- 
 fied with beer, did not take care to get out of the 
 way of the explosion, was struck with a piece of 
 .the flying stone, and killed on the spot. 
 
 The poor widow and her children were now 
 obliged to remove from under Wardlow-Cop. The 
 place had been a sad one to her; the death of her 
 husband, though he had been latterly far from a 
 good one, and had left her with the children in 
 deep poverty, was a fresh source of severe grief to 
 her. Her religious mind was struck down with a 
 weight of melancholy by the reflection of the life 
 he had led, and the sudden way in which he had 
 been summoned into eternity. When she looked 
 forward, what a prospect was there for her chil- 
 dren 1 it was impossible for her to maintain them 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 283 
 
 from her small earnings, and as to Nancy, would 
 she ever be able to earn her own bread, and pro- 
 tect herself in the world ? 
 
 It was amid such reflections that Mrs. Dunster 
 quitted this deep, solitary, and, to her, fatal 
 valley, and took up her abode in the village of 
 Cressbrook. Here she had one small room, and 
 by her own labors, and some aid from the parish, 
 she managed to support herself and the children. 
 For seven years she continued her laborious life, 
 assisted by the labor of the two daughters, who 
 also seamed stockings, and in the evenings were 
 instructed by her. Her girls were now thirteen 
 and fifteen years of age ; Jane was a tall and very 
 pretty girl of her years ; she was active, industri- 
 ous, and sweet-tempered: her constant affection 
 for poor Nancy was something as admirable as it 
 was singular. Nancy had now confirmed good 
 health, but it had affected her mother to per- 
 ceive that, since the catastrophe of her brother's 
 death, and the cruel treatment of her father at that 
 time, she had never grown in any degree as she 
 
284: PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 ought ; she was short, stout, and of a pale and very 
 plain countenance. It could not be now said that 
 she was deficient in mind, but she was slow in its 
 operations. She displayed, indeed, a more than 
 ordinary depth of reflection, and a shrewdness of 
 observation, but the evidences of this came forth 
 in a very quiet way, and were observable only to 
 her mother and sister. To all besides she was ex- 
 tremely reserved: she was timid to excess, and 
 shrunk from public notice into the society of her 
 mother and sister. There was a feeling abroad in 
 the neighborhood that she was "not quite right," 
 but the few who were more discerning, shook 
 their heads, and observed, " Eight she was not, 
 poor thing, but it was not want of sense ; she had 
 more of that than most." 
 
 And such was the opinion of her mother and 
 sister. They perceived that Nancy had received i 
 shock of which she must bear the effects thrcugl 
 life. Circumstances might bring her feeble bui 
 sensitive nerves much misery. She ^required to 
 be guarded and sheltered from the rudeness of the 
 
J 
 
 THE MINSK'S DAUGHTEE. 285 
 
 world, and the mother trembled to think how 
 much she might be exposed to them. But in 
 everything that related to sound judgment, they 
 knew that she surpassed not only them, but any 
 of their acquaintance. If any difficulty had to be 
 decided, it was Nancy who pondered on it, and 
 perhaps at some moment when least expected, 
 pronounced an opinion that might be taken as 
 confidently as an oracle. 
 
 The affection of the two sisters was something 
 beyond the ties of this world. Jane had watched 
 and attended to her from the time of her constitu- 
 tional injury with a love that never seemed to 
 know a moment's weariness or change ; and the 
 affection which Nancy evinced for her was 
 equally intense and affecting. She seemed to 
 hang on her society for her very life. Jane felt 
 this, and vowed that they would never quit one 
 another. The mother sighed. How many things, 
 she thought, might tear asunder that beautiful re- 
 solve . 
 
 
 
 But now they were of an age to obtain work in 
 
286 PEARL-FlSHING. 
 
 the mill. Indeed, Jane could have had employ- 
 ment there long before, but she would not quit 
 her sister till she could go with her, and now 
 there they went. The proprietor, who knew the 
 case familiarly, so ordered it that the two sisters 
 should work near each other ; and that poor Nancy 
 should be as little exposed to the rudeness of the 
 work-people as possible. But at first so slow and 
 awkward were Nancy's endeavors, and such an 
 effect had it on her frame, that it was feared she 
 must give it up. This would have been a terrible 
 calamity ; and the tears of the two sisters, and the 
 benevolence of the employer, enabled Nancy to 
 pass through this severe ordeal. In a while she 
 acquired sufficient dexterity, and thenceforward 
 went through her work with great accuracy and 
 perseverance. As far as any intercourse with the 
 work-people was concerned, she might be said to 
 be dumb. Scarcely ever did she exchange a word 
 with any one, but she returned kind nods and 
 smiles ; and every morning and evening, and at 
 dinner-time, the two sisters might be seen going to 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 287 
 
 and fro, side by side, Jane often talking with 
 some of them ; the little, odd-looking sister walk- 
 ing silent and listening. 
 
 Five more years and Jane was a young woman. 
 Amid her companions, who were few of them 
 above the middle size, she had a tall and striking 
 appearance. Her father had been a remarkably 
 tall and strong man, and she possessed something 
 of his stature, though none of his irritable disposi- 
 tion. She was extremely pretty, of a blooming 
 fresh complexion, and graceful form. She was re- 
 markable for the sweetness of her expression, 
 which was the index of her disposition. By her 
 side still went that odd, broad-built, but still pale 
 and little sister. Jane was extremely admired by 
 the young men of the neighborhood, and had 
 already many offers, but she listened to none. 
 " Where I go must Nancy go," she said to herself, 
 " and of whom can I be sure ? ; ' 
 
 Of Nancy no one took notice. Her pale, some- 
 what large features, her thoughtful silent look, 
 and her short, stout figure, gave you an idea of a 
 
288 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 dwarf, though she could not strictly be called one. 
 No one would think of Nancy as a wife, where 
 Jane went she must go ; the two clung together 
 with one heart and soul. The blow which de- 
 prived them of their brother seemed to bind them 
 inseparably together. 
 
 Mrs. Dunster, besides her seaming, at which, in 
 truth, she earned, a miserable sum, had now for 
 some years been the post- woman from the village 
 to the Bull's Head, where the mail, going on to 
 Tideswell, left the letter-bag. Thither and back, 
 wet or dry, summer or winter, she went every 
 day, the year round. With her earnings and 
 those of the girls', she kept a neat, small cottage ; 
 and the world went as well with them as the 
 world goes on the average with the poor. Cramps 
 and rheumatisms she began to feel sensibly from 
 so much exposure to rain and cold ; but the never- 
 varying and firm affection of her two children was 
 a balm in her cup, which made her contented with 
 everything else. 
 
 When Jane was about two-and-twenty, poor 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 289 
 
 Mrs. Dunster, seized with rheumatic fever, died. 
 On her death-bed she said to Jane, " Thou wilt 
 never desert poor Nancy ; and that 's my comfort. 
 God has been good to me. After all my trouble, 
 he has given me this faith, that come weal come 
 woe, so long as thou has a home, Nancy will 
 never want one. God bless thee for it ! God bless 
 you both ; and he will bless you ! " So saying, 
 Betty Dunster breathed her last. 
 
 The events immediately following her death did 
 not seem to bear out her dying faith ; for the two 
 poor girls were obliged to give up their cottage. 
 There was a want of cottages. Not half of the 
 working people could be entertained in this vil- 
 lage ; they went to and fro for many miles. Jane 
 and Nancy were now obliged to do the same. 
 Their cottage was wanted for an overlooker, and 
 they removed to Tideswell, three miles off. They 
 had thus six miles a day to walk, besides standing 
 at their work ; but they were young, and had 
 companions. In Tideswell they were more cheer- 
 ful. They had a snug little cottage ; were near a 
 
290 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Meeting ; and found friends. They did not com- 
 plain. Here, again, Jane Dunster attracted great 
 attention, and a young, thriving grocer paid his 
 addresses to her. It was an offer that made Jane 
 take time to reflect. Every one said it was an op- 
 portunity not to be neglected ; but Jane weighed 
 in her mind, " Will he keep faith in my compact 
 with Nancy ? " Though her admirer made every 
 vow on the subject, Jane paused and determined 
 to take the opinion of Nancy. Nancy thought 
 for a day, and then said, " Dearest sister, I don't 
 feel easy; I fear that from some cause it would 
 not do in the end." 
 
 Jane from that moment gave up the idea of the 
 connection. There might be those who would 
 suspect Nancy of a selfish bias in the advice she 
 gave ; but Jane knew that no such feeling influ- 
 enced her pure soul. For one long year the two 
 sisters traversed the hills between Cressbrook and 
 Tideswell. But they had companions, and it was 
 pleasant in the summer months. But winter came, 
 and then it was a severe trial. To rise in the 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 291 
 
 dark, and traverse those wild and bleak hills ; to 
 go through snow and drizzle, and face the sharpest 
 winds in winter, was no trifling matter. Before 
 winter was over, the two young women began 
 seriously to revolve the chances of a nearer resi- 
 dence, or a change of employ. There were no 
 few who blamed Jane excessively for the folly of 
 refusing the last good offer. There were even 
 more than one who, in the hearing of Nancy, 
 blamed her. Nancy was thoughtful, agitated, and 
 wept. " If I can, dear sister," she said, " have ad- 
 vised you to your injury, how shall I forgive my- 
 self? What shall become of me ? " 
 
 But Jane clasped her sister to her heart, and 
 said, " No ! no ! dearest sister, you are not to 
 blame. I feel you are right ; let us wait, and we 
 shall see ! " 
 
 III. THE COUETSHIP AND ANOTHER SHIP. 
 
 One evening, as the two sisters were hastening 
 along the road through the woods on their way 
 
292 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 homewards, a young farmer drove up in his 
 spring-cart, cast a look at them, stopped, and said : 
 " Young women, if you are going my way, I shall 
 be glad of your company. You are quite welcome 
 to ride." 
 
 The sisters looked at each other. "Dunnabe 
 afreed," said the young farmer ; " my name 's 
 Tames Cheshire. I 'm well known in these parts ; 
 you may trust yersens wi' me, if it 's agreeable." 
 
 To James' surprise, Nancy said, " No, sir, we 
 are not afraid ; we are much obliged to you." 
 
 The young farmer helped them up into the cart, 
 and away they drove. 
 
 " I 'm afraid we shall crowd you," said Jane. 
 
 u Not a bit of it," replied the young farmer. 
 " There 's room for three bigger nor us in this seat, 
 and 1 7 m no ways tedious." 
 
 The sisters saw nothing odd in his use of the 
 word "tedious," as strangers would have done; 
 they knew it merely meant " not at all particular." 
 They were soon in active talk. As he had told 
 them who he was, he asked them in their turn if 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 293 
 
 they worked at the mills there. They replied in 
 the affirmative, and the young man said : 
 
 " I thought so. I Ve seen you sometimes going 
 along together. I noticed you because you seemed 
 so sisterly like, and you are sisters, I reckon." 
 
 They said " Yes." 
 
 " I Ve a good spanking horse, you see," said 
 James Cheshire. "I shall get over th' ground 
 ray ther faster than you done a-foot, eh ? My word, 
 though, it must be nation cold on these bleak hills 
 i' winter." 
 
 The sisters assented, and thanked the young 
 farmer for taking them up. 
 
 " We are rather late," said they, "for we looked 
 in on a friend, and the rest of the mill-hands were 
 gone on." 
 
 ""Well," said the young farmer, "never mind 
 that. I fancy Bess, my mare here, can go a little 
 faster nor they can. We shall very likely be at 
 Tidser as soon as they are." 
 
 " But you are not going to Tidser," said Jane, 
 "your farm is just before us there." 
 
294 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 " Yay, I'm going to Tidser though. I've a bit 
 of business to do there before I go horn." 
 
 On drove the farmer at what he called a spank- 
 ing rate ; presently they saw the young mill-people 
 on the road before them. 
 
 " There are your companions," said James 
 Cheshire, " we shall cut past them like a flash of 
 lightning. 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Jane Dunster, "what will they 
 say at seeing us riding here ? " and she blushed 
 brightly. 
 
 " Say ! " said the young farmer, smiling, " never 
 mind what they'll say; depend upon it, they'd 
 like to be here theirsens." 
 
 James Cheshire cracked his whip. The horse 
 flew along. The party of the young mill-hands 
 turned round, and on seeing Jane and Nancy in 
 the cart, uttered exclamations of surprise. 
 
 " My word, though ! " said Mary Smedley, a 
 fresh buxom lass, somewhat inclined to stoutness. 
 
 "Well, if ever!" cried smart little Hannah 
 Bowyer. 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 295 
 
 "Nay, then, what next! " said Tetty Wilson, a 
 tall, thin girl, of very good looks. 
 
 The two sisters nodded and smiled to their com- 
 panions ; Jane still blushing rosily, but Nancy 
 sitting as pale and as gravely as if they were going 
 on some solemn business. 
 
 The only notice the farmer took was to turn 
 with a broad smiling face, and sV.ut to them, 
 " "Wouldn't you like to be here too ? " 
 
 " Ay, take us up," shouted a number of voices 
 together; but the farmer cracked his whip, and 
 giving them a nod and a dozen smiles in one, said, 
 " I can't stay. Ask the next farmer that comes up." 
 
 "With this they drove on; the young farmer 
 very merry and full of talk. They were soon by 
 the side of his farm. " There 's a flock of sheep on 
 the turnips there," he said, proudly; "they're not 
 to be beaten on this side Ashbourne. And there 
 are some black oxen going for the night to the 
 straw-yard. Jolly fellows, those eh? But I 
 reckon you don't understand much, of farming 
 stock?" 
 
296 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 "No," said Jane, and was again surprised at 
 Nancy adding, " I wish we did. I think a farm- 
 er's life must be the very happiest of any." 
 
 " You think so ? " said the farmer, turning and 
 looking at her earnestly, and evidently with some 
 wonder. " You are right," said he. " You little 
 ones are knowing ones. You are right ; it 's the 
 life for a king." 
 
 They were at the village. " Pray stop," said 
 Jane, "and let us go down. I would not for the 
 world go up the village thus. It would make such 
 a talk!" 
 
 "Talk, who cares for talk?" said the farmer; 
 " won't the youngsters we left on the road talk ? " 
 
 " Quite enough," said Jane. 
 
 " And are you afraid of talk ? " said the farmer 
 to Nancy. 
 
 "I'm not afraid of it when I don't provoke it 
 wilfully," said Nancy; "but we are poor girls, and 
 can't afford to lose even the good word of our 
 acquaintance. You 've been very kind in taking 
 us up on the road, but to drive us to our door 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 297 
 
 would cause such wonder as would perhaps make 
 us wish we had not been obliged to you." 
 
 " Blame me, if you arn't right again ! " said the 
 young farmer, thoughtfully. " These are scandal- 
 loving times, and th' neebors might plague you. 
 That's a deep head of yourn, though, Nancy, I 
 think your sister caw'd JOVL. Well, here I stop 
 then." 
 
 He jumped down and helped them out. 
 
 " If you will drive on first," said Jane, " we will 
 walk on after, and we're greatly obliged to you." 
 
 " Nay/' said the young man, " I shall turn again 
 here." 
 
 " But you Ve business." 
 
 "Oh! my business was to drive you here 
 that 'sail." 
 
 James Cheshere was mounting his cart, when 
 Nancy stepped up, and said: "Excuse me, Sir, 
 but you'll meet the mill-people on your return, 
 and it will make them talk all the more as you 
 have driven us past your farm. Have you no 
 business that you can do in Tidser, Sir? " 
 
298 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 "Gad! but thou'rt right again! Ay, I'll go 
 on ! " and with a crack of his whip, and a " Good 
 night ! " he whirled into the village before them. 
 
 No sooner was he gone than Nancy, pressing her 
 sister's arm to her side, said: "There's the right 
 man at last, dear Jane." 
 
 " What ! " said Jane, yet blushing deeply at the 
 same time, and her heart beating quicker against 
 her side. " Whatever are you talking of, Nancy ? 
 That young farmer fall in love with a mill-girl ? " 
 
 "He's done it," said Nancy; "I see it in him. 
 I feel it in him. And I feel, too, that he is true 
 and staunch as steel." 
 
 Jane was silent. They walked on in silence. 
 Jane's own heart responded to what Nancy had 
 said ; she thought again and again on what he 
 said. " I have seen you sometimes ; " "I noticed 
 you because you seemed so sisterly." " He must 
 have a good heart," thought Jane ; " but then he 
 can never think of a poor mill-girl like me." 
 
 The next morning they had to undergo plenty 
 of raillery from their companions. We will pass 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 299 
 
 that over. For several days, as they passed to and 
 fro, they saw nothing of the young farmer. But 
 one evening, as they were again alone, having staid 
 at the same acquaintance's as before, the young 
 farmer popped his head over a stone wall, and 
 said, " Good evening to you, young women," He 
 was soon over the wall, and walked on with them 
 to the end of the town. On the Sunday at the 
 chapel Jane saw Nancy's grave face fixed on some 
 object steadily, and, looking in the same direction, 
 was startled to see James Cheshire. Again her 
 heart beat pit-a-pat, and she thought " Can he 
 really be thinking of me ? " 
 
 The moment chapel was over, James Cheshire 
 was gone, stopping to speak to no one. Nancy 
 again pressed the arm of Jane to her side as they 
 walked home, and said "I was not wrong." 
 Jane only replied by returning her affectionate 
 pressure. 
 
 Some days after, as Nancy Dunster was coming 
 out of a shop in the evening after their return 
 home from the mill, James Cheshire suddenly put 
 
300 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 his hand on her shoulder, and, on her turning, 
 shook her hand cordially, and said, " Come along 
 with me a bit. I must have a little talk with you." 
 
 Nancy consented without remark or hesitation. 
 James Cheshire walked on quickly till they came 
 near the fine old church which strikes travellers as 
 so superior to the place in which it is located ; 
 when he slackened his pace, and taking Nancy's 
 hand, began in a most friendly manner to tell her 
 how much he liked her and her sister. That, to 
 make a short matter of it, as was his way, he had 
 made up his mind that the woman of all others in 
 the world that would suit him for a wife was her 
 sister. " But, before I said so to her, I thought I 
 would say so to you, Nancy, for you are so sensi- 
 ble, I 'm sure you will say what is best for us all." 
 
 Nancy manifested no surprise, but said, calmly : 
 " You are a well-to-do farmer, Mr. Cheshire. You 
 have friends of property ; my sister, and " 
 
 " Ay, and a mill-girl ; I know all that. I 've 
 thought it all over, and so far you are right again, 
 my little one. But just hear what I 've got to say. 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 301 
 
 I *m no fool, though I say it. I Ve an eye in my 
 head and a head on my shoulders, eh ? " 
 
 Nancy smiled. 
 
 " Well now, it 's not any mill-girl ; mind you, 
 it 's not any mill-girl ; no, nor perhaps another in 
 the kingdom, that would do for me. I don't think 
 mill-girls are in the main cut out for farmers' 
 wives, any more than farmers' wives are fit for 
 mill-girls ; but you see, I Ve got a notion that 
 your sister is not only a very farrantly lass, but 
 that she 's one that has particular good sense, 
 though not so deep as you, Nancy, neither. Well, 
 I Ve a notion she can turn her hand to anything, 
 and that she 's a heart to do it, when it 's a duty. 
 Isn't that so, eh ? And if it is so, then Jane 
 Dunster 's the lass for me ; that is, if it 's quite 
 agreeable." 
 
 Nancy pressed James Cheshire's hand, and said, 
 "You are very kind." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said James. 
 
 " Well," continued Nancy ; " but I would have 
 yon to consider what your friends will say ; and 
 
302 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 whether you will not be made unhappy b} 
 them." 
 
 " Why, as to that," said James Cheshire, inter- 
 rupting her, "mark me, Miss Dunster. I don't 
 ask my friends for anything. I can farm my own 
 farm ; buy my own cattle ; drive my spring-cart, 
 without any advice or assistance of theirs ; and 
 therefore I don't think I shall ask their advice in 
 the matter of a wife, eh ? No, no, on that score 
 I 'm made up. My name 's Independent, and, 
 at a word, the only living thing I mean to ask 
 advice of is yourself. If you, Miss Dunster, ap- 
 prove of the match, it 's settled, as far I 'm con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " Then so far," said Nancy, " as you and my 
 sister are concerned, without reference to worldly 
 circumstances I approve it with all my heart. I 
 believe you to be as good and honest as I know 
 my sister to be. Oh ! Mr. Cheshire ! she is one 
 of ten thousand." 
 
 u "Well, I was sure of it ; " said the young farm- 
 er ; " and so now you must tell your sister all 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 303 
 
 about it ; and if all 's right, chalk me a white chalk 
 inside of my gate as you go past i' th' morning, 
 and to-morrow evening I '11 come up and see you." 
 
 Here the two parted with a cordial shake of the 
 hand. The novel signal of an accepted love was 
 duly discovered by James Cheshire on his gate- 
 post, when he issued forth at daybreak, and that 
 evening he was sitting at tea with Jane and Nancy 
 in the little cottage, having brought in his cart a 
 basket of eggs, apples, fresh butter, and a pile of 
 the richest pikelets (crumpets), country pikelets, 
 very different to town-made ones, for tea. 
 
 "We need not follow out the courtship of James 
 Cheshire and Jane Dunster. It was cordial and 
 happy. James insisted that both the sisters should 
 give immediate notice to quit the mill-work, to 
 spare themselves the cold and severe walks which 
 the winter now occasioned them. The sisters had 
 improved their education in their evenings. They 
 were far better read and informed than most 
 farmers' daughters. They had been, since they 
 came to Tideswell, teachers in the Sunday-school. 
 
304 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 There was comparatively little to be learned in a 
 farm-house for the wife in winter, and James 
 Cheshire therefore proposed to the sisters to go for 
 three months to Manchester into a wholesale house, 
 to learn as much as they could of. the plain sewing 
 and cutting out of household linen. The person 
 in question made up all sorts of household linen, 
 sheets, pillow-cases, shirts, and other things ; in 
 fact, a great variety of articles. Through an old 
 acquaintance he got them introduced there, avow- 
 edly to prepare them for house-keeping. It was a 
 sensible step, and answered well. At spring, to 
 cut short opposition from his own relatives, which 
 began to show itself, for these things did not fail 
 to be talked of, James Cheshire got a license, and 
 proceeding to Manchester, was then and there 
 married, and came home with his wife and sister. 
 
 The talk and gossip which this wedding made 
 all round the country, was no little ; but the par- 
 ties themselves were well satisfied with their mu- 
 tual choice, and were happy. As the spring ad- 
 ranced, the duties of the household grew upon 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 805 
 
 Mrs. Cheshire. She had to learn the art of 
 cheese-making, butter-making, of all that relates 
 to poultry, calves, and household management. 
 But in these matters she had the aid of an old 
 servant who had done all this for Mr. Cheshire, 
 since he began farming. She took a great liking 
 to her mistress, and showed her with hearty good- 
 will how everything was done ; and as Jane took 
 a deep interest in it, she rapidly made herself mis- 
 tress of the management of the house, as well as 
 of the house itself. She did not disdain, herself, 
 to take a hand at the churn, that she might be 
 familiar with the whole process of butter-making, 
 and all the signs by which the process is con- 
 ducted to a successful issue. It was soon seen 
 that no farmer's wife could produce a firmer, 
 fresher, sweeter pound of butter. It was neither 
 swelled by too hasty churning, nor spoiled, as is 
 too often the case, by the buttermilk or by water 
 being left in it, for want of well kneading and 
 pressing. It was deliciously sweet, because the 
 
 cream was carefully put up in the cleanest vessels 
 
 20 
 
306 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 and well attended to. Mrs. Cheshire, too, might 
 daily be seen kneeling by the side of the cheese- 
 pan, separating the curd, taking off the whey, fill- 
 ing the cheese- vat with the curd, and putting the 
 cheese herself into press. Her cheese-chamber 
 displayed as fine a set of well-salted, well-colored, 
 well-turned and regular cheeses as ever issued 
 from that or any other farm-house. 
 
 James Cheshire was proud of his wife ; and 
 Jane herself found a most excellent helper in 
 Nancy. Nancy took particularly to housekeeping ; 
 saw that all the rooms were exquisitely clean ; 
 that everything was in nice repair ; that not only 
 the master and mistress, but the servants had their 
 food prepared in a wholesome and attractive man- 
 ner. The eggs she stored up ; and as fruit came 
 into season, had it collected for market, and for a 
 judicious household use. She made the tea and 
 coffee morning and evening, and did everything 
 but preside at the table. There was not a farm- 
 house for twenty miles round that wore an air of 
 BO much brightness and evident, good management 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 307 
 
 as that of James Cheshire. For Nancy, from the 
 first moment of their acquaintance, he had con- 
 ceived a most profound respect. In all cases that 
 required counsel, though he consulted freely with 
 his wife, he would never decide till they had had 
 Nancy's opinion and sanction. 
 
 And James Cheshire prospered. But, spite of 
 this, he did not escape the persecution from his 
 relations that Nancy had foreseen. On all hands 
 he found coldness. None of them called on him. 
 They felt scandalized at his evening himself, as 
 they called it, to a mill-girl. He was taunted 
 when they met at market, with having been 
 caught with a pretty face ; and told that they 
 thought he had had more sense than to marry a 
 dressed doll with a witch by her side. 
 
 At first James Cheshire replied with a careless 
 waggery, " The pretty face makes capital butter, 
 though, eh ? The dressed doll turns out a toler- 
 able dairy, eh ? Better," added James, "than a good 
 many can, that I know, who have neither pretty 
 faces, nor have much taste in dressing to crack of." 
 
308 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 The allusion to Nancy's dwarfish, plainness was 
 what peculiarly provoked James Cheshire. He 
 might have laughed at the criticisms on his wife, 
 though the envious neighbors' wives did say that 
 it was the old servant and not Mrs. Cheshire who 
 produced such fine butter and cheese ; for where- 
 ever she appeared, spite of envy and detraction, 
 her lovely person and quiet good sense, and the 
 growing rumor of her good management, did not 
 fail to produce a due impression. And James had 
 prepared to laugh it off; but it would not do. He 
 found himself getting every now and then angry 
 and. unsettled by it. A coarse jest on Nancy at 
 any time threw him into a desperate fit of indigna- 
 tion. The more the superior merit of his wife was 
 known, the more seemed to increase the envy and 
 venom of some of his relatives. . He saw, too, that 
 it had an effect on his wife. She was often sad, 
 and sometimes in tears. 
 
 One day when this occurred, James Cheshire 
 said, as they sat at tea, "I've made up my mind. 
 Peace in this life is a jewel. Better is a dinner of 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 309 
 
 herbs with peace, than a stalled ox with strife. 
 " "Well, now, I 'm determined to have peace. 
 Peace and luv," said he, looking affectionately 
 at his wife and Nancy, "peace and luv, by God's 
 blessing, have settled down on this house ; but 
 there are stings here and stings there, when 
 we go out of doors. "We must not only have 
 peace and luv in the house, but peace all round it. 
 So I 've made up my mind. I ? m for America ! " 
 
 " For America 1 " exclaimed Jane. " Surely 
 you cannot be in earnest." 
 
 " I never was more in earnest in my life," said 
 James Cheshire. " It is true I do very well on this 
 farm here, though it 's a cowdish situation ; but 
 from all I can learn, I can do much better in 
 America. I can there farm a much better farm 
 of my own. We can have a much finer climate 
 jjhan this Peak country, and our countrymen still 
 about us. Now, I want to know what makes a 
 man's native land pleasant to him ? the kindness 
 of his relations and friends. But then, if a man's 
 relations are not kind ? if they get a conceit into 
 
310 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 them, that because they are relations they are to 
 choose a man's wife for him, and sting him and 
 snort at him because he has a will of his own ? 
 why, then I say, God send a good big herring-pool 
 between me and such relations ! My relations, by 
 way of showing their natural affection, spit spite 
 and bitterness. You, dear wife and sister, have 
 none of yourn to spite you. In the house we 
 have peace and luv. Let us take the peace and 
 luv, and leave the bitterness behind." 
 
 There was a deep silence. 
 
 "It is a serious proposal," at length said Jane, 
 with tears in her eyes. 
 
 " "What says Nancy ? " asked James. 
 
 " It is a serious proposal," said Nancy, " but it 
 is good. I feel it so." 
 
 There was another deep silence ; and James 
 Cheshire said, " Then it is decided." 
 
 "Think of it," said Jane earnestly, " think 
 well of it." 
 
 " I have thought of it long and well, my dear. 
 There are some of these chaps that call me rela- 
 
THE MINER'S DAUGHTER. 311 
 
 tk>n that I shall not keep my hands off, if I stay 
 amongst them, and I fain would. But for the 
 present I will say no more ; but, added he, rising 
 and bringing a book from his desk, "here is a 
 book by one Morris Birkbeck, read it, both of 
 you, and then let me know your minds." 
 
 The sisters read. On the following Lady-day, 
 James Cheshire had turned over his farm advan- 
 tageously to another, and he, his wife, Nancy, and 
 the old servant, Mary Spendlove, all embarked at 
 Liverpool, and transferred themselves to the 
 "United States, and then to the State of Illinois. 
 Five-and-twenty years have rolled over since that 
 day. We could tell a long and curious story 
 of the fortunes of James Cheshire and his family : 
 from the days when, half-repenting of his emigra- 
 tion and his purchase, he found himself in a 
 rough country, amid rough and spiteful squatters, 
 and lay for months with a brace of pistols under 
 his pillow, and a great sword by his bedside for 
 fear of robbery and murder. But enough, that at 
 this moment, James Cheshire, in a fine cultivated 
 
812 PEARL -FISHING. 
 
 country, sees Ms ample estate cultivated by his 
 sons, while as Colonel and magistrate he dispenses 
 the law and receives the respectful homage of the 
 neighborhood. Nancy Dunster, now styled Mrs. 
 Dunster, the Mother in Israel the promoter of 
 schools and the councillor of old and young 
 still lives. Years have improved rather than dete- 
 riorated her short and stout exterior. The long 
 exercise of wise thoughts and the play of benevo- 
 lent feelings, have given even a sacred beauty to 
 her homely features. The dwarf has disappeared, 
 and there remains instead, a grave but venerable 
 matron, honored like a queen. 
 
IS. 
 
 A YAKN ASHOEE. 
 
 "' T TICK ! ' nonsense. There is no such thing. 
 
 -" Life is not a game of chance any more than 
 chess is. If yon lose, you have no one but your- 
 self to blame." 
 
 This was said by a young lieutenant in the 
 Eoyal Navy, to a middle-aged midshipman, his 
 elder brother. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that luck had nothing to 
 do with Fine Gentleman Bobbin passing for lieu- 
 tenant, and my being turned back ? " was the 
 rejoinder. 
 
 "Bobbin, though a dandy, is a good seaman, 
 and and - ." The speaker looked another way, 
 and hesitated. 
 
 "I am not, you would add if you had cour- 
 
314 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 age. But I say I am, and a better seaman than 
 Bobbin." 
 
 ' Practically, perhaps, for you are ten years 
 older in the service. But it was in the theoretical 
 part of seamanship which is equally important 
 that you broke down before the examiners," con- 
 tinued the younger officer, in tones of earnest but 
 sorrowful reproach, " You never would study." 
 
 "I '11 tell you what it is, master Ferdinand," said 
 the elder middy, not without a show of displeasure. 
 "I don't think this is the correct sort of conversa- 
 tion to be going . on between two brothers after a 
 five years' separation." 
 
 The young lieutenant laid his hand soothingly 
 on his brother's arm, and entreated him to take 
 what he said in good part. 
 
 " Well, well ! " rejoined the middy, with a laugh 
 half-forced. " Take care what you are about, or, 
 by Jove, I '11 inform against you." 
 
 " What for?" 
 
 "Why, for preaching without a license. Be- 
 sides, you were once as bad as you pretend I am." 
 
THE GHOST OF JAMES BARBER. 315 
 
 "I own it with sorrow; but I was warned 
 in time by the wretched end of poor James 
 Barber " 
 
 "Of whom?" asked the elder brother, starting 
 back as he pushed his glass along the table. "You 
 don't mean Jovial Jemmy, as we used to call him ; 
 once my messmate in the brig ( Bollock.' " 
 
 " Yes, I do." 
 
 "What! dead?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why, it was one of our great delights, when in 
 harbor and on shore, to 'go the rounds' as he 
 called it with Jovial Jemmy. He understood 
 life from stem to stern- from truck to keel. He 
 knew everybody, from the First Lord downwards. 
 I have seen him recognized by the Duke one min- 
 ute, and the next pick up with a strolling player, 
 and familiarly treat him at a tavern. He once took 
 me to a quadrille party at the Duchess of Durring- 
 ton's, where he seemed to know and be known to 
 everybody present, and then adjourned to the 
 Cider Cellars, where he was equally intimate with 
 
816 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 all sorts of queer characters. Though a favorite 
 among the aristocracy, he was equally welcome in 
 less exclusive societies. He was ' Brother,' ' Past 
 Master,' 'Warden,' 'Noble Grand,' or 'President' 
 of all sorts of Lodges and Fraternities. Uncom- 
 monly knowing was Jemmy in all sorts of club 
 and fashionable gossip. He knew who gave the 
 best dinners, and was always invited to the best 
 balls. He was a capital judge of champagne, and 
 when he betted upon a horse-race everybody 
 backed him. He could hum all the fashionable 
 songs, and was the fourth man who could dance 
 the polka when it was first imported. Then he 
 was as profound in bottled stout, "Welsh rabbits, 
 Burton ale, devilled kidneys, and bowls of Bishop, 
 as he was in Eoman punch, French cookery, and 
 Italian singers. Afloat, he was the soul of fun : 
 he got up all our private theatricals, told all the 
 best stories, and sung comic songs that made even 
 the Purser laugh." 
 
 "An extent and variety of knowledge and 
 accomplishments," said Lieutenant Fid, "which 
 
THE GTHOST OF JAMES BARBER. 317 
 
 had the precise effect of blasting his prospects in 
 life. He was, as you remember, at last dismissed 
 the service for intemperance and incompetence." 
 
 " When did you see him last? " 
 
 " What, alive f " inquired Ferdinand Fid, chang-. 
 ing countenance. 
 
 " Of course ! Surely you do not mean to insin- 
 uate that you have seen his ghost ! " 
 
 The lieutenant was silent ; and the midshipman 
 took a deep draught of his favorite mixture equal 
 portions of rum and water and hinted to his 
 younger brother, the lieutenant, the expediency of 
 immediately confiding the story to the Marines; 
 for he declined to credit it. He then ventured an- 
 other recommendation, which was that Ferdinand 
 should throw. the impotent temperance tipple he 
 was then imbibing " over the side of the Ship " 
 which meant the tavern of that name in Green- 
 wich, at the open bow-window of which they were 
 then sitting and clear his intellects by something 
 stronger. 
 
 "I can afford to be laughed at," said the younger 
 
318 PEAEL- FISHING. 
 
 Fid, "because I have gained immeasurably by the 
 delusion, if it be one ; but if ever there was a 
 ghost, I have seen the ghost of James Barber. I, 
 like yourself and he, was nearly ruined by love of 
 amusement and intemperance, when he or what- 
 ever else it might have been came to my aid." 
 
 "Let us hear. I see I am 'in' for a ghost 
 story." 
 
 " Well ; it was eighteen forty-one when I came 
 home in the { Arrow ' with despatches from the 
 coast of Africa : you were lying in the Tagus in 
 the 'Bobstay.' Ours, you know, was rather a 
 thirsty station ; a man inclined for it comes home 
 from the Slaving Coasts with a determination to 
 make up his lee way. I did mine with a ven- 
 geance. As usual, I looked up ' Jovial Jemmy.' " 
 
 "'Twas easy to find, him if you knew where 
 to go." 
 
 "I did know, and went. He had by that time 
 got tired of his more aristocratic friends. Eespect- 
 ability was too ' slow ' for him, so I found him pre- 
 siding over the * Philanthropic Easpers,' at the 
 
THE GHOST OF JAMES BARBEK. 319 
 
 * Union Jack.' He received me with open arms, 
 and took' me, as you say, the 'rounds.' I can't 
 recall that week's dissipation without a shudder. 
 "We rushed about from ball to tavern, from theatre 
 to supper-room, from club to gin-palace, as if our 
 lives depended on losing not a moment. We had 
 not time to walk, so we galloped about in cabs. 
 On the fourth night, when I was beginning to 
 feel knocked up, and tired of the same songs, the 
 same quadrilles, the bad whiskey, the suffocating 
 tobacco smoke, and the morning's certain and des- 
 perate penalties, I remarked to Jemmy that it was 
 a miracle how he had managed to weather it for so 
 many years. * What a hardship you would deem 
 it,' I added, 'if you were obliged to go the same 
 weary round from one year's end to another.' " 
 
 " What did he say to that ? " asked Philip. 
 
 " Why, I never saw him so taken aback. He 
 looked quite fiercely at me, and replied, 'I am 
 obliged!" 
 
 " How did he make that out? " 
 
 " Why, he had tippled and dissipated his consti- 
 
320 PEARL -FISHING. 
 
 tiition into such a state that use had become second 
 nature. Excitement was his natural condition, and 
 he dared not become quite sober for fear of a total 
 collapse or dropping down like a shot in the 
 water." 
 
 The midshipman had his glass in his hand, but 
 forebore to taste it. " Well, what then? " 
 
 iji]^ i roun( j s ' lasted two nights longer. I was 
 fairly beaten. Cast-iron could not have stood it. 
 I was prostrated in bed with fever and worse." 
 Ferdinand was agitated, and took a large draught 
 of his lemonade. 
 
 " Well, well, you need not enlarge upon that," 
 replied Phil Phid, raising his glass towards his lips, 
 but again thinking better of it ; "I heard how 
 bad you were from Seton, who shaved your head." 
 
 " I had scarcely recovered when the 'Arrow' 
 was ordered back, and I made a vow." 
 
 " Took the pledge, perhaps ! " interjected the 
 mid, with a slight curl of his lip. 
 
 " No I I determined to work more and play 
 less. We had a capital naval instructor aboard, 
 
THE GHOST OF JAMES BARBER. 321 
 
 and our commander was as good an officer as ever 
 trod the deck. I studied a little too hard per- 
 haps, for I was laid up again. The 4 Arrow 7 was, 
 as usual, as good as her name, and we shot across 
 to Jamaica in five weeks. One evening as we 
 were lying in Kingston harbor, Seton, who had 
 come over to join the Commodore as full surgeon, 
 told me .what he had never ventured to divulge 
 before." 
 
 " What was that ? " 
 
 " Why, that, on the very day I left London, 
 James Barber died of a frightful attack of delirium 
 tremens I " 
 
 " Poor Jemmy 1 " said the elder Fid, sorrow- 
 fully, taking a long pull of consolation from his 
 rummer. " Little did I think, while singing some 
 of your best songs off Belem Castle, that I had seen 
 you for the last time ! " 
 
 " I hadn't seen him for the last time," returned 
 the lieutenant, with awful significance. 
 
 Philip assumed a careless air, and said, " Go 
 
 21 
 
322 PEARL-FlSHING. 
 
 " "We were ordered home in eighteen forty-five, 
 and paid off in January. I went to Portsmouth ; 
 was examined, and passed as lieutenant." 
 
 This allusion to his brother's better condition 
 made poor Philip look rather blank. 
 
 " On being confirmed* at the Admiralty," con- 
 tinued Ferdinand, " I had to give a dinner to the 
 * Arrows ; ' which I did at the Salopian, Charing 
 Cross. In the excess of my joy at promotion, my 
 determination of temperance and avoidance of 
 what is called ' society ' was swamped. I kept it 
 up once more ; I went the ' rounds,' and accepted 
 all the dinner, supper, and ball invitations I could 
 get, invariably ending each morning in one of the 
 old haunts of dissipation. Old associations with 
 James Barber returned, and like causes produced 
 similar effects. One morning while maundering 
 home, I began to feel the same wild confusion 
 as had previously commenced my dreadful mal- 
 ady." 
 
 "Ah I a little touched in the top -hamper." 
 
 " It was just day -light Thinking to cool my 
 
THE G-HOST OF JAMES BARBER. 323 
 
 self, I jumped into a wherry to get pulled down 
 here to Greenwich." 
 
 " Of course you were not quite sober." 
 
 " Don't ask ! I do not like even to allude to 
 my sensations, for fear of recalling them. My 
 brain seemed in a flame. 'The boat appeared to be 
 going at the rate of twenty miles an hour. Fast 
 as we were cleaving the current, I heard my name 
 distinctly called out. I reconnoitred, but could see 
 nobody. I looked over on one side of the gun- 
 wale, and, while doing so, felt something touch me 
 from the other ; I felt a chill ; I turned round and 
 saw " 
 
 " Whom ? " asked the midshipman, holding his 
 breath. 
 
 " What seemed to be James Barber." 
 
 11 Was he wet ? " 
 
 " As dry as you are." 
 
 " I summoned courage to speak. * Hillo I 
 some mistake ! ' I exclaimed. 
 
 "'Not at all,' was the reply. 'I'm James 
 Barber. Don't be frightened, I 'm harmless. 7 
 
 
 
324 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 "'But ' 
 
 " ' I know what you are going to say,' inter- 
 rupted the intruder. ' Seton did not deceive you 
 I am only an occasional visitor up here? 
 
 " This brought me up with a round turn, and I 
 had sense enough to wish my friend would vanish 
 as he came. * Where shall we land you? ' I asked. 
 
 " i Oh, any where it don't matter. I have got 
 to be out every night and all night ; and the nights 
 are plaguy long just now.' 
 
 " I could not muster a word. 
 
 u * Ferd Fid/ continued the voice, which now 
 seemed about fifty fathoms deep ; and fast as we 
 were dropping down the stream, the boat gave a 
 heel to starboard, as if she had been broadsided 
 by a tremendous wave ' Ferd Fid, you recollect 
 how I used to kill time ; how I sang, drank, 
 danced, and supped all night long, and then slept 
 and soda-watered it all day. You remember what 
 a happy fellow I seemed. Fools like yourself 
 thought I was so ; but I say again, I wasn't,' 
 growled the voice, letting itself down a few 
 
THE GHOST or JAMES BARBER. 325 
 
 fathoms deeper. Often and often I would have 
 given the world to have been a market-gardener 
 or a dealer in chick-weed while roaring " He is a 
 jolly good fellow," and " We won't go home till 
 morning ! " as I emerged with a group from some 
 tavern into Covent Garden market. But I 'm 
 punished fearfully for my sins now. What do 
 you think I have got to do every night of my 
 never mind what do you think is now marked 
 out as my dreadful punishment ? ' 
 
 " ' Well, to walk the earth, I suppose,' said I. 
 
 " ' No.' 
 
 " ' To paddle about in the Thames from sunset 
 to sun-rise ? ' 
 
 " ' Worse. Ha, ha ! ' (his laugh sounded like 
 the booming of a gong). ' I only wish my doom 
 was merely to be a mud-lark. No, no, I 'm con- 
 demned to rush about from one evening party and 
 public house to another. At the former I am 
 bound for a certain term on each night to dance all 
 the quadrilles, and a few of the polkas and waltzes 
 with clumsy partners ; and then I have to eat stale 
 
826 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 pastry and tough poultry before I am let off from 
 that place. After, I arn bound to go to some cellar 
 or singing place to listen to " Hail smiling morn," 
 " 'Mynheer Yan Dunk," "The monks of old," 
 " Happy land," imitations of the London actors, 
 and to hear a whole canto of dreary extempore 
 verses. I must also smoke a dozen of cigars, 
 knowing as in my present condition I must 
 know, what they are made of. The whole to 
 end on each night with unlimited brandy (British) 
 and water, and eternal intoxication. Oh, F. F., be 
 warned ! Take my advice ; keep up your resolu- 
 tion, and don't do it again. When afloat, drink 
 nothing stronger than purser's tea. "When on 
 shore be temperate in your pleasures ; don't 
 turn night into day ; don't exchange whole- 
 some amusements for rabid debauchery, robust 
 health for disease and well, I won't " men- 
 tion it. When afloat, study your profession 
 and don't get cashiered and cold-shouldered 
 as I was. Promise me nay, you must 
 swear I ' 
 
THE G-HOST OF JAMES BARBER. 327 
 
 "At this word I thought I heard a gurgling 
 sound in the water. 
 
 " ' If I can get six solemn pledges before the 
 season 's over, I 'm only to go these horrid rounds 
 during the meeting of Parliament.' 
 
 " ( Will you swear? 7 again urged the voice, 
 with persuasive agony. 
 
 " I was just able to comply. 
 
 " ' Ten thousand thanks I ' were the next words 
 I heard ; ' I 'm off, for there is an awful pint of 
 pale ale, a chop, and a glass of brandy and water 
 overdue yet, and I must devour them at the 
 Shades. 7 (We were then close to London Bridge.) 
 * Don't let the waterman pull to shore ; I can get 
 there without troubling him.' 
 
 " I remember no more. "When sensation re- 
 turned, I was in bed, in this very house, a shade 
 worse than I had been from the previous attack." 
 
 " That," said Philip, who had left his tumbler 
 untasted, " must have been when you had your 
 head shaved for the second time." 
 
 " Exactly so." 
 
328 PEAKL-FISHING. 
 
 " And yon really believe it was Jovial James* 
 ghost," inquired Fid, earnestly. 
 
 " Would it be rational to doubt it ? " 
 
 Philip rose and paced the room in deep thought 
 for several minutes. He cast two or three earnest 
 looks at his brother, and a few longing ones at his 
 glass. In the course of his cogitation, he groaned 
 out more than once an apostrophe to poor " James 
 Barber." At length he declared his mind was 
 made up. 
 
 " Ferd ! " he said, " I told you awhile ago to 
 throw your lemonade over the side of the Ship. 
 Don't. Souse out my grog instead." 
 
 The lieutenant did as he was bid. 
 
 " And now," said Fid the elder, " ring for soda 
 water ; for one must drink something}' 1 
 
 Last year it was my own good fortune to sail 
 with Mr. Philip Fid in the "Bombottle" (74). 
 He is not exactly a tee-totaller ; but he never 
 drinks spirits, and will not touch wine unmixed 
 
THE GHOST OF JAMES BAEBEE. 329 
 
 with water, for fear of its interfering with his 
 studies, at which he is, with the assistance of the 
 naval instructor (who is also the chaplain), assid- 
 uous. He is our first mate, and the smartest offi- 
 cer in the ship. Seton is our surgeon. 
 
 One day, after a cheerful ward-room dinner (of 
 which Fid was a guest), while we were at anchor 
 in the Bay of Cadiz, the conversation happened to 
 turn upon Jovial Jemmy's apparition, which had 
 become the best-authenticated ghost story in Her 
 Majesty's Naval service. On that occasion Seton 
 undertook to explain the mystery upon medical 
 principles. 
 
 " The fact is," he said, " what the commander 
 of the 'Arrow' saw (Ferdinand had by this time 
 got commissioned in his old ship) was a spectrum, 
 produced by that morbid condition of the brain, 
 which is brought on by the immoderate use of 
 stimulants, and by dissipation ; we call it Transient 
 Monomania. I could show you dozens of such 
 ghosts in the books, if you only had patience while 
 I turned them up." 
 
330 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Everybody declared that was unnecessary. "We 
 would take the doctor's word for it ; though I 
 feel convinced not a soul besides the chaplain and 
 myself had one iota of his faith shaken in the real 
 presence of Jovial Jemmy's post-mortem appearance 
 to Fid the younger. 
 
 Ghost or no ghost, however, the story had had 
 the effect of converting Philip Fid from one of the 
 most intemperate and inattentive to one of the 
 soberest and best of Her Majesty's officers. May 
 his promotion be steady ! 
 
X. 
 
 Isle jrf <Sjro& Mr im.cs. 
 
 1 N alderman of tlie ancient borough of Beetle- 
 ^*- bury, and churchwarden of the parish of St. 
 "Wulfstan's in the said borough, Mr. Blenkinsop 
 might have been called, in the language of the 
 sixteenth century, a man of worship. This title 
 would probably have pleased him very much, it 
 being an obsolete one, and he entertaining an ex- 
 traordinary regard for all things obsolete, or 
 thoroughly deserving to be so. He looked up with 
 profound veneration to the griffins which formed 
 the water-spouts of St. Wulfstan's Church, and he 
 almost worshipped an old boot under the name of 
 a black jack, which on the affidavit of a forsworn 
 broker, he had bought for a drinking vessel of the 
 sixteenth century. Mr. Blenkinsop even more 
 admired the wisdom of our ancestors than he did 
 
332 PEAKL-FlSHING. 
 
 their furniture and fashions. He believed that 
 none of their statutes and ordinances could possi- 
 bly be improved on, and in this persuasion had 
 petitioned Parliament against every just or merci- 
 ful change, which, since he had arrived at man's 
 estate, had been made in the laws. He had suc- 
 cessively opposed all the Beetlebury improve- 
 ments, gas, waterworks, infant schools, mechanics' 
 institute, and library. He had been active in an 
 agitation against any measure for the improve- 
 ment of the public health, and being a strong ad- 
 vocate of intramural interment, was instrumental 
 in defeating an attempt to establish a pretty ceme- 
 tery outside Beetlebury. He had successfully re- 
 sisted a project for removing the pig-market from 
 the middle of the High Street. Through his influ- 
 ence the shambles,- which were corporation prop- 
 erty, had been allowed to .remain where they 
 were ; namely, close to the Town-Hall, and imme- 
 diately under his own and his brethren's noses. 
 In short, he had regularly, consistently, and nobly 
 done his best to frustrate every scheme that was 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 333 
 
 proposed for the comfort and advantage of his fel- 
 low creatures. For this conduct he was highly 
 esteemed and respected, and ; indeed, his hostility 
 with any interference of disease, had procured 
 him the honor of a public testimonial; shortly 
 after the presentation of which, with several 
 neat, speeches, the cholera broke out in Beetle- 
 bury. 
 
 The truth is, that Mr. Blenkinsop's views on 
 the subject of public health and popular institu- 
 tions were supposed to be economical (though 
 they were, in truth, desperately costly), and so 
 pleased some of the rate-payers. Besides, he with- 
 stood ameliorations, and defended nuisances and 
 abuses with all the heartiness of an actual philan- 
 thropist. Moreover, he was a jovial fellow, a 
 boon companion ; and his love of antiquity leant 
 particularly towards old ale and old port wine. 
 Of both of these beverages he had been partaking 
 rather largely at a visitation-dinner, where, after, 
 the retirement of the bishop and his clergy, festiv- 
 ities were kept up till late, under the presidency 
 
334: PEAEL-FIS HIKG. 
 
 of the deputy-registrar. One of the last to quit 
 the Crown and Mitre was Mr. Blenkinsop. 
 
 He lived in a remote part of the town, whither, 
 as he did not walk exactly in a right line, it may 
 be allowable, perhaps, to say that he bent his 
 course. Many of the dwellers in Beetlebury High- 
 street, awakened at half-past twelve on that night, 
 by somebody passing below, singing, not very 
 distinctly, 
 
 " With a jolly full bottle let each man be armed," 
 
 were indebted, little as they may have suspected 
 it, to Alderman Blenkinsop, for their serenade. 
 
 In his homeward way stood the Market Cross ; 
 a fine mediaeval structure, supported on a series 
 of circular steps by a groined arch ; which served 
 as a canopy to the stone figure of an ancient 
 burgess. This was the effigies of Wynkyn de 
 Yokes, once Mayor of Beetlebury, and a great 
 benefactor to the town ; in which he had founded 
 alms-houses and a grammar-school, A. D. 1440. 
 The post was formerly occupied by St. Wulfstan ; 
 but De Yokes had been removed from the Town 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 335 
 
 Hall in Cromwell's time, and promoted to the 
 vacant pedestal, vice Wulfstan, demolished. Mr. 
 Blenkinsop highly revered this work of art, and 
 he now stopped to take a view of it by moonlight. 
 In that doubtful glimmer, it seemed almost life- 
 like. Mr. Blenkinsop had not much imagination, 
 yet he could well nigh fancy he was looking upon 
 the veritable Wynkyn, with his bonnet, beard, 
 furred gown, and staff, and his great book under 
 his arm. So vivid was this impression, that it im- 
 pelled him to apostrophize the Statue. 
 
 " Fine old fellow I " said Mr. Blenkinsop. " Bare 
 old buck ! We shall never look upon your like 
 again. Ah 1 the good old times the jolly good 
 old times I No times like the good old times my 
 ancient worthy. No such times as the good old 
 times 1 " 
 
 "And pray, Sir, what times do you call the 
 good old times?" in distinct and deliberate ac- 
 cents, answered according to the positive affir- 
 mation of Mr. Blenkinsop, subsequently made be- 
 fore divers witnesses -the Statue. 
 
336 PEAEL-FISHING. 
 
 Mr. Blenkinsop is sure that he was in the per- 
 fect possession of his senses.' He is certain that 
 he was not the dupe of ventriloquism, or any 
 other illusion. The value of these convictions 
 must be a question between him and the world, to 
 whose perusal the facts of his tale, simply .as 
 stated by himself, are here submitted. 
 
 When first he heard the Statue speak, Mr. 
 Blenkinsop says, he certainly experienced a kind 
 of sudden shock, a momentary feeling of conster- 
 nation. But this soon abated in a wonderful man- 
 ner. The Statue's voice was quite mild and gen- 
 tle not in the least grim had no funeral twang 
 in it, and was quite different from the tone a 
 statue might be expected to take by anybody who 
 had derived his notions on that subject from hav- 
 ing heard the representative of the class in " Don 
 Giovanni.' 1 
 
 " "Well ; what times do you mean by the good 
 old times ? " repeated the Statue, quite familiarly. 
 The churchwarden was able to reply with some 
 composure, that such a question coming from 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 837 
 
 such a quarter had taken him a little by sui> 
 prise. 
 
 " Come, come, Mr. Blenkinsop," said the Statue, 
 1 1 don't be astonished. 'Tis half-past twelve, and 
 a moonlight night, as your favorite police, the 
 sleepy and infirm old watchman, says. Don't you 
 know that we statues are apt to speak when 
 spoken to, at these hours? Collect yourself. I 
 will help you to answer my own questions. Let 
 us go back step by step ; and allow me to lead 
 you. To begin. By the good old times, do you 
 mean the reign of George the Third ? " 
 
 "The last of them, Sir," replied Mr. Blenkinsop, 
 very respectfully, " I am inclined to think, were 
 seen by the people who lived in those days." 
 
 " I should hope so," the Statue replied. " Those 
 the good old times ? What ! Mr. Blenkinsop, 
 when men were hanged by dozens, almost weekly, 
 for paltry thefts. "When a nursing woman was 
 dragged to the gallows with a child at her breast, 
 for shop-lifting, to the value of a shilling. When 
 
 you lost your American colonies, and plunged 
 22 
 
PEARL-FISHING. ,, 
 
 into war with France, which, to say nothing of 
 the useless bloodshed it cost, has left you saddled 
 with the national debt. Surely you will not call 
 these the good old times, will you, Mr. Blenkin- 
 sop-?" 
 
 "Not exactly, Sir: no; on reflection I don't 
 know that I can," answered Mr. Blenkinsop. He 
 had now, it was such a civil, well-spoken statue 
 lost all sense of the preternatural horror of his sit- 
 uation, and scratched his head just as if he had 
 been posed in argument by an ordinary mortal. 
 
 "Well, then," resumed the Statue, "my dear 
 Sir, shall we take the two or three reigns preced- 
 ing. What think you of the then existing state of 
 prisons and prison discipline ? Unfortunate debt- 
 ors confined indiscriminately with felons, in the 
 midst of filth, vice, and misery unspeakable. 
 Criminals under sentence of death tippling in the 
 condemned cell with the Ordinary for their pot 
 companion. Flogging, a common punishment of 
 women convicted of larceny. What say you of 
 the times when London streets were absolutely 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 339 
 
 dangerous, and the passenger ran the risk of being 
 hustled and robbed even in the day-time ? When 
 not only Hounslow and Bagshot Heath, but the 
 public road swarmed with robbers, and a stage- 
 coach was as frequently plundered as a hen-roost. 
 When, indeed, 'the road' was esteemed the legiti- 
 mate resource of a gentleman in difficulties, and a 
 highwayman was commonly called i Captain ' if 
 not respected accordingly. When cock-fighting, 
 bear-baiting, and bull-baiting were popular, nay, 
 fashionable amusements. When the bulk of the 
 landed gentry could barely read and write, and 
 divided their time between fox-hunting and guz- 
 zling. When a duellist was a hero, and it was an 
 honor to have ' killed your man.' When a gentle- 
 man could hardly open his mouth without uttering 
 a profane or filthy oath. When the country was 
 continually in peril of civil war through a disputed 
 succession ; and two murderous insurrections, fol- 
 lowed by more murderous executions, actually 
 took place. This era of inhumanity, shamelessness, 
 brigandage, brutality, and personal and political 
 
340 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 insecurity, what say you of it, Mr. Blenkinsop? 
 Do you regard this wig and pigtail period as con- 
 stituting the good old times, respected friend ? " 
 
 "There was Queen Anne's golden reign, Sir," 
 deferentially suggested Mr. Blenkinsop. 
 
 " A golden reign ! " exclaimed the Statue. " A 
 reign of favoritism and court trickery at home, and 
 profitless war abroad. The time of Bolingbroke's, 
 and Harley's, and Churchill's intrigues. The 
 reign of Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and Mrs. 
 Masham. A golden fiddlestick ! I imagine you 
 must go farther back yet for your good old times, 
 Mr. Blenkinsop." 
 
 ""Well," answered the churchwarden, "I sup- 
 pose I must, Sir, after what you say." 
 
 " Take William the Third's rule," pursued the 
 Statue. " War, war again ; nothing but war. I 
 don't think you '11 particularly call these the good 
 old times. Then what will you say to those of 
 James the Second ? Were they the good old times 
 when Judge Jeffries sat on the bench? When 
 Monmouth's rebellion was followed by the Bloody 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 841 
 
 Assize. When the King tried to set himself above 
 the law, and lost his crown in consequence. Does 
 your worship fancy that these were the good old 
 times?" 
 
 Mr. Blenkinsop admitted that he could not very 
 well imagine that they were. 
 
 " Were Charles the Second's the good old 
 times?" demanded the Statue. "With a court 
 full of riot and debauchery a palace much less 
 decent than any modern casino whilst Scotch 
 Covenanters were having their legs crushed in the 
 " Boots," under the auspices and personal superin- 
 tendence of His Eoyal Highness the Duke of 
 York. The time of Titus Gates, Bedloe, and 
 Dangerfield, and their sham-plots, with the hang- 
 ings, drawings, and quarterings, on perjured evi- 
 dence, that followed them. When Eussell and 
 Sidney were judicially murdered. The time of the 
 Great Plague and Fire of London. The public 
 money wasted by roguery and embezzlement, 
 while sailors lay starving in the streets for want of 
 their just gay; the Dutch about the same time 
 
342 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 burning our ships in the Medway. My friend, I 
 think you will hardly call the scandalous mon- 
 archy of the 'Merry Monarch' the good old 
 times." 
 
 "I feel the difficulty which you suggest, Sir," 
 owned Mr. Blenkinsop. 
 
 "Now, that a man of your loyalty," pursued the 
 Statue, " should identify the good old times with 
 Cromwell's Protectorate, is of course out of the 
 question." 
 
 " Decidedly, Sir ! " exclaimed Mr. Blenkinsop. 
 " He shall not have a statue, though you enjoy that 
 honor," bowing. 
 
 "And yet," said the Statue, "with all its faults, 
 this era was perhaps no worse than -any we have 
 discussed yet. Never mind! It was a dreary, 
 cant-ridden one, and if you don't think those Eng- 
 land's palmy days, neither do I. There's the 
 previous reign then. During the first part of it, 
 there was the king endeavoring to assert arbitrary 
 power. During the latter, the -Parliament were 
 fighting against him in the open field. What 
 
ATALEi OF THE GrOOD OLD TlMES. 343 
 
 ultimately became of him I need not say. At 
 what stage of King Charles the First's career did 
 the good old times exist, Mr. Alderman ? I need 
 barely mention the Star Chamber and poor 
 and Prynne ; I merely allude to the fate of Straf- 
 ford and of Laud, On consideration, should you 
 fix the good old times anywhere thereabouts ? " 
 
 "I am afraid not, indeed, Sir? " Mr. Blenkinsop 
 responded, tapping his forehead. 
 
 "What is your opinion of James the First's 
 reign ? Are you enamored of the good old times 
 of the Gunpowder Plot? or when Sir Walter 
 Raleigh was beheaded ? or when hundreds of poor 
 miserable old women were burnt alive for witch- 
 craft, and the royal wiseacre on the throne wrote 
 as wise a book, in defence of the execrable super- 
 stition through which they suffered? " 
 
 Mr. Blenkinsop confessed himself obliged to 
 give up the times of James the First. 
 
 "Now, then," continued the Statue, "we come 
 to Elizabeth." 
 
 "There I've got you!" interrupted Mr. Blen- 
 
PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 kinsop, exultingly. " I beg your pardon, Sir," lie 
 added, with a sense of the freedom lie had taken ; 
 " but everybody talks of the times of good Queen 
 Bess, you know ! " 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed the Statue, not at all like 
 Zamiel, or Don Guzman, or a pavior's rammer, but 
 really with unaffected gaiety. " Everybody some- 
 times says very foolish things. Suppose Every- 
 body's lot had been cast under Elizabeth ! How 
 would Everybody have relished being subject to 
 the jurisdiction of the Ecclesiastical Commission, 
 with its power of imprisonment, rack, and torture? 
 How would Everybody have liked to see his 
 Eoman Catholic and dissenting fellow-subjects, 
 butchered, fined, and imprisoned for their opin- 
 ions ; and charitable ladies butchered, too, for 
 giving them shelter in the sweet compassion of 
 their hearts? What would Everybody have 
 thought of the murder of Mary Queen of Scots ? 
 Would Everybody, would Anybody, would you, 
 wish to have lived in these days, whose emblems 
 are cropped ears, pillory, stocks, thumb-screws, 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 345 
 
 gibbet, axe, chopping-block, and Scavenger's 
 daughter ? Will you take your stand upon this 
 stage of History for the good old times, Mr. Blen- 
 kinsop ? " 
 
 "I should rather prefer firmer and safer ground, 
 to be sure, upon the whole," answered the worship- 
 per of antiquity, dubiously. 
 
 " Well, now," said the Statue, " 'tis getting late, 
 and, unaccustomed as I am to conversational speak- 
 ing, I must be brief. Were those the good old 
 times when Sanguinary Mary roasted bishops, and 
 lighted the fires of Smithfield? When Henry the 
 Eighth, the British Bluebeard, cut his wives' heads 
 off, and burnt Catholic and Protestant at the same 
 stake? When Kichard the Third smothered his 
 nephews in the Tower? When the Wars of the 
 Eoses deluged the land with blood ? When Jack 
 Cade marched upon London? When we were, 
 disgracefully driven out of France under Henry 
 the Sixth, or, as disgracefully, went marauding 
 there, under Henry the Fifth? Were the good 
 old times those of Northumberland's rebellion? 
 
346 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 Of Kichard the Second's assassination? Of the 
 battles, burnings, massacres, cruel tormentings, and 
 atrocities, which form the sum of the Plantagenet 
 reigns? Of John's declaring himself the Pope's 
 vassal, and performing dental operations on the 
 Jews ? Of the Forest Laws and Curfew under the 
 Norman kings ? At what point of this series of 
 bloody and cruel annals will you place the times 
 which you praise? Or do your good old times 
 extend over all that period when somebody or 
 other was constantly committing high treason, and 
 there was a perpetual exhibition of heads on Lon- 
 don Bridge and Temple Bar ? " 
 
 It was allowed by Mr. Blenkinsop that either 
 alternative presented considerable difficulty. 
 
 "Was it in the good old times that Harold fell 
 at Hastings, and William the Conqueror enslaved 
 England ? Were those blissful years the ages of 
 monkery; of Odo and Dunstan, bearding mon- 
 archs and branding queens? Of Danish ravage 
 and slaughter ? Or were they those of the Saxon 
 Heptarchy, and the worship of Thor and Odin? 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 347 
 
 Of the advent of Hengist and Horsa ? Of British 
 subjugation by the Eomans ? Or, lastly, must we 
 go back to the Ancient Britons, Druidism, and 
 human sacrifices ; and say that those were the real, 
 unadulterated, genuine, good old times when the 1 
 true-blue natives of this island went naked, paint- 
 ed with woad ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, Sir," replied Mr. Blenkinsop, 
 " after the observations that I have heard from you 
 this night, I acknowledge that I do feel myself 
 rather at a loss to assign a precise period to the 
 times in question." 
 
 " Shall I do it for you? " asked the Statue. 
 
 "If you please, Sir. I should be very much 
 obliged if you would," replied the bewildered 
 Blenkinsop, greatly relieved. 
 
 "The best times, Mr. Blenkinsop," said the 
 Statue, "are the oldest. They are wisest; for 
 the older the world grows the more experi- 
 ence it acquires. It is older now than ever it 
 was. The oldest and best times the world has 
 yet seen are the present. These, so far as we 
 
348 PEARL- FISH ING. 
 
 have yet gone, are the genuine good old times, 
 Sir." 
 
 li Indeed, Sir? " ejaculated the astonished Alder- 
 man. 
 
 " Yes, my good friend. These are the best times 
 that we know of bad as the best may be. But in 
 proportion to their defects they afford room for 
 amendment. Mind that, Sir, in the future exercise 
 of your municipal and political wisdom. Don't 
 continue to stand in the light which is gradually 
 illuminating human darkness. The Future is the 
 date of that happy period which your imagination 
 has fixed in the Past. It will arrive when all shall 
 do what is right ; hence none shall suffer what is 
 wrong. The true good old times are yet to come." 
 
 " Have you any idea when, Sir ?" Mr. Blenkin- 
 sop inquired, modestly. 
 
 "That is a little beyond me," the Statue an- 
 swered. " I cannot say how long it will take to 
 convert the Blenkinsops. I devoutly wish you 
 may live to see them. And with that, I wish you 
 good night, Mr. Blenkinsop." 
 
A TALE OF THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 349 
 
 "Sir," returned Mr. Blenkinsop with a pro- 
 found bow, "I have the honor to wish you the 
 same." 
 
 Mr. Blenkinsop returned home an altered man. 
 This was soon manifest. In a few days he aston- 
 ished the Corporation by proposing the appoint- 
 ment of an Officer of Health to preside over sani- 
 tary affairs of Beetlebury. It had already trans- 
 pired that he had consented to the introduction of 
 lucifer-matches into his domestic establishment, in 
 which, previously, he had insisted on sticking to 
 the old tinder-box. Next, to the wonder of all 
 Beetlebury, he was the first to propose a great 
 new school, and to sign a requisition that a county 
 penitentiary might be established for the reforma- 
 tion of juvenile offenders. The last account of 
 him is that he has not only become a subscriber 
 to the mechanics' institute, but that he actually 
 presided thereat, lately, on the occasion of a lec- 
 ture on Geology. 
 
 The remarkable change which has occurred in 
 Mr. Blenkinsop's views and principles, he himself 
 
350 PEARL-FISHING. 
 
 refers to his conversation with the Statue as above 
 related. The narrative, however, his fellow towns- 
 men receive with incredulous expressions, accom- 
 panied by gestures and grimaces of like import. 
 They hint, that Mr. Blenkinsop had been thinking 
 for himself a little, and only wanted a plausible 
 excuse for recanting his errors. Most of his fellow- 
 aldermen believe him mad ; not less on account of 
 his new moral and political sentiments, so very 
 different from their own, than of his Statue story. 
 "When it has been suggested to them that he has 
 only had his spectacles cleaned, and has been 
 looking about him, they shake their heads, and 
 say that he had better have left his spectacles 
 alone, and that a little knowledge is a dangerous 
 thing, and a good deal of dirt quite the contrary. 
 Their spectacles have never been cleaned, they 
 say, and any one may see they don't want clean- 
 ing. 
 
 The truth seems to be, that Mr. Blenkinsop has 
 found an altogether new pair of spectacles, which 
 enable him to see in the right direction. Formerly, 
 
A TALE OP THE GOOD OLD TIMES. 351 
 
 he could only look backwards ; lie now" looks 
 forwards to the grand object that all human 
 eyes should have in view- progressive improve- 
 ment. 
 
 THE END. 
 
IMMENSE SALE ! 
 
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 [BY @03a53 8QS1ILV 
 
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