V i f) .',' .f r.i tf ! t'./ f ^ f f-J r<* !
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 kqc'-'
 
 LONDON HOMES: 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 THE MURDER HOLE; THE DROWNING DRAGOON; 
 
 THE PRIEST AND THE CURATE; 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT ; & FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 BY CATHERINE SINCLAIR, 
 
 AUTHOK or 
 
 ' BEATKICE ;" " MODERN ACCOMPLISHMENTS j" 
 
 &C. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1853.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Printed by Scbulze aud Co., 13, Poland Street,
 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT 
 
 BY 
 
 THE PUELISHER. 
 
 The unprecedented success of Miss Catherine 
 Sinclair's works in America, has heen known 
 throughout that country these many years ; but 
 the reception given to "Beatrice," her last novel, 
 has, in fact, exceeded that of " Uncle Tom's Cabin," 
 in England. Above one hundi-ed thousand copies 
 were sold in a few weeks. A pamphlet was pub- 
 lished by twenty-eight clergymen of New York, 
 advising that each of their congregation should 
 possess a copy. It has been recommended from 
 the pulpit, a written testimonial to its merits has 
 been sent to the American publishers by Father 
 
 13i?i9v'
 
 IV ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Gavazzi, and faA'Ourable notices of "Beatrice" 
 have appeared in above five hundred nevpspapers 
 and magazines, all of which testify to the deep 
 interest of the story, as well as to the very im- 
 portant object it has in view.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The author having had an opportunity this year 
 to attend the numerous May meetings held for 
 various benevolent objects, became greatly surprised 
 to observe that the worst attended of all these 
 assemblages was one to improve the condition of the 
 London Poor. Scarcely more than fifty spectators 
 assembled in the room, while more speakers appeared 
 on the platform, than listeners on the benches. It 
 is hoped, nevertheless, that such discouragements, 
 thrown upon home objects, may not extinguish that 
 spirit of philanthropy which has recently influenced 
 many young men of rank and talent to labour with 
 patriotic diligence for the mental and bodily im- 
 provement of their own suffering countrymen, with 
 as much enthusiasm as if they were savages or 
 foreigners. 
 
 The remark is often made that in London every-
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 thing is found in its utmost perfection, where all the 
 luxury, splendour and refinement of life appears at 
 its highest pitch, hut where also is exhibited the 
 deepest perfection of human degradation and suf- 
 fering, for no animal within his wild, forest den, 
 breathes in a scene of deeper polution than the 
 miserable outcasts of humanity in their London 
 Homes. 
 
 The author has received much information in 
 respect to her suffering countrymen from the excel- 
 lent Secretary to the Mendicity Society, and having 
 also read several recent works on " The Rookeries 
 of London;" she has been induced by that fervent 
 desire of usefulness which is her sole motive in 
 writing, to embody, to the best of her power, her 
 own conception of the contrast which exists at 
 present between the two extremes of luxury and 
 wretchedness in our London Homes.
 
 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 " In age, in infancy, from other's aid, 
 Is all our hope ; to teach us to be kind 
 That natiu'e's iirst, last lesson." 
 
 YOUNG. 
 
 The broad, glittering stream of the silver Thames, 
 never adorned any more beautiful garden and house 
 than the London home of a young baronet and his 
 sister, who had recently settled for the season in 
 town. Everybody liked Sir Arthur D'Arcy and Sir 
 Arthur D'Arcy liked everybody. Distinguished at 
 Oxford for accurate scholarship and conscientious 
 application to study, he was early trained, also, by 
 his own judicious mother to an elevating conscious- 
 ness that wealth has its many serious duties, as well 
 as its many pleasant privileges. Sir x\rthur, in con- 
 sequence of such maternal teaching, did not merely 
 endeavour to follow at a distance in the footsteps of 
 philanthrophy, but he advanced the foremost in
 
 2 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 every good work, and far from becoming a spoiled 
 child of prosperity, the victim of his own high posi- 
 tion, he retained that dehght in the simplest enjoy- 
 ments of nature by which the felicity of man can 
 best be secured and perpetuated. Flourishing fields 
 and happy faces were what he most desired to culti- 
 vate around him on his own property, and well did 
 he succeed, for, with a strong sense of the bounty 
 and beauty of nature, he had a deep insight into 
 the constitution of his own mind, which led him on 
 to a fervent love of God and most efficient love to 
 man. 
 
 Intellect shone in the bright eyes of Sir Arthur 
 D'iVrcy, who looked noble but not arrogant, distin- 
 guished but not vain, and in all his actions it was 
 evident that the heart as well as the head had been 
 consulted, while in his manner there appeared a 
 tranquil vivacity that enlivened without dazzling his 
 companions, so that it was often observed of him, 
 that he had no mere acquaintances as all his ac- 
 quaintances became friends. 
 
 Sir Arthur had been gifted by nature with a most 
 extraordinary cousin in his companion and cotempo- 
 rary Lord Chobham, who possessed with great 
 natural talents and a frame of iron, the most unre- 
 strained and untameable spirits that ever astonished 
 society. Quite as unsafe to his friends as to his
 
 LONDON HOMES. 3 
 
 enemies, Lord Chobham's great delight was in petty 
 misehief, and especially in practical jokes, played off 
 without reference to time, place, or circumstances, as 
 well as with a perfect indifference whether they were 
 at his owri expense or that of others. It became 
 impossible to know when Lord Chobham was in 
 earnest ; indeed, he never was in earnest, and would 
 have disdained ever to be thought so. To Lord 
 Chobham the world was a stage on which to play 
 his pranks and laugh at those who were "sold;" 
 while his especial butt had long been, and seemed 
 always likely to continue to be, an old school-com- 
 panion, in mind and manners the greatest possible 
 contrast on earth to himself. 
 
 Lord Avenal. wearied of the world at twenty-five, 
 and apparently incapable of a single emotion, was a 
 perfect specimen of a blase, worn out, used up 
 lounger through life. All London, Rome, and 
 Paris were to him mere exhausted receivers ; for 
 though many successive seasons saw him trying every 
 amusement of all these capitals, he yawningly com- 
 plained of their monotony, while he gazed in languid 
 astonishment at any one who had the vigour to be 
 happy or even amused. 
 
 Lord Chobham accounted for his friend's helpless 
 incompetency by saying, that like many young men 
 now, his brains had been " bothered and puzzled" 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 by too much teaching till he had none left ; and 
 certainly there were small symptoms of any. The 
 best joke drew from him only a dissatisfied smile, 
 the most agreeable proposal for amusement scarcely 
 brought a sparkle to his eye, the greatest public 
 events were totally indifferent to him, and he had no 
 domestic affections to render home-events interesting. 
 In short. Lord Avenal, in his London home, seemed 
 always endeavouring to endure existence, but as if 
 enjoyment were out of the question. His was a life 
 withovit love to God or man, therefore he could have 
 no thought except what was painful, because in it 
 there could be neither affection to warm the feelings 
 nor admiration to ennoble them. His ears, in short, 
 were stone-deaf to the poetry of life, and filled only 
 with the idle buzziog of wearisome frivolity, while in 
 the only science he ever studied, that of fashionable 
 life, he had learned to know the different value of 
 any one's position as accurately as he knew the 
 relative value of a shilling, a sovereign, or a farthing. 
 " The ennui you complain of, proceeds from mak- 
 ing life a whole holiday instead of a half-holiday," 
 said Sir Arthur D'Arcy one day, in reply to a yawn 
 from Lord Avenal, soon after they met in London 
 for the season. " During a life all leisure, nothing 
 is a relaxation. If you live entirely on sugar, no- 
 thing would taste sweet ; but try a flavour of salt or
 
 LONDON HOMES. 5 
 
 bitter occasionally and then you will discover the 
 contrast." 
 
 " Sweet or sour, my appetite for everything, lite- 
 rally or metaphorically is gone — utterly extinct — " 
 said Lord Avenal, in a desponding tone. " If it 
 were not for a dozen cigars every forenoon and the 
 ballet at night—." 
 
 The young peer shrugged his shoulders contemp- 
 tuously at the world in general, and silently buttoned 
 his glove. 
 
 " I positively believe that if we could all throw 
 down our cards as soon as we tire of playing at 
 the game of life, merely forfeiting the stake, many 
 would gladly slip out of this wearisome existence to- 
 morrow," exclaimed Lord Chobham, with a sympa- 
 thetic yawn. " Might we but leave this world as 
 we quit an evening party, calling our carriage, or 
 rather our hearse, and bowUng easily away, one 
 would gladly escape the humdrummery of every- 
 thing that is to be heard, or seen, or done in this 
 monotonous scene. I wonder how they get on in 
 the moon ; and when we shall have an electric tele- 
 graph there to communicate with the inhabitants?" 
 
 " You are sufficiently lunatic already, Chobham, 
 and really the world we inhabit is quite good enough 
 for our deservings," replied Sir Arthur, strolling to 
 the window. " Look at this beautiful landscape."
 
 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 "Yes! yes! I saw it yesterday, and the day be- 
 fore, and the day before that ; one cannot be looking 
 at beautiful landscapes for ever. People are im- 
 mensely praised who retire to live selfishly alone in 
 the country ; but I think it quite as idle, to stand 
 gaping at a mountain, or counting your camellias, or 
 devoting your days to producing a pansy larger than 
 half-a-crown instead of a shilling, as it is to fight on 
 in society, studying human beings, and tormenting 
 them as I do. Give me the proper study of man- 
 kind, which we all know is man." 
 
 " Or rather give me in the country, good moors 
 this August," said Lord Avenal, with a terrific yawn. 
 " Really, if I were but a good enough shot, I would 
 shoot myself, and then in this tiresome world there 
 will be one deserving young man the less !" 
 
 " Deserving young men are a mere drug in the 
 market, now, we have so many," replied Sir Arthur 
 smiling. " If you want something to do, take a 
 parliamentary fit — or edit somebody's biography." 
 
 " Yes ! give me yours to arrange ; and then here- 
 after, if biographers are marshalled out of a room 
 with precedence according to the estimation in which 
 their heroes are held by an impartial world, I shall 
 always walk off first." 
 
 "You should have seen, yesterday," said Lord 
 Chobham, " the amusing fracas which took place
 
 LONDON HOMES. 7 
 
 when my old Uncle Gerrard asked me to read him 
 the 'Times.' I impromptued the most frightful 
 description of an Irish murder, and made the whole 
 circumstances and appearance of the victim so exactly 
 tally with his own son, now quartered in Tipperary, 
 that truly it was too diverting to watch, over the 
 edge of my newspaper, how he fidgetted, grew pale, 
 rose from his seat, sat down again, and really did 
 the affectionate father extremely well. I described 
 the young officer by the initial ' Henry G.,' said he 
 was tall, slight, and red-haired ; but when I men- 
 tioned his nose being all one side, the old fellow was 
 foolish enough to faint ! People will take one so 
 Uterally !" 
 
 " I never do," replied Sir Arthur, smiling. " If 
 you tell me you are yourself, then I feel certain you 
 are somebody else." 
 
 " I wish I were ! Make me any one else and it 
 will be a variety. I liked this world uncommonly 
 once, though now, I wish myself well out of it ; but 
 not with a tiresome, long, troublesome illness. I 
 should hate to be literally at sheet-anchor, and would 
 prefer pistols and coffee any morning." 
 
 " What has put you in this misanthropical hu- 
 mour, Chobham ? I never saw your thermometer 
 at zero before !" 
 
 *' I mean to be buried under a weeping- willow —
 
 8 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 the only chance of any one weeping over my grave, 
 D'x\rcy. Some people live too long, and some die 
 when they can ill be spared ; but mine shall be a 
 sensible dying. Now, at this moment, no mortal 
 will regret me." 
 
 " Come Chobham ! this is a libel on your friends ! 
 I could not live or laugh without you, and neither 
 could Madelaine." 
 
 " Convince me of that and I may condescend a 
 little longer to endure life ! Madelaine used, in her 
 childhood, to be so kind to me ; one would have 
 thousht I was a rich old uncle from whom she had 
 expectations, but of late, I might as well go up in a 
 balloon to look for the sun, as expect one of her old 
 school-room cordial smiles. We used to agree so 
 perfectly on every subject that it seemed scarcely 
 necessary for us to talk ; and there was nobody 
 whose opinions I liked so well, because they never 
 differed from my own ; but now ! — she positively 
 contradicted me twice yesterday !" 
 
 " Lucky she is not a man, Chobham, for you used 
 to be as angry at any one differing in opinion from 
 you as if we had given you the lie," said Sir Arthur, 
 laughing. " But wait five minutes ; I shall see if 
 Madelaine is at home and inclined to contradict you 
 again." 
 
 *' Five minutes ! If any one entreats me to wait
 
 LONDON HOMES. 9 
 
 for him five minutes, D'Arcy, he does not generally 
 mean five hours, but it always turns out so in the 
 end ; however, go and ask her if she can amuse a 
 stupid cousin." 
 
 " That is her forte always, and you give her 
 abundant practice." 
 
 " Yes ! now I have spent my whole stock of spirits 
 and need to have them replenished by the presence 
 of my merry cousin Madelaine." 
 
 " But, Chobham, why do you never try the road 
 that leads to peace and quietness ?" 
 
 " To dulness and desperation, you mean ! I tried 
 country felicity last week at my Uncle Gerrard's 
 little villa at Twickenham. After breakfast, he 
 always said to me, with a hospitable, self-satisfied 
 look, 'Now, I leave you to amuse yourself !' What 
 could I do ? There were a garden, a lawn, a six- 
 3'ard wide gravel-walk, and a dusty high road, few 
 books, and no society ; yet my uncle was always 
 praising the superior rationality of country retire- 
 ment ; but I say, ' The more fools, the more fun.' 
 Instead of conversing with all the clever men at my 
 club, he thought my time would be better spent 
 in gazing at primroses and pruning roses, in walking 
 up and down with my hands in my pockets, and in 
 staring the moon out of countenance !" 
 
 " Our pleasure in the beauties of nature rests on
 
 10 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 two pillars — love to God, and admiration of His 
 works," replied Sir Arthur ; " but in respect to 
 society, give me the man or woman who will good- 
 humouredly bear all the little rubs and small mortifica- 
 tions of intimate association, without sulkily retiring, 
 as your uncle has done, to feel himself in a state of 
 self-satisfied superiority alone. I consider that indi- 
 vidual in a very inferior state of mind and heart, who 
 can do without sympathy and association." 
 
 " People who live very retired generally become 
 great eaters, trying all day to get an appetite, and 
 thinking chiefly of what they shall eat ! I get 
 shockingly irritable too, when I am long alone ! 
 Now, where is Madelaine ? I guess she will not 
 appear ! I was sure something would go wrong with 
 me to-day, because, in leaving my uncle's this morn- 
 ing, I saw that most unlucky of all birds, a magpie." 
 
 " You should not look at magpies, if they bring 
 you ill-fortune." 
 
 " I was glad to see anything alive there ; even 
 a crow was better than nothing. Like all people 
 in rural cottages, my uncle has a thermometer, and 
 never speaks of anything else. lie composes a sen- 
 tence about it for the day, and repeats it to every 
 one he meets afterwards. The house was so cold, 
 that a place on the hearth-rug there should be let 
 for so much an hour. I wished myself living in
 
 LONDON HOMES. 11 
 
 the planet Jupiter, where you tell me there is no 
 winter." 
 
 " I should like to see the person who could say 
 that there is. The climate there is so fearfully hot, 
 that you would need to do like Sidney Smith, who 
 said he left off his flesh, and sat in his bones ; and 
 that he met empty suits of clothes walking about, 
 the owners having melted entirely away." 
 
 Madelaine D'Arcy appeared to those but slightly 
 acquainted with her as the merriest elf who ever 
 escaped from the trammels of school-room discipline, 
 but she was, in fact, also a girl of most refined taste, 
 of deeply poetical temperament, and of the most 
 exquisite beauty. Her every thought was full of 
 cheerful kindness ; yet wherever sorrow dwelt, there 
 she hastened ; and whenever a benevolent action 
 was named, she became the first to admire, and 
 if possible to imitate it. From earliest childhood, 
 an object of most devoted and even respectful attach- 
 ment to her eccentric cousin, Lord Chobham, they 
 treated each other with a sort of lively caprice, very 
 amusing to spectators, but rather perplexing to those, 
 like Sir Arthur, who had an anxious desire that no 
 mistake on either side should give to one or other 
 the pain of an unrequited attachment. It was im- 
 possible to penetrate through their almost brother- 
 and- sister intimacy, their pretended quarrels and
 
 12 LONDON HOMES, 
 
 pretended indifference ; but any man would rather 
 have taken Lord Chobham's chance of gaining the 
 fascinating Madelaine's affections than that of Lord 
 Avenal, who professed, in his own languid, non- 
 chalant, care-for-nobody way, to admire her, but 
 whose life seemed to consist, as Lord Chobham 
 remarked, of two dreams — the one when he was 
 asleep, and the other when he was by way of being 
 awake. 
 
 It was a subject of annual lamentation in the 
 pretty rural village of Arrowfield when Sir Arthur 
 and Miss D' Arcy paid their periodical tour of farewell 
 visits among the humble cottages of their tenantry, 
 where even the poorest dwellings were all adorned 
 with a tapestry of flowers. Though the gardens 
 appeared scarcely larger than a school-boy's slate, it 
 was astonishing upon how small an allowance of soil 
 the country-people contrived to raise very beautiful 
 plants destined to appear in the competition, at 
 which Madelaine awarded a gown for the finest 
 geranium, and a set of China tea-things for the best 
 roses. In the gigantic world of London, she felt it 
 a great diminution of enjoyment to be cut off from 
 the possibility of personally superintending the poor, 
 and the giving of her alms through charitable so- 
 cieties was, to a heart like Madelaine's, com- 
 paratively cold and unsatisfactory ; when she con-
 
 LONDON HOMES. 13 
 
 trasted this with her self-taught schools, her clothing 
 societies, and the joyous hay-making festival, which 
 annually closed her residence at Arrowtield. 
 
 The most unwilling farewell of Madelaine was at 
 the house of a much-respected old cottage-farmer, 
 named Watson, a tenant of Lord Deloraine's, whose 
 only son had for two years been employed as secre- 
 tary and reader by a neighbouring proprietor, Mr. 
 Hargrave ; and whose only daughter, a blooming 
 young village beauty, had received a sound, excel- 
 lent English education by means of Madelaine, who 
 herself taught Fanny Watson much, and who had 
 in former years prevailed on her worthy governess 
 to teach so docile a pupil much more. Fanny, 
 however, learned no superfluous accomplishments 
 unsuitable to her humble station ; for few regretted 
 more than Miss D'Arcy, that now the daughters of 
 small farmers have substituted the piano for the 
 churn, and the speaking of very bad French for the 
 good English common-sense of their grandmothers. 
 Fanny, in the department of music, merely sung her 
 own native ballads and the hymns in church with 
 natural taste and expression ; while she likewise 
 assisted in all the matter-of-fact household arrange- 
 ments of her father's cottage-farm, churning or 
 washing in time to her own gay, lively tunes. 
 
 Like INIiss D'Arcy, any one might have had great
 
 14 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 pleasure in conversing with pretty Fanny Watson, 
 as her natural good sense and religious principles 
 were totally without pretension, while she expressed 
 herself with quiet, unadorned simplicity on what- 
 ever subject within her own sphere might happen to 
 be discussed between herself and Miss D'Arcy or 
 any other casual visitor — and these were very few — to 
 her humble country home. Fanny had lately thought 
 herself extremely presumptuous, and the dreadful 
 truth was buried in the very depths of her own 
 innocent heart, that Lord Deloraine's new factor, 
 Mr. Hartfield, had become an object of very secret 
 and of very deep interest to her. He was such an 
 honest-hearted, straight-forward, thoroughly good 
 man, his age not much above five-and-thirty, that 
 now and then a thought stole into her unsophis- 
 ticated mind, and could not be banished, whether 
 his exceedingly frequent visits could be always in- 
 tended for her father, especially as they were gene- 
 rally paid when her worthy parent was notoriously 
 known to be engaged at the plough or at the 
 market. Be that as it may, the sound of Mr, 
 Hartfield' s quick, animated step approaching never 
 was mistaken by Fanny for any other, and his 
 knock at the door sounded like no other knock ; 
 while her eye instantly sparkled with gladness, her 
 lip quivered with a smile of anticipated pleasure.
 
 LONDON HOMES. 15 
 
 and her marble cheek became steeped in crimson. 
 There was in Fanny's face all the innocent joyous- 
 ness of childhood, and in her figure the round 
 contour of earliest girlhood, while her features ex- 
 pressed the loveliness of character, no less than 
 of form, as she had an aspect of thought occa- 
 sionally far beyond her juvenile years, and at times 
 her azure eyes, beaming with intelhgence, had a 
 melting expression of pathos — a look that seemed 
 appealing to those who observed her for protection 
 and svmpathv. 
 
 Only one living individual might ever be heard 
 to lament what he was pleased to call " Fanny 
 Watson's want of finish," and this was a very 
 important personage who would willingly have 
 "finished" her on a plan of his own. Mr. Duvoi- 
 sier, the travelling servant and general factotum of 
 Lord Deloraine, was quite an "Admirable Crichton" 
 among valets. He had become a perfect Isidore for 
 hair-dressing, and equal to any silversmith for clean- 
 ing the toilette ornaments ; while his complaisance 
 and activity were such, that his master often said, in 
 a tone of consequential approbation, " Duvoisier goes 
 through fire and water every day to serve me." 
 
 Lord Deloraine seldom condescended to reside at 
 his own magnificent residence near Arrowfield, being 
 himself a nobleman who lived not for the domestic
 
 16 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 affections, nor for any pleasures of the heart, but 
 for the pictures, statues and bijouterie of Paris and 
 Rome, for the Itahan Opera on week days ; and on 
 Sundays, as Lord Deloraine was a recently-caught 
 pervert to Romanism, his little atom of intellect 
 found gratification occasionally in the stately cere- 
 monials and exciting music of the Popish Church. 
 Here Lord Deloraine's languid senses were lulled 
 into a state of dreamy unconsciousness, while he sat 
 as if at a morning concert or a sort of Sunday-opera, 
 feeling himself exceedingly good and pious, in par- 
 taking for some hours of melodious sounds and 
 intoxicating perfumes, as well as in watching the 
 bowing, and pirouetting, and processions of the mag- 
 nificently-dressed priests. 
 
 Lord Deloraine never kept up more than a tem- 
 porary establishment, hurriedly gathered together 
 from London, as a mere make-shift, during his short 
 and unwilling residences at the castle of his ances- 
 tors ; and Duvoisier continued always Premier, as 
 well as Chancellor of the Exchequer. Very profitable 
 sinecures he contrived to make them both. He 
 beguiled his many hours of leisure more and more 
 frequently by picking his steps towards Arrowfield, 
 where, on pretext of having some indispensable 
 commission for Farmer Watson, he called when 
 there could not be a chance of finding him at home,
 
 LONDON HOMES. 17 
 
 and delivered his message to Fanny, who hlushingly 
 received the great man's commands relative to butter, 
 pigs, poultry, eggs, ham and bacon. 
 
 " What a change from all I remember in the late 
 Lord's time!" observed honest Jack Ilartfield, me- 
 ditatively, switching his top-boots, and looking at 
 Fanny, while addressing her father. " We used to 
 have six gigantic footmen in livery always about 
 that deserted-looking, ill-used house ! We called 
 the men canary-birds on account of their state dress 
 being yellow, and there were three men in plain 
 clothes to superintend the footmen in doing no- 
 thing." 
 
 "What a dairy you had then!" added Farmer 
 Watson, condolingly. " Sixteen Alderney cows to 
 supply the Castle!" 
 
 "Yes! we might have filled the cistern, and 
 turned the spout one way for milk and the other 
 for cream. There was no need then for a strutting 
 foreigner, in yellow gloves and moustachios, to 
 purchase farm produce from the small tenants. We 
 had a self-contained estabhshment, with baker, 
 butcher, carpenter, gamekeeper, and what not, all 
 handsome and complete ; an English chaplain also, 
 who gave us prayers every morning and night ; but 
 my late master was every inch of him an English 
 Lord." 
 
 c
 
 18 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 " Ah, Master Hartfield," answered "Watson, sor- 
 rowfully. " Them foreign ways are the ruin of my 
 Wilhe, ever since Mr. Duvoisier began to keep com- 
 pany with him. The silly lad thinks it stylish to 
 copy that grand-looking man in his filthy habit of 
 smoking ; and his wages, that he used to spend 
 in good, sensible books or clothes, now find their 
 way to Lundy Foote." 
 
 " Nature seems to warn young men against that 
 extravagance, by making it sickening and loathsome 
 at first," said Hartfield ; " but woe to those who over- 
 come that salutary impediment ! Duvoisier is a bad 
 companion for your son, Mr. Watson; and I suspect 
 he has an object in trying to ruin him." 
 
 Hartfield glanced anxiously towards Fanny, who was, 
 with her beautiful arms bared, and up to the elbows in 
 flour, baking most delicious bread, yet evidently 
 listening intelligently to all that passed. " From 
 smoking, Duvoisier has led Willie on to drink ; from 
 drink, it is but an easy step onwards to poaching ; 
 and from poaching, few stop short of robbery." 
 
 "Oh no. Sir!" exclaimed Fanny, turning hurriedly 
 round, her very soul in her eyes ; " there can be no 
 fear of WiUie ! He would burn off his right hand, 
 rather than poach or steal." 
 
 " Yes, Fanny, till Duvoisier took him to the gin- 
 shop, and that is the grave of all honesty or hap-
 
 LONDON HOMES. 19 
 
 piness," answered Hartfield, mournfully ; and then 
 he added, with friendly earnestness, " Keep "Willie 
 away from Duvoisier to-day. Let them not be 
 another evening together. He is a deep, bad man. 
 He has Lord Deloraine's ear ; and he is plotting for 
 WilUe's ruin, and for your destruction, Fanny. Let 
 not your brother go back this day to the Castle. 
 More than life depends on your keeping him to-night 
 at home." 
 
 " Tell me more," said Fanny, unconsciously grasp- 
 ing the arm of Hartfield, and looking up at him, her 
 face scarlet with emotion. "Tell me all !" 
 
 " You see, Fanny, the only very English feeling 
 his Lordship has remaining, is about preserving his 
 game ; and there are poachers out here every night. 
 I have my own dark suspicions about who they are, 
 and have traced them to his liOrdship's very gate. 
 Mr. Duvoisier sends boxes to a poulterer in London 
 regularly by the carrier, and he makes a point that 
 WilUe shall be the person to deliver them. Duvoi- 
 sier will ruin all your family, Fanny, in hopes to 
 pick you out of the wreck for himself." 
 
 Fanny sat down pale with apprehension, while 
 Hartfield continued : " He is one of those, only of late 
 known in England, who believe they may do any evil, 
 provided good come to themselves and their Church ! 
 See how he has given you that grand new edition of 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 the ' Pilgrim's Progress/ altered by the Papists to 
 suit themselves ; so that honest John Bunyan, the 
 Puritan, is made to talk rank Popery." 
 
 " Yes," replied Fanny, smiling, " there will soon 
 be a Roman Catholic edition of ' Goody-Two-Shoes,' 
 and a Popish reprint of ' Paradise Lost.' " 
 
 " Every night at the Castle," continued Plartfield, 
 " Mr. Duvoisier has drinking and dice till morning. 
 His Lordship's cellar stands wide open to Mr. Du- 
 voisier's friends, and none of them are on the water 
 cure ; they prefer the port-and-sherry cure, the gin- 
 and-whisky cure, and nightly steep their sense of 
 right or wrong in drunken forgetfulness. Take 
 Willie away this very hour, for Duvoisier' s conduct 
 must be investigated to-morrow," 
 
 " I wish we could keep Willie here, Mr. Hartfield, 
 and many thanks to you for the friendly advice," 
 replied Fanny with tearful earnestness. "It was a 
 dark hour of sorrow for us all when that frightfully 
 grand Mr. Duvoisier first cast his evil eye on this 
 house." 
 
 " I am glad you think so, Fanny, very glad 
 indeed," said Hartfield, with an extremely approv- 
 ing glance at her lovely young countenance, for he 
 thought there never had been a more sensible obser- 
 vation. •' There is a sort of a something in my 
 mind — call it magnetism or what you will — that
 
 LONDON HOMES. 21 
 
 warns me against an evil man, and I never felt the 
 instinct so strongly as in looking at Duvoisicr." 
 
 " The power gained by one person's mind over 
 another's is very unaccomitable," said Fanny, 
 thoughtfully. " Mr. Duvoisier first got hold of 
 poor Willie's vanity by saying he was much too 
 good to be nibbing pens from morning till night. 
 Then he knocked up an intimacy with him at the 
 racket-court, and as soon as Willie was enticed into 
 the gin-shop all hope became destroyed. Instead of 
 coming home in an evening to walk with me and to 
 read together, he goes with Mr. Duvoisier to a 
 penny concert of very bad music ; and the wicked 
 foreigner presses glass after glass on him, saying in 
 joke : ' If you get into the watch-house I'll bail you 
 out.' Willie is always complaisantly ready to split 
 his sides at any joke of Mr. Duvoisier's, and so it all 
 ends in drunkenness and misery that breaks our 
 hearts at home. If Mr. Duvoisier thinks such con- 
 duct would recommend him to me, he is frightfully 
 mistaken." 
 
 " I warned Willie against Duvoisier in vain ; but 
 I am glad, Fanny, that your own good sense has 
 warned you ! I have lived five and thirty years in 
 this pleasant old world, and must appear quite a 
 Methuselah, I fear, to a young girl like you, Fanny, 
 but in all these years I never saw an eye less to be
 
 22 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 trusted than Duvoisier's. He is a bad and thoroughly- 
 dangerous man." 
 
 " His power over "WilUe is like that of the cat 
 over the mouse ! If Mr. Duvoisier but looks as if 
 he wished my brother would do or say anything, it 
 is done." 
 
 " Well, Fanny ! keep yourself to yourself, and 
 keep Mr. Duvoisier at the greatest distance you 
 possibly can. That is the advice of a sincere friend, 
 and of one who would be more than a friend if he 
 dared make you the offer," said honest Jack Hart- 
 field, unwillingly rising to go. "Lock up your 
 brother in a cellar or garret if you can, to keep him 
 from Mr. Duvoisier's arts. Your father, who owes 
 all his prosperity in life to avoiding the gin-shop, 
 would die of a broken heart if he knew all that I 
 know already, and all that I dread to discover to- 
 night. Send an express to that den of iniquity the 
 gin-shop, now for Willie. Make any pretext ; take 
 to your bed and be ill, but entice your brother away 
 and make him prisoner, or he may soon be a pri- 
 soner in less agreeable hands." 
 
 Fanny's trembhng might almost be heard, as she 
 listened with grief and terror to the earnest language 
 of Jack Hartfield, which tallied only too well with 
 her own previous apprehensions, and hastily throwing 
 a dark shawl over her tidy gingham dress, she
 
 LONDON HOMES. 23 
 
 changed her neat house-shoes for very substantial 
 boots and hurrying to wlicre her father was at work, 
 proposed that tliey should walk together instantly to 
 the village, and that there, the respectable old farmer 
 should himself be seen for once in his life entering 
 the gin-shop. 
 
 To bring Willie away in their own affectionate 
 custody seemed to Fanny's sanguine young heart 
 no difficult task, as she walked with a light spring- 
 ing step by her excellent father's side, picking up a 
 brilliant collection of wild flowers, listening to the 
 bird-concert of a thousand songsters all singing 
 their evening hymn among the overhanging oaks, 
 and thinking, with eyes that sparkled and cheeks 
 that glowed, of the first distant hint she had ever 
 received from Jack Hartfield, that he might one 
 day be more than a friend and dearer than a brother 
 to her. 
 
 There was not a single article of any value in the 
 cottage at Meadowburn, therefore, though Watson's 
 only servant had gone to the nearest market-town, 
 Fanny merely closed the door on the latch, leaving 
 her clean little home, with its wooden chairs, horn 
 spoons and pewter dishes, to take care of itself. For 
 what possible object then could it be, that Mr. 
 Duvoisier concealed himself behind an old thorn- 
 tree, till the farmer and his daughter were out of
 
 24 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 siglit ? Why did he then carefully inspect the 
 stack-yard and then glide noiselessly into the house ? 
 Nothing ever appeared within these homely, respect- 
 able walls that Mr. Duvoisier would naturally have 
 condescended to cast his eye upon for a moment, 
 except pretty Fanny herself, yet there he remained 
 during a long half-hour, and on coming out, Mr. 
 Duvoisier, looking extremely pale, no longer carried 
 in his hand a packet which had accompanied him 
 into the cottage, and which had seemed of a bulk 
 and weight not likely to let itself be forgotten. Mr. 
 Duvoisier gave a final glance at the thatched roof of 
 the pretty farm-house and at the enormous hay- 
 stack, then having devoutly kissed a little crucifix 
 that hung round his neck he stealthily departed, 
 without once again venturing to look round. 
 
 Every position in life has its duties, and the sooner 
 a man finds out his own, and acts up to them, the 
 happier he is, but the absentee Lord Deloraine, who 
 knew nothing of his tenantry, and seldom kept the 
 same servant as long as a year, could little conceive 
 how much any man is his own enemy who does not 
 make humble friends of all who serve iu his house 
 or live on his estate. He merely considered himself a 
 privileged idler with no reciprocal duties, therefore 
 he received his rents with apathetic indifference, and 
 a supercilious unconsciousness that his tenants had
 
 LONDON HOMES. 25 
 
 any claim in return. In his aimless existence, Lord 
 Deloraine thought he had done the whole duty of 
 man, and considerably more, when he surrounded 
 himself with all the baubles of superstition ; and very 
 soon indeed, if he died, no evidence would be left of 
 his reign over the extensive estates, except his por- 
 trait in the family gallery and his tombstone in the 
 family burying-ground. Lord Deloraine had the 
 very worst opinion of the lower orders, and took 
 every opportunity to express it. They were only 
 honest as long as they were not detected thieves, 
 and only truthful till their lies were found out. 
 
 Nothing is more dangerous than to diminish the 
 self-respect of servants and of children ; but for the 
 slightest oifence or omission, Duvosier had to stand 
 silent and respectful while Lord Deloraine indulged 
 his humour by the most angry vituperation, accusing 
 the whole establishment of every imaginable crime. 
 Had Lord Deloraine actually believed Duvoisier 
 guilty of half what he said, Newgate would have 
 been much too good for him ; yet, though his Lord- 
 ship was a man of furious passions and uncontrol- 
 able tongue, there was an anger more formidable, 
 because more deadly than that of Lord Delo- 
 raine, merely venting itself in curses and impreca- 
 tions. Any one who had watched the still, cold, 
 imperturbable demeanour of Duvoisier, while his
 
 26 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 lips became white, his eyes flashed, and his hands 
 clutched the chair behind which he stood, might 
 have said that the storm and tempest which raged 
 externally were mere child's play to the burning 
 volcano concealed under snow. 
 
 In spite of his imaginary accusations against 
 Duvoisier, all dictated merely by ebullitions of 
 temper against a man who dared not retaliate, Lord 
 Deloraine was completely taken by surprise late one 
 evening, when the news of his own household reached 
 him, that Duvoisier had been detected in the f^t of 
 bagging fifteen pheasants for the London market, 
 and that with his supposed accomplice, Willie Wat- 
 son, he was in custody. The struggle to arrest these 
 criminals had been desperate, indeed ; and Jack 
 Hartfield was reported severely wounded by a gun- 
 shot in the right side. An examination immediately 
 took place of the splendid gold plate long kept 
 under the care of Duvoisier, when it appeared that 
 some very valuable racing-cups had been abstracted, 
 of which the chief criminal could or would give no 
 account ; and both culprits were at once locked up, in 
 safe keeping at Deloraine Castle until the proper 
 authorities could be summoned for taking them into 
 legal custody. 
 
 The patents of Chubb and Bramah would be of 
 little use if all men were as skilful blacksmiths as
 
 LONDON HOMES. 27 
 
 Duvoisier, and next morning the astonished servants 
 awoke to the consciousness that their office of turnkey- 
 had not heen sufficiently performed by those left in 
 charge, as the watchers were sound asleep, the door 
 wide open, and the two prisoners absent without 
 leave. 
 
 Instantly the whole neighbourhood became roused ; 
 an active pursuit took place, electric telegraphs were 
 set flying in every direction, placards were hung on 
 every wall, and it seemed impossible that Duvoisier 
 should escape the Argus eyes of the poUce or their 
 Briareus hands, yet no tidings came of the felon 
 Duvoisier, evidently practised in every ingenious 
 device to escape justice. His boxes were, however, 
 stopped at the railway-office, where they had been 
 lodged the day before ; and it was evident that the 
 villain had meditated an early flight, as even his 
 clothes were all found in readiness for a sudden 
 departure. 
 
 Old Watson and his pretty daughter Fanny, were 
 finishing an early peep-of-day breakfast, when two 
 men suddenly appeared at the window, and after 
 reconnoitering to ascertain that no strangers were 
 there, Willie Watson strode into the room, fol- 
 lowed by Duvoisier. The wretched young man 
 betraying every evidence of recent intoxication, 
 seemed to have been sobered by intense suffering ;
 
 28 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 and with a face livid as death, and an expression of 
 dream-Uke horror, stood before his father in me- 
 lancholy silence, while Duvoisier, with such a coun- 
 tenance that any judge might have been justified in 
 finding him guilty of any crime without a trial, 
 broke out into a painful laugh as he looked con- 
 temptuously at his miserable companion, saying : 
 
 "You must get the duck-pond filled with gin, 
 to satisfy this jovial fellow ! He is a perfect sand- 
 bag for imbibing the right stuff — the fire-water, as 
 Indians call it." 
 
 Fanny turned hurriedly away, and, to hide the 
 starting tears, pretended to busy herself in tidying 
 the room, rinsing the breakfast things, sweepitig out 
 the hearth, and clearing oif imaginary dust from the 
 large old Bible ; while Duvoisier secretly watched 
 her active proceedings, which had in them a native 
 grace, that belonged he thought to nobody but 
 Fanny Watson. Never had she shrunk more mani- 
 festly from his approach than now ; and a dark 
 frown gathered upon Duvoisier's face, as he said, in 
 an accent of gloomy reproach, " Have you not one 
 word this morning for your brother's friend?" 
 
 " His friend /" exclaimed Fanny, with a sudden 
 burst of irrepressible indignation; "his worst enemy 
 and mine. Till you misled Willie, Mr. Duvoisier, 
 he was the pride of our hearts, and now he is
 
 LONDON HOMES. 29 
 
 breaking them. My poor father ! This grief will 
 kill him." 
 
 "I wish it would," muttered Duvoisier; and then 
 added aloud, " You shall never want a protector, 
 Fanny." 
 
 "I want one to protect me from your visits," 
 replied Fanny ; while a deep blush, that loveliest 
 ornament of nature on a girl's cheek, gave new 
 beauty to a countenance, young and bright as early 
 morning, " You are the dark cloud that has come 
 between us and happiness ! Look at Willie to-day 
 — more like a drunken poacher than an honest 
 labourer ! Oh ! to think of what he was, in his 
 sober, industrious days, at Mr. Hargrave's, only 
 two short months ago!" 
 
 " You are very fierce with me to-day. Miss Fanny ! 
 Your brother is certainly of the persuadable class ; 
 therefore, think what he may be two short months 
 hence, if you treat me as you do," said Duvoisier, 
 approaching Fanny, who stood with mournful firm- 
 ness, steadfastly looking at him, till a dark, red 
 Hush overspread his whole countenance. " Willie's 
 character for life is in my power." 
 
 " Not now. His character is destroyed for ever," 
 answered Fanny, bursting into an agony of tears ; 
 " and it is not in your power to restore that." 
 
 "True enough," replied Duvoisier, maHciously ;
 
 30 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 "and if the jail had its due, where would "Willie 
 have been this morning ?" 
 
 " He would have come here without you," said 
 Fanny, emphatically, while her heart throbbed with 
 indignant agitation. 
 
 " Then listen!" exclaimed Duvoisier, stamping his 
 foot with rage, till the very floor quivered ; " Willie 
 Watson's life is in my power — and yours — and your 
 father's!" 
 
 " Impossible ! quite impossible ! My excellent 
 father is under the safe protection of his own good 
 conduct ; and though WiUie has been foolish lately 
 in his choice of a companion, whom it is needless to 
 name, I am sure you cannot make him criminal." 
 
 " As the man said. Miss Fanny, who cut down a 
 mountain with a pickaxe, ' Little by little,' " an- 
 swered Duvoisier, in a surly tone. " Innoculate any 
 man with a love of drink, and the whole eruption of 
 sins will follow of course. A Hon is scarcely a wild 
 beast till he has tasted blood, and a man is his own 
 master till he has got a thirst for gin ; but then he 
 is the willing slave of whoever will supply his 
 craving. Make a man drunk, and the beasts that 
 perish are his superiors." 
 
 " True!" observed old Watson, mournfully shaking 
 his venerable head, as he gazed at Willie's disorderly 
 aspect. "The first drop too much that a man
 
 LONDON HOMES. 31 
 
 swallows is his first taste of hell ; and the only 
 reformed drunkard in my long life I ever knew, 
 told me that the habit once acquired, no hell on 
 earth is so torturing as the sensations of those who 
 try to leave it off." 
 
 "As for Willie," continued Duvoisier, furiously, 
 " if search were made in this house, enough would 
 be found, Miss Fanny, to hang more than one. 
 Appearances have hung many an honester man than 
 your brother." 
 
 " What can you mean ?" exclaimed Fanny, start- 
 ing with a look of grief and apprehension. " I wish 
 Mr. Hartfield were here." 
 
 "Hartfield! Let me tell you Hartfield is dead?" 
 replied Duvoisier, watching with ill-concealed malig- 
 nity the withering effect of his announcement on the 
 startled Fanny, who scarcely knew for a moment 
 whether her head were on her shoulders or not. 
 She clenched her trembling hands together, and 
 listened with agonized astonishment, while Duvoisier 
 added sternly, " He was shot in an affray with 
 poachers last night. I wish they could kill him 
 again, for he cannot be too dead !" 
 
 Fanny at these dreadful words sank into a chair ; 
 an ashy paleness was on her cheek, while she covered 
 her face with her hands, in a mute and boundless 
 consternation of grief. At this moment, the heavy
 
 32 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 tread of many footsteps was heard on the road ; 
 suppressed voices became audible, as if approaching, 
 and Duvoisier, crunching his teeth with fury as he 
 observed the intruders, made a hurried signal to his 
 companion, sprung himself at a single bound out of 
 the window, and disappeared into the shrubbery, fol- 
 lowed closely by Willie Watson, 
 
 Famiy never afterwards forgot the look Duvoisier 
 gave as he left her ; his dark brow contracted into a 
 heavy frown, his teeth rivetted on his under-lip till 
 the blood seemed ready to start, and his eye gleam- 
 ing with excited passion ; but scarcely was he gone 
 before a troop of the villagers from Arrowfield rushed 
 into the house. They came in pursuit of the two 
 fugitives, and being irritated at having so narrowly 
 missed capturing them, they proceeded minutely and 
 almost angrily to inspect the cottage. There at 
 length the vigilant searchers succeeded in finding 
 a packet, concealed apparently with much skill and 
 caution among the articles of Fanny's wardrobe, 
 and loud shouts of astonishment greeted the dis- 
 covery of a cup and other articles recently missed 
 from Deloraine Castle. The glittering treasure was 
 hurriedly displayed, and looked to the simple vil- 
 lagers like a Californian mine suddenly brought to 
 light. 
 
 Fanny and her father felt their eyes blasted at
 
 LONDON HOMES. 33 
 
 beholding what seemed even to them an indisputable 
 evidence of Willie being a guilty felon ; but it was 
 long before the most distant idea occurred to these 
 honest heart-stricken beings, that any suspicion 
 could attach to themselves of having knowingly re- 
 ceived these stolen goods. In the long and silent 
 pause which ensued, however, there were invidious 
 looks exchanged among the spectators, which soon 
 led to more invidious whispers; and Fanny suddenly 
 awoke to the overwhelmiua; consciousness that her 
 father's chai'acter and her own were perhaps involved 
 in this dreadful and most unaccountable discovery. 
 
 There are times in the existence of every living 
 mortal, when it seems the Divine Will, in His own 
 inscrutable wisdom, to try the heart of each indi- 
 vidual by a rapid succession of heavy blows, as if to 
 test what is the utmost power of human endurance ; 
 that the Christian may thus find, not only how 
 feeble is every support in this world, but also that 
 he may experience what abundant strength may be 
 given by right principle, to steer safely, as well as 
 cheerfully, through the storm. 
 
 The silent sorrow of Farmer Watson was more 
 sad and hopeless than any passionate burst of grief, 
 while Fanny seemed to herself in a dream of anguish, 
 such as must extinguish life itself, when she per- 
 ceived what was suspected by the villagers, and when 
 
 D
 
 34 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 she thought of Mr. Hartfiekl's sudden fate. Feel- 
 ings that she had scarcely allowed herself to indulge, 
 now told her how deeply and truly she had loved 
 him, and how faithfully he would have befriended 
 her father and herself now. 
 
 There is nothing so melancholy as to look in the 
 face of any one who has suffered some great misfor- 
 tune, of which he is not yet conscious; and as Fanny 
 saw her father quite unaware that a breath of sus- 
 picion could rest on his honest name, and reflected 
 that her own character for integrity might perhaps 
 now be suddenly and most unjustly blighted, all 
 combined to weigh her down in utter hopelessness, 
 had she not looked to the right source of comfort, 
 inwardly praying for help and direction ; while she 
 hurriedly prepared to go to the Castle, and there 
 deliver up the missing plate, as well as i-elate her 
 own simple story. 
 
 Who is that dark and gloomy man, lurking alone 
 about the garden at Meadowburn, and again gliding 
 into the empty house, his face bloated with recent 
 intoxication } What has he rifled from old Wat- 
 son's desk ? and whence come those flames, bursting 
 suddenly from the thatched roof and stack-yard, 
 spreading destruction around on every side.? Should 
 the aged farmer now be released, he has not a 
 farthing left, a roof to cover him, nor even his well-
 
 LONDON HOMES. 35 
 
 earned character, untarnished, to console and support 
 him ! 
 
 Had Lord Deloraine been an Enghsh Peer of the 
 good old school, he would have known something of 
 his own tenantry, small and great ; but being a 
 continentalized foreigner in heart and in feelings, 
 conversant with pictures and statues more than with 
 human sympathies or with simple minds, he took 
 but one view of the evidence against old Watson 
 and Fanny. Duvoisier he denounced as undeniably 
 a villain of the deepest dye. He had trusted the rascal 
 with untold gold, of which Duvoisier never had 
 to trouble his indolent master with any account, 
 as the confidential valet merely laid down an empty 
 purse on his Lordship's table when it needed 
 replenishment, and came for it again when reloaded 
 with sovereigns. It never occurred to Lord Delo- 
 raine that if this easy arrangement did not turn out 
 advantageous to both parties, some blame might 
 attach to himself for leading another into such 
 fearful temptation; but he inveighed generally 
 against the ingratitude of Duvoisier, as well as 
 against servants in general, and poor people in par- 
 ticular ; after which, Fanny and her father had the 
 anguish to hear themselves included in one sweeping 
 condemnation, as having encouraged Duvoisier's 
 addresses, and received his stolen goods. Lord 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 Deloraine remarked, in conclusion, that he knew 
 the ItaUan peasantry well; and that the banditti 
 between Naples and Rome made their women 
 most willing, as well as most efficient agents in 
 concealing their booty, and in disposing of it. 
 
 Lord Deloraine' s dignified indignation made a 
 deep impression on the listening villagers. They 
 had always, till now, thought well of Farmer Watson, 
 who seemed afraid of nothing but to do wrong ; 
 while Fanny appeared modest and industrious to 
 excess. " But," observed Mrs. Gresham, the 
 grocer's wife, and chief oracle of Arrowfield, " his 
 Lordship knows best, and has inquired into the 
 business. I had a bad opinion always of foreigners 
 in mustachios ! Give me good English broadcloth 
 without, and a warm heart within." 
 
 This worthy woman was one of those personages 
 with bustle and noise enough for any six ordinary 
 people, and if her marvellous activity had been 
 turned to its legitimate objects, she might have been 
 happy and useful ; but Mrs. Gresham looked so far 
 out into the world for supernumerary duties, that 
 she unfortunately never had time for the nearer 
 domestic concerns belonging to that situation in 
 which God had placed her. Engrossed with " teles- 
 copic philanthropy," it scarcely ever happened that 
 she was busy about her own especial sphere of
 
 LONDON HOMES. 37 
 
 action. INIrs. Gresliam's children were the most 
 ignorant and unruly in Arrowfield, but she assisted 
 most diligently to teach an infant-school in the 
 suburbs ; her own house was filthy, and her own 
 husband's dinner ill-cooked, but Mrs. Gresham 
 superintended a soup-kitchen in the neighbouring 
 street; and though her own boys appeared in dresses 
 only fit for the rag-shop, Mrs. Gresham was vice- 
 president of a clothing society. While, therefore, 
 she superintended a temperance coifee-house, her 
 husband was seldom at his own comfortless home, 
 and still seldomcr sober when there ; and some 
 village-gossips hinted that Dick Gresham would 
 much rather have gone to any prison on the silent 
 system than to his own house, where Mrs. Gresham 
 daily took the trouble to show him that everything 
 he said was foolish, and everything he did was 
 wrong. 
 
 Mrs. Gresham' s religion was not like the sun's 
 rays, shining warmest and brightest on the nearest 
 object, yet extending their beneficial effects more 
 widely, though more faintly, to their farther ex- 
 tremities ; but with her, the duty of Christians 
 seemed so generalized over the whole earth, that 
 her interest was coldest within the focus of her own 
 family, and even of her own heart. " Home ! home ! 
 look at home for your first duties and pleasures," 
 had been the frequent but utterly vain exhortation
 
 38 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 of Sir Arthur D'Arcy to Mrs. Gresham. " Let 
 your Christian charity begin at home, but let it not 
 end there." 
 
 About a month after Duvoisier's escape. Sir 
 Arthur walked down St. James's Street, surrounded 
 as usual by as many lively, good-humoured friends 
 as could reasonably monopolize the footpath, and all 
 were in a rallying state of most animated discussion. 
 
 " I quite agree with you, D'Arcy," exclaimed Lord 
 Chobham, " that there is no club in the universe to 
 compare with yours, and I would give the head off 
 my shoulders — no great gift after all — to be a mem- 
 ber ; but ones name must be down for five years, and 
 in this odd, changeable world, it is useless to care 
 what shall happen to any of us in five long years ! 
 For my own part, I seldom look forward five days !" 
 
 " It is amazing how rapidly any fixed time, how- 
 ever distant, seems to come round," replied Sir 
 Arthur, in a pleasant tone of mingled seriousness 
 and humour. " Do you recollect, Chobham, our 
 walking on this very pavement, the day I was 
 elected a member of my club, exactly five years ago, 
 and our then having precisely this conversation. I 
 recommended you to become a candidate, and you 
 said, that this very time, now arrived, was such an 
 eternity off, you could not stretch forth your thoughts 
 so far." 
 
 " I believe you are right, D'Arcy, as you always
 
 LONDON HOMES. 39 
 
 are ; but it is of no use to lament over spilled brandy. 
 Those past five years are fled, and nobody the better 
 for them, least of all myself, yet I am more than 
 ever disinclined to prepare for along-distant future." 
 
 *' Then, what would you say, Chobham, were I to 
 announce that my first act on entering the Club, 
 five years ago, was to put your name down as a can- 
 didate, that you were ballotted for to-day, that the 
 most agreeable man in London was not black-balled, 
 and that my honourable friend, if he will permit me 
 to call him so, is now a member." 
 
 "D'Arcy! Do you mean to say that I need 
 only pay my subscription and walk in ? You were 
 always the very best fellow on earth ! Well, I am 
 sure the oldest inhabitant of the club — of my club — 
 remembers nothing more extraordinary." 
 
 " The new member will rather astonish us, some- 
 times, Chobham. In our school-days, it would have 
 taken ten commonly mischievous boys to make one 
 Chobham, and now, as a lively, rattling, too-happy- 
 for-this-world attacM; you really do startle one 
 sometimes." 
 
 •' No wonder ! most of your other friends come 
 into society looking more as if they had tired of 
 staying at home than as if they expected any plea- 
 sure from coming out ; but I defy any one to make 
 me dull. The Club has done a wise thing in admit-
 
 40 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 ting me, and they sliall know it ! In our family at 
 home, when an intimate friend dies, we immediately 
 have a ballot to see who shall succeed him, and a 
 vacancy is likely to occur soon, therefore, one of 
 your members shall be appointed successor," 
 
 " I hope the first vacancy will be caused by your 
 discarding that rather scampish friend of yours, Mr. 
 Hargrave." 
 
 " Why, I cannot quite defend him. He certainly 
 is too bad, running into debt on so liberal a scale ; 
 but as long as he keeps so incomparable a cook, I 
 must put my opinion of the man himself in my 
 pocket. It certainly is a perfect Mystery of Udol- 
 pho how Hargrave puts his creditors to sleep ; but 
 he calls his father always ' the Relieving Officer.' " 
 
 " Hargrave is one of those regardless-of-expense 
 men always living on his own last shilling, and always 
 squandering other peoples," observed Sir Arthur, 
 gravely. " His last failure ruined all his own tenants 
 and several of Lord Deloraine's. One respectable 
 family, the Watsons, between a fire and that bank- 
 ruptcy, became utterly penniless, and have disap- 
 peared altogether; but I am trying to trace them 
 out, for they were most deserving people. How 
 strange that Hargrave should have given so splendid 
 a ball last night ; and had you no scruple about 
 going ?"
 
 LONDON HOMES. 41 
 
 " Oh dear no ! The creditors all got a dividend 
 in ices and champagne. One of the malcontents, 
 very ill-naturedly put a paragraph in the newspapers 
 next morning, to this effect : ' We are happy to 
 announce, that owing to his having found a bot- 
 tomless purse of gold, Mr. Hargrave proposes paying 
 one shilling in the pound, partly to defray that 
 enormous debt of ^€70,000 which he still owes to 
 those defrauded tradesmen of London who trusted 
 him.' " 
 
 "That was giving Hargrave a dig in the side! 
 His honourable-minded son, too, declined being 
 bought into the Guards with money gained by the 
 last fraudulent bankruptcy ; but there is not suffi- 
 cient moral indignation now in the world against 
 those who cannot pay their just debts, if they can 
 pay, however dishonestly, their way into society. 
 I am told Hargrave has produced only sixpence in 
 the pound !" 
 
 "So much! I wonder where he borrowed it! 
 Now, D'Arcy, you are dull enough to be talking 
 sense, and that is a crime I never encourage. Har- 
 grave, poor fellow, says he is the victim of circum- 
 stances, and that he is ruined by his taste for the 
 beautiful. He gives me a very bad account of his 
 wine-merchant. The fellow actually sent in his bill, 
 yesterday ! Such conduct, as he remarked, must
 
 42 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 not be allowed while this world is a world, and we 
 must discard him from serving our club if he mal- 
 treats the gentlemen who belong to it." 
 
 " Is Mr. Hargrave a gentleman ? That I deny." 
 
 " Order ! order ! He is my friend, and right or 
 wrong I must fight his battles." 
 
 " With any weapon, I suppose, from a pin to a 
 cannon-ball." 
 
 " Yes ! I defend my friends ; but you may 
 take your will of my relations, D'Arcy. Har- 
 grave would never do so ungentlemanlike a thing 
 as my old uncle Sir Peter Gerrard, at his own table, 
 yesterday. He is that mean sort of man who would 
 lock up his money, and he muddles it all away in 
 paying his debts. Sir Peter grudges himself every- 
 thing. If health were to be sold for so much a yard, 
 he would not allow himself above half-a-yard ! and 
 he grudges one a pinch of snuff from his box. At 
 table, he gives ferociously bad wine, and actually 
 when we called for another bottle of Madeira yester- 
 day, he slily touched the cape of his coat to show 
 his butler that it should be Cape Madeira. I shall 
 never forgive him — never ! It would have been 
 equivalent to ordering my coffin had I drank such 
 trash !" 
 
 " You would become quite a connoisseur in water, 
 that day."
 
 LONDON HOMES. 43 
 
 " I consider it a perfect cheat if any one has my 
 society at his table under a bottle of claret, for I 
 am well worth that ; but Sir Peter would not, if he 
 could help it, give me a glass of toast and water — 
 plain water,, perhaps, but even that with a grudge. 
 He would save the grease on an engine till it blew 
 up ! Sir Peter, at above eighty, has recovered from 
 the influenza, therefore I shall never believe in ill- 
 nesses again. lie must be the "Wandering Jew! 
 You might buy an annuity yet on the old fellow's 
 life ! One is constantly hearing of people being 
 very ill now ; but they never seem to die. In fact, 
 nothing ever happens. Even in politics, people 
 make a great outcry for a short time, and then every- 
 thing stagnates down into quietness again. I do 
 wish something extraordinary might happen to stir 
 us all up." 
 
 " You would not mind if the wheels of a revolu- 
 tionary car were to go a little way round, for mere 
 excitement, Chobham, provided only you held a 
 check- string to stop our progress when the joke 
 looked at all serious. Do not forget, however, that 
 while you and I have much to lose, there are thou- 
 sands within a ten minutes' walk to whom any change 
 must be for the better— desperate men, who rise 
 every morning not knowing where to obtain a meal, 
 who would find a cell in Newgate, luxury compared
 
 44 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 with their own Loudon Homes, and who are very 
 naturally reckless of all consequences. If a revolu- 
 tionary riot once began in London, it might become 
 perfectly unstoppable, as a rock descending a hill 
 grows every moment more unmanageable, for we 
 are heedlessly forgetting how the dangerous classes 
 are becoming every day more numerous, more 
 wretched, more given to intoxication, and more 
 desperate." 
 
 " Yes, thanks to those gin-palaces, and their cheap 
 concerts every night, the poor man spends his last 
 penny and the starving man his last farthing on 
 getting deliriously drunk every night, and purchasing 
 a moment's forgetfulness. I go into these places 
 often, merely as a study of human nature in its 
 lowest degradation, and sometimes wonder whether 
 hell itself can furnish a picture of greater misery, 
 than that of a trembling wretch staggering in all the 
 horror of delirium tremens, and his still more 
 wretched but equally drunken wife abusing him, 
 while he retaliates by beating her," 
 
 " What a contrast to such men as Farmer Watson, 
 Lord Deloraine's good, worthy tenant, of whom I am 
 now in search. Till he was ruined by a wicked 
 drunkard, who misled his son, that cottage-home 
 was a very model of sober, industrious felicity. 
 When I think of his trim little garden, his tidy
 
 LONDON HOMES. 45 
 
 parlour, his thriving poultry, his very pigs so clean, 
 and his active, pretty daughter, watching her old 
 father with an affection that never slumbered, while 
 night after night they read the Bible together, my 
 heart burns with indignation to think that in my 
 absence, the poor souls were ruined and intimidated 
 by a heartless villain, till they have wandered away, 
 no mortal can guess where. I greatly fear they 
 must have been ensnared by forged letters, or by 
 some villainous trick ; but if Farmer Watson be 
 above ground, he must and shall be found. I have 
 employed all the detective police to trace him, as if 
 the honest man were a criminal of the deepest dye ; 
 and if one could hope that he ever saw the ' Times,' 
 I would insert an advertisement to-morrow, desiring 
 him to communicate instantly with his inconsolable 
 neighbour. He certainly would then hear some- 
 thing very much to his advantage. Good, honest 
 Watson ! where are you ? and where is your excel- 
 lent industrious daughter?" 
 
 " Ah ! that anxiety comes of living on your own 
 property, D'Arcy. You hear too many romances of 
 real life, and you are always in trouble about some 
 of these people ! They have sons to be provided for, 
 or daughters to be married off; but my uncle at 
 Deloraine Castle knows no more of his tenants as 
 individuals than of his sheep upon the mountain-
 
 16 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 side. Whether they get fat or starve, is no matter 
 to Lord Deloraine at Florence, provided he only 
 receives his whole rent, to pay the Italian Opera- 
 singers, and the Italian priests — who are rather the 
 most expensive, we find, of the two. The one would 
 leave my uncle with little, but the other would leave 
 him with nothing." 
 
 Madelaine D'Arcy, who had all the pretty ways 
 of a comic child, jestingly told Lord Chobham next 
 day that he certainly had what the Scotch call " a 
 bee in his bonnet," but that his bee rather tended 
 to a wasp. Lively as she always was, it became 
 impossible for her not to be startled at the strange 
 tricks he delighted in describing, as having been 
 played off by himself, generally on the impromptu 
 spur of the moment. These he related to his 
 audience at the D'Arcys with a buoyancy and 
 spirit irresistibly amusing, even to those like Made- 
 laine and her brother, who did not quite approve, 
 but who found that " to be grave exceeds all power 
 of face." Lord Chobham had travelled all over 
 Ireland recently on foot, accompanied by a party 
 of congenial friends, while he pretended to be their 
 tutor, with two refractory pupils, whom he attempted 
 to keep in the strictest order. At another place they 
 were strolling-players, looking out for an engage- 
 ment ; and at a third fortune-tellers, when most
 
 LONDON HOMES. 47 
 
 extraordinary were the fortunes they prophecied to 
 credulous hstencrs, and most romantic the history 
 of coming lovers, who were coming hy express- 
 train next day, in a first-class carriage, at 4.30 — 
 Lord Chobham being as exact as Bradshaw, in 
 naming an hour, while he always assumed a look 
 of the most conscientious accuracy. 
 
 "I mortified my aunt, Lady Traffield, delightfully 
 yesterday," said Lord Chobham, laughing. "You 
 know how absurdly fond she is of my cousin Maria, 
 who is to be introduced at Court to-morrow, so 
 I said to her that morning at breakfast, with a 
 look of confidential remonstrance : ' My dear aunt, 
 you surely do not mean to let Maria be seen! 
 She did very well for the country, but in London 
 she is really out of the question. It will not 
 do ! The sooner you send her home the better !' " 
 
 " Too bad, Chobham !" exclaimed Lord Avenal 
 languidly. " I admire your cousin immensely ; and 
 I heard an admirable trait last night of her bene- 
 volence. The six pups of her favourite little spaniel 
 were about to be drowned, and she desired the water 
 to be warmed, that they might die comfortably. It 
 was so very amiable ! Really, Chobham, I did not 
 think you could be so ill-natured!" 
 
 " To redeem my reputation then, I have done 
 a very good-natured thing this morning. Poor
 
 48 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 Dunford's very dull book of 'Travels in the East' 
 seemed never likely to sell. Eastern descriptions 
 are a perfect drug iu the market now ; therefore, 
 I have hired thirty men to-day, clothed them all 
 in various second-hand liveries, borrowed from Mon- 
 mouth Street, and sent the whole party, separately, 
 from shop to shop, anxiously inquiring for ' Dun- 
 ford's Wanderings.' These men have my instruc- 
 tions to continue persecuting the circulating libraries, 
 by rushing into every one and expressing the utmost 
 amazement that any library can be without such a 
 book. I expect it to run through a new edition 
 immediately. So, you see, I can be a friend in 
 need ; for truly Duuford was in great need. No 
 one bought his book ; nor read it, if they did 
 buy it." 
 
 "The usual standard of merit is success; there- 
 fore, Mr. Duuford will rise to a very high pedestal 
 now. But you should be prosecuted for imposing 
 on a confiding public," said Madelaine, laughing. 
 " T wonder that you never got into a serious. Bow 
 Street scrape, by amassing that wonderful collection 
 you exhibit of knockers, umbrellas, fans, and walk- 
 ing-sticks, which have been most feloniously appro- 
 priated. You could steal this ring off my finger !" 
 
 " I would much rather put one on ! I do intend, 
 however, one day to rob you," replied Lord Chob-
 
 LONDON HOMES. 49 
 
 ham, fixing his eyes very mischievously on one of 
 Madelaine's bright sunny ringlets. " I never take 
 the trouble to resist any temptation, and I see a 
 very great one now. Did you ever read Pope's 
 * Rape of the Lock ?' " 
 
 " Forewarned is fore-armed ! I shall hereafter 
 continue as watchfully on the watch, to protect my- 
 self, as Lady Eccleston, who searched under her bed 
 in terror of housebreakers every night, during nearly 
 half a century. When last week she discovered 
 one, she called out, • Are you there at last ? I've 
 been looking for you these fifty years!' If any 
 ring, ringlet or hijou of mine disappears, you shall 
 certainly be taken up on suspicion." 
 
 " Agreed, pr6vided only you imprison me in this 
 house. I got famously out of a scrape at my grand- 
 uncle, the Bishop's, lately. Some of his people 
 were coming to complain against me for fastening a 
 donkey to the church-bell, so that it rung all night. 
 I got my Episcopal uncle out of the way, slipped on 
 his wig, spectacles and dressing-gown ; imitated his 
 voice, and completely bamboozled the complainants 
 by heartily approving of all my grand-nephew had 
 done ; and by lecturing them, as a set of interfering 
 donkies themselves, for troubling me with such 
 trash. It was admirable fun !" 
 
 "How could you!" exclaimed Madelaine with 
 
 E
 
 50 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 laughing indignation. " It was mucli too bad in 
 you to make so venerable a relative be party to any 
 such jest !" 
 
 " He was my unconscious partner in a most di- 
 verting scene yesterday, and the recollection kills 
 me yet with laughter ! When the Bishop and I were 
 walking down Oxford Street, he felt so annoyed 
 with his usual deafness on one side, that I proposed 
 he should consult the famous Dr. Arden. We pro- 
 ceded there in sober earnest ; but the great aurist, 
 when he came in, looked so intolerably pompous, 
 that I could not resist a sudden impulse to have a 
 rise out of him. Gravely and most respectfully, 
 therefore, I asked what was his charge for examin- 
 ing a pair of ears. He told me two guineas ; so 
 then I said with a consummate air : ' This gentleman 
 is deaf in the right ear, and I am deaf in the left, 
 therefoi'e we wish you to consider us a pair !' 
 You should have seen the consequential man's con- 
 temptuous indignation as he bowed us out of the 
 room ; and I slily enjoyed the Bishop's perplexity to 
 imagine what had happened !" 
 
 " But Chobham !" interrupted Lord Avenal lan- 
 guidly, " all these stories are nothing — are tame and 
 hum- drum compared to the impromptu scene you got 
 up with that most respectable-looking, and very 
 much astonished stranger yesterday," interrupted
 
 LONDON HOMES. 51 
 
 Lord Avenal smiling. " It was probably the first 
 adventure that such a matter-of-fact looking man 
 ever met with during his very respectable life. You 
 did him capitally ! I never saw a better piece of acting 
 than your's on any stage. The crowd soon became 
 immense, and I was afraid, at last, that the mob 
 would have torn that worthy agriculturalist to atoms." 
 
 " No story loses the gilding by your telling it, 
 Chobham, so pray condescend vipon the particulars 
 of this," exclaimed Sir Arthur with a smile of anti- 
 cipated amusement. "There ought to be a strong 
 check-string on you, to be pulled when your merri- 
 ment is degenerating into mischief." 
 
 " I am glad the string is not in your hands to 
 pull, or I should have lost all my inimitable fun 
 yesterday," observed Lord Chobham, his eye blazing 
 with triumphant glee. " Avenal and I were stroll- 
 ing down some of those undiscovered regions about 
 the Strand, when we perceived a thoughtful, steady- 
 looking, very worthy man of about forty, walking 
 hurriedly along, in country-made top-boots, with a 
 sensible matter-of-fact umbrella in his hand, and 
 spectacles on his nose. He was just the looking man 
 who is everybody's uncle, and evidently the oracle 
 of some thriving market-town, an hundred miles 
 from any railway station." 
 
 " He was obviously deep in the rotation of crops, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 a determined foe to poachers, and he knows a pack 
 of hounds by sight," interrupted LordAvenal, ambi- 
 tious to take up the narrative, " a perfect Sir Roger 
 De Coverley." 
 
 " I know nothing of Sir Roger ; never heard of 
 him ; but whoever the stranger might be, his ex- 
 tremely un-Londonized look in the very heart of the 
 Strand, roused all my love of frolic." 
 
 " Yes !" exclaimed Lord Avenal, his words broken 
 into fragments by excessive laughter. "When I 
 pointed the agriculturalist out, Chobham suddenly 
 exclaimed : ' I'll be his son !' Before I had time so 
 much as to wink, our friend there had rushed across 
 the street, like a human express-train, and within 
 hearing of a dozen pedestrians, who stopped to 
 wonder at his excited manner, he grasped the honest 
 country gentleman with both hands, exclaiming : 
 ' My dear kind father ! Have I found you at last ! 
 Never let us part again !' " 
 
 " I never saw astonishment before ! It was worth 
 £1000," interposed Lord Chobham in ecstacies of 
 laughter. " The worthy man was too breathless 
 with amazement to speak, while I ranted on, in 
 tones of the most piercing entreaty, saying, ' You 
 wish to cast me off again ! Pardon your only son I 
 Say, my good, excellent father, that you are glad 
 once more to see a most sincere penitent !' "
 
 LONDON HOMES. 53 
 
 " The whole street now became blocked up with 
 excited-looking people, quite touched at Chobham's 
 tragical state," added Lord Avenal, " and waiting 
 impatiently to see him forgiven." 
 
 " At l^st," continued Lord Chobham, " my 
 adopted father found voice enough to say, with 
 angry vehemence, ' I never saw this fellow before ! 
 never in my life ! He must be one of the swell- 
 mob !' Then I clasped my hands, and turned up 
 my eyes, in a style that Kean might have envied, 
 saying, with a heart-rending slap on my forehead, 
 ' You told me so ! You threatened not to know me 
 when we met again ; but could I believe you thus 
 obdurate ? Forgive me this once. Forgive and for- 
 get, or plunge a dagger into my heart !' " 
 
 "The whole crowd was affected to tears," ex- 
 claimed Lord Avenal ; " and one or two fatherly- 
 looking old gentlemen began anxiously remonstrating 
 with the enraged agriculturalist, telling him, in an 
 admonitory tone, that he should make up and be 
 friends ; that he had been young and heedless him- 
 self; that his poor son seemed willing to reform, 
 and that it would be wrong to drive him desperate. 
 I remained aloof, dying of laughter. At last, the 
 respectable stranger called so vociferously for the 
 police, that two constables came forward ; but in- 
 stead of assisting him, they were so fascinated with
 
 54 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 Chobham, that they also began interceding with the 
 obdurate parent, and begging that he would be ' more 
 conformable with the young 'un.' " 
 
 " If that scene had been played on the stage, now, 
 we should have condemned it as an improbable 
 fiction. But how did the mad-cap frolic end?" said 
 Madelaine, trying not to laugh. " I suppose the per- 
 secuted stranger went oif in an apoplexy with rage ?" 
 
 " No ; he went off in a cab, which luckily held up 
 its whip at the moment," replied Lord Chobham ; 
 " and I was rather glad to be rid of my angry 
 parent, not knowing exactly how to back out grace- 
 fully from the adventure. Like the beef- eater in 
 Sheridan's ' Critic,' I could not well go off on my 
 knees, and my powers of burlesque were nearly 
 exhausted. I had become quite encumbered with 
 my own popularity ! My admiring friends, the 
 mob, hissed the stout gentleman vehemently, as he 
 shot into the humble vehicle which conveyed him 
 and his astonishment away ; while they seemed quite 
 inclined to chair me, like a popular inember, as 
 I walked on, deeply affected, with a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief at my eyes, to conceal a convulsion of 
 laughter." 
 
 " What a much-ado-about-nothing affray !" ex- 
 claimed Sir Arthur, with grave astonishment. " I 
 am sure you get up early every morning to compose
 
 LONDON HOMES. 55 
 
 a set of wonderful exploits for the day ! Your last 
 odd trick is in the same school of wit, as the mis- 
 chievous one you played on that short-sighted 
 Englishman in the Highlands, when you fastened 
 the bare branch of a tree on the head of his own 
 favourite pony ; so that he stalked the poor animal 
 for a mile or two, till he finally shot him by mistake 
 for a red-deer." 
 
 " And I put the same cockney against eating every 
 dish on the dinner-table ! I showed him our black - 
 faced sheep, saying we kept them thus ready-singed 
 for eating. I asked him once, in a warning voice, if 
 he did not see something white on his plate, like 
 a maggot ? so with an alarmed look, he sent it away ; 
 and the vermicelli soup was made, I told him, with 
 a well-informed look, of an Italian insect called 
 toorm-acelli.'* 
 
 " Now confess, Chobham, that you delight in 
 seeing the very servants behind our chairs in such 
 uncontrollable agonies of laughter, that they are 
 obliged to rush out of the room," said Madelaine, 
 reprovingly. " You deserve to be frightened to 
 death yourself every day, as I think each individual 
 should endure a retribution in kind for whatever 
 suffering he has uselessly caused." 
 
 " If I have broken the hearts of half-a-dozen 
 young ladies, then you consider that my heart
 
 56 LONDON HOMES, 
 
 should be broken six times ! Well, then, you are 
 the only personage who can break mine ; and if 
 my debts are as ill-paid as Hargrave's, I am to 
 suffer all the agonies of an ill-used creditor. By 
 the way, Avenal, you are to be at Hargrave's to- 
 night, so let us consider at what hour we choose to 
 dine." 
 
 " The party is to assemble at eight," replied Lord 
 Avenal. " Hargrave named his hour." 
 
 " His hour ! When you and I are in Hargrave's 
 house, what right has he to name hours ? No, no ; 
 I never allow myself to be dictated to ! Suppose we 
 settle not to go till nine ? Will that time suit you, 
 or shall it be later? The IMarquis of ilberfeldy, 
 in the Highlands, never expects his guests to dine 
 before ten ; and with all possible deference to your 
 opinion, I shall not go much sooner." 
 
 Sir Arthur, being one of the Commissioners for 
 emigrating a detachment of paupers to Australia, 
 was at this moment interrupted by the information 
 that a person wished to see him on business ; and 
 Madelaine laughingly declared, that it was months 
 since her brother got safely to the end of his egg at 
 breakfast, without having to rise and receive some 
 messenger. Lord Chobham having then moved an 
 amendment that the stranger be ordered to walk in, 
 a shabby, swaggering, insolent-looking, half-intoxi-
 
 LONDON HOMES. 57 
 
 cated individual appeared at the door. He an- 
 nounced himself as Daniel Forgill, the landlord of 
 a low, wretched lodging-house, known by the name 
 of " Rag Castle," from which it was intended that 
 some of the most penniless inmates of that London 
 home should be drafted off to the comparative 
 luxury of a steam-boat and a crowded cabin. 
 
 This non-prepossessing individual had brought with 
 him a long list of candidates, eager for a passage; and 
 among the rest, he gave a history of one young girl, 
 who would have been a most eligible person, he said, to 
 enlist, had it not been for a dying old father, whom she 
 would not leave, though he might not probably survive 
 till the ship sailed. This girl had evidently gained 
 considerable respect from the ruffianly landlord, but 
 he complained in no measured terms of her pride, as 
 well as of her poverty. " She has seen better days," 
 he added ; " indeed, she never could have seen 
 worse ; but her father was beggared by the failure of 
 Mr. Hargrave's saving-bank. I offered that she 
 should have a bed in my second-best room, where 
 not above thirty women lodge, and as many boys, 
 all thankful for such a home. Her old father might 
 have been comfortably accommodated in a garret, 
 where the crowd is not much greater. He would 
 have shared the floor with fifteen other men ; but 
 the girl's colour went and came as fast as the 
 shadows in a breeze, when I described the people she
 
 58 
 
 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 would sleep among ; and her father shook his grey 
 head, and turned away, sayhig, ' Before we come to 
 that, let our beds be in the grave.' " 
 
 "No wonder!" exclaimed Sir Arthur, feelingly, 
 as he turned aside to Madelaine and Lord Chobham. 
 " His house is a regular London rookery for thieves, 
 and worse than thieves. I went to that filthy den 
 yesterday, within a stone's throw of Grosvenor 
 Square. The crumbling walls looked like an old 
 cow-house, that had not been cleaned for weeks. 
 There were rags instead of glass for the windows ; 
 a clay floor, surrounded by undrained gutters ; and 
 a mouldy old door, swinging on its broken hinges. 
 Within was a complete ' Beggars' Opera!' The room 
 carpetted with dirt, in which thirty people existed, 
 was like the cabin of an ill-regulated ship, the beds 
 piled one above another to the very roof ; and there 
 I heard swearing, cursing, groans and hacking 
 coughs, that told of the church-yard itself! Oh! 
 the wretchedness of human life, as you see it in 
 those haggard children, reckless women, and wolfish 
 men ; all brought to the lowest bathos of human 
 degradation, chiefly by intoxication." 
 
 " True enough, Sir," said Forgill, attempting to 
 look very, sober. " Whenever I have a particularly 
 wretched lodger, more destitute than the rest, gin is 
 at the bottom of it." 
 
 " When I see any pauper's grave," said Sir
 
 LONDON HOMES. 59 
 
 Arthur, " I often think that if the question could 
 be asked at the tenant of every beggar's tomb, 
 ' What laid you there ?' one universal groan would 
 arise of anguish and repentance, for all would confess 
 that they never could have fallen into the deepest 
 pit of misery but for strong drink, which unfits them 
 for work, destroys their intellect, and drains away 
 their last penny." 
 
 Forgill then added, in a very conscientious tone, 
 that he had let, on the lowest possible terms, to 
 that industrious girl and her father, a stall in the 
 cow-house, where pigs and rabbits were usually 
 kept. The stone-floor had been sprinkled on the 
 occasion with straw ; and for permission to use this 
 dormitory, the poor creatures were made to pay 
 rather more than for the common room, as the price 
 demanded was sixpence per night, a sum which the 
 girl earned by incessant, ceaseless sewing. " She 
 gets from a slop-shop, to which I charitably recom- 
 mended her, two-pence per shirt, and a penny for 
 each pair of trowsers," added Forgill, in a benevolent 
 tone ; " but how the girl and her father manage 
 about bread, I cannot guess. They seem to live 
 upon air, and not much of that either, as twenty 
 cows and other live-stock share the atmosphere with 
 them." 
 
 Lord Chobham had an intense curiosity about
 
 60 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 human life in every rank and circumstance, and 
 always declared that the book of human society is 
 the only book worth reading ; therefore, he insisted 
 on accompanying Mr. Forgill back, on a tour of 
 inspection to his rookery, where such a sight met 
 his eye as the imagination of man could not picture. 
 It was a human warren, full of filth and desolation, 
 intoxication and woe, such as no mortal pen could 
 describe ; and Lord Chobham stood at the door 
 perfectly panic-struck with astonishment. The beds 
 were piled one above another, five tiers high, all 
 round that wretched room ; and rope-lines, black as 
 if covered with crape, were stretched from side to 
 side, on which the miserable inmates, when they 
 retired to rest, hung their filthy rags. In this 
 frightful pandemonium, those who could not afford 
 to share a bed with one or two others, paid a trifle 
 for leave to sleep on the bare floor, festering and 
 rotten with filth ; while the only sound distinctly 
 audible consisted of oaths and imprecations. It 
 seemed impossible that any one apartment could 
 have contained one half the crowd that jostled and 
 elbowed each other in this den of misery, but among 
 them were some who had once known all the refine- 
 ments of luxury. Women were there who formerly 
 had reigned for a short season in homes, the remem- 
 brance of which was now like a vanished dream of
 
 LONDON HOMES. 61 
 
 fairy-land ; men too, who once had the education, 
 the manners, and the society of gentlemen, but were 
 now leading a life of intoxication, forgetful appa- 
 rently of all language, but what was profane and 
 blasphemous. Who would not have envied, in 
 comparison, the wildest savage, sleeping under a 
 tree, and bathing in the nearest stream ? or even 
 the Earthman of South Africa, burrowing like a 
 mole in the ground, his bed lined with fresh leaves 
 from the neighbouring tree, and his food the wild 
 roots of his native plains ? 
 
 "This is not all we could wish, Sir," said Forgill, 
 in an apologetic tone ; " but you see the naked 
 truth !" 
 
 " Very naked, indeed I" muttered Lord Chobham, 
 gazing aghast at the thievish-looking multitude. 
 " jNIany a purse and pocket-handkerchief of mine 
 must have found its way here." 
 
 "You see. Sir, they are taught nothing," said 
 Forgill, apologetically ; " the Irish priest comes here 
 once a week to absolve my people ; and the only crime 
 for which there can be no absolution is, if they have 
 not prepared money to pay for his blessing. A man 
 steals a purse, and if he gives half the money to 
 Father O'Shaugnessey for absolution, he keeps pos- 
 session of the other half with a safe conscience, and 
 drinks himself drunk for the rest of the week.
 
 02 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 Gin and Popery are the two expenses that ruin them 
 all." 
 
 Sickened and shocked. Lord Chobham turned 
 away wondering that the sun ever shone on a scene 
 of such utter wretchedness, where men must probably 
 bring all their worst habits to maturity and leave all 
 their virtues behind. On requesting at last to see 
 the old man and his daughter, of whom Forgill had 
 given so interesting an account, the young peer found 
 with some astonishment that the cows and lodgers 
 were not, as he expected, on the ground-floor, but 
 that they all lived up two pairs of stairs, to which 
 the animals were raised, once for all, in a horse-box, 
 never to touch terra-firma again. 
 
 Lord Chobham, on his entrance, gazed with un- 
 wonted pity at the venerable old man who reclined 
 there on the straw, leaning his aged head on the 
 shoulder of his pale and worn young daughter. She 
 stitched on unceasingly, without once looking ofF 
 her work, while the father and daughter conversed 
 together in accents of the most tender sympathy. 
 
 "My own dear child," said the old man sighing 
 heavily, as he took off his spectacles and laid aside 
 his well-worn Bible, " it was here that we were told 
 poor Willie conceals himself ; but I watch the rooms 
 below in vain. None of my letters to Sir Arthur 
 and other old friends bring any answer. They have
 
 LONDON HOMES, 63 
 
 believed all the worst reports against us ; I am nearly 
 hopeless. I was too proud of you both ! My dar- 
 ling Fanny, the bright smile that everybody loved 
 to see, is gone from your lips for ever, and now the 
 bright eyes, are fading fast. Your sight cannot long 
 stand this night-and-day work ; it is impossible ! 
 Stop, Fanny, stop ! Let us starve and die at once." 
 
 The disasters which overthrow a man into the very 
 dust, which strike his very soul to the earth, arouse 
 a new spirit in woman's generous nature, and living 
 as she does for affection, she becomes in extremity 
 the prop of those once powerful minds about to sink 
 beneath their calamities. Lord Chobham, heedless 
 as he usually was, felt that there could not be on 
 earth a more affecting sight than that of a strong- 
 minded man thus bent by the weight of calamity, 
 shrinking before the bitter blast of adversity, and 
 actually strengthened by a gentle, timid girl, always 
 probably till now the object of his tenderest care, 
 yet nerving her spirit to meet the worst and to afford 
 in great trials that assistance which formerly she 
 required in the smallest sorrow. 
 
 " Father !" she said, without pausing a single 
 stitch, " it was easy for us in happy days to speak 
 of contentment and to pray that God's will might be 
 done ; but now is our time for proving we were in 
 earnest. It seems as if the voice of Divine Provi-
 
 64 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 dence said to me now, ' Be still and learn your 
 lesson !' " 
 
 " My dear child ! The world seems to me this 
 day only a great hurying-place, and every hope of 
 happiness has been blotted out with our tears. 
 Life appears all a dream, and death only a reality." 
 
 " No, dear father ; these sorrows are but the spur 
 applied to keep ns onward in the journey of life. 
 God never afflicts unnecessarily ; therefore, we needed 
 these humbling trials to hasten our faltering steps 
 towards a better life ; but I am convinced that you 
 and I shall yet go back to Meadowburn together, 
 where we shall again pray and meditate, with the 
 birds singing their morning hymns of praise, and 
 the glorious sun looking gladly down upon our 
 happy home. Let us be thankful, dear father, 
 that I have got work ; and oh ! how thankful that 
 our cruel enemy has not found us again." 
 
 " That bad man has pursued you, Fanny, with 
 fearful perseverance !" 
 
 "Yes, father," replied Fanny, in a tone of mourn- 
 ful earnestness ; " my own danger from Duvoisier 
 often recals to memory what I once saw at a mena- 
 gerie. A poor, helpless white pigeon, which re- 
 minded me then of a little girl in a white frock, 
 had been put into a serpent's cage, some hours 
 before, in order that it might be devoured alive.
 
 LONDON HOMES. 65 
 
 The terrified creature, trembling with death-like 
 fear, turned its back to the enemy, and with its bill 
 thrust against the stone-wall, seemed a living image 
 of hopeless terror. The keeper said that the snake 
 seldom pounced on its prey till night ; and I was 
 haunted for hours after with a thought of the 
 coming darkness, the midnight struggle, and the 
 horrible death which awaited that unoffending vic- 
 tim. Dear father, you must live to protect me 
 from the villain who has ruined us all ; but I feel 
 sometimes as if, like that poor white pigeon, there 
 were no escape from Duvoisier's more than human 
 cunning, and more than human wickedness." 
 
 Fanny for one short moment clenched her hands 
 over her face, in an agony of apprehension ; then 
 hurriedly snatching up her work, she tremblingly 
 endeavoured to proceed with it ; while old Watson 
 wrung his hands, exclaiming, in a tone of intense 
 anguish, " My all of earthly happiness rested on my 
 children, and the wreck is total. You will be blind 
 in a week, Fanny ! What shall we do ? I could be 
 a beggar all over this wide and dreary world, for 
 your sake. Let us wander into the open fields, 
 and breathe once more ! Any savage is better off 
 than we in this London Home, for he has the 
 mountain stream and the mountain breeze. I used 
 in happier times to say, that as poor people have air 
 
 F
 
 66 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 and water for nothing, it is a pity that the earth is 
 not eatable, and then no mortal need starve, as we 
 are doing now. It matters nothing for myself! Old 
 and weary, I could go up to the very jaws of death 
 without shrinking ; but, my poor Fanny, to see all 
 your hopes in life blasted by a villain — torn and 
 rent—" 
 
 " Never mind, dear father, as long as I have 
 escaped his snares, let us trust on from day to day ; 
 and as for suffering bodily hardships, am I not 
 better off than the girls in a convent ? They not 
 only starve, scourge, and lacerate their bodies, but 
 live also with scarcely any sleep ; and, worst of all, 
 they are at the mercy of priests, whose vices are all 
 hushed up in the perpetual silence of a nunnery." 
 
 " Yes, unless they apostatize, and then the priest 
 becomes openly accused of all his crimes, carefully 
 till then kept secret," observed old Watson, saga- 
 ciously. "In a trial which took place some months 
 ago, for defamation, it became revealed what a long 
 course of infamy a confessor may carry on, and still 
 remain in that Church — trusted, praised and 
 honoured ; but when he changed his creed, then 
 his brethren became his accusers, bringing women 
 from Italy to prove the vices that for years had 
 been hid under the cloak of Romanism, till he threw 
 that cloak off; and then it was told on the very
 
 LONDON HOMES. 67 
 
 liouse-tops, and in the courts of law, what a confes- 
 sor may be for years with impunity, if he only 
 remain true to Popery." 
 
 " Father, I am better oif here than in the state to 
 which many girls of birth, fortune and family are 
 now voluntarily consigning themselves. I escape 
 here that worst of sorrows — guilt ; and while we 
 suffer, let us be thankful that we suffer together; 
 'Better in all to be resign'd than bless'd.' " 
 
 " Dear child, I used to be annoyed at the little 
 trifling interferences of friends and neighbours with 
 our small affairs at home ; but now there is no one 
 to interfere, or even to care if we both die in this 
 dunghill of a lodging. All my hopes of finding 
 Willie seem vain, and nothing comes straight with 
 me now. Like a nail that the carpenter is hammering 
 into the ground, it seems as if each blow fell on me 
 heavier than the last, and I feel myself now driven 
 into the very wall." 
 
 " "We are in a deep and stormy gulf, indeed, father. 
 Wave after wave is rolling over us, but that Bible 
 is our plank of safety, which will lead us at last 
 into a haven of happiness. The longest night has a 
 morning to follow at last." 
 
 Lord Chobham had a perfect and unalterable con- 
 viction, that giving to beggars in the street, or to 
 begging-letters, was bestowing a premium upon 
 
 F 2
 
 68 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 idleness ; but his heart was touched by such a 
 reahty as he saw now. Sir Arthur had said often 
 that, indiscriminate alms given freely, is the abuse 
 of humanity, as injudicious as if a man were hu- 
 manely to walk along the street, carrying a bottle 
 and a glass, to fill out a bumper of gin for all who 
 asked him to treat them. He would just receive 
 the same volley of thanks, and do about ah equal 
 amount of good ; but here in befriending this old 
 man there could be no such mistake. 
 
 Lord Chobham was capable of very generous im- 
 pulses, and within an hour, by his arrangements, old 
 Watson, with his daughter, had been conveyed in a 
 cab to respectable lodgings ; while he hurried off 
 himself to tell the D'Arcys that he had found, in all 
 probability, those poor villagers of whom they had 
 been so long in search, but whose letters had 
 evidently been for some time unaccountably inter- 
 cepted. Lord Chobham was deeply impressed with 
 all the misery he had witnessed, and was full of 
 warm-hearted, but almost insane projects, for its 
 immediate relief. Everybody should be placed at 
 once in a state of cleanliness and comfort. He 
 would knock down all these miserable rookeries ; 
 he would place fountains of water in the filthiest 
 districts ; he would raise a self-acting air-pump in 
 the confined streets, to bring in a supply of east
 
 LONDON HOMES. 69 
 
 wind from Brighton ; he would lay a tax on every 
 parish ; he would make the hoard of guardians 
 answerahle ; he would open a manufactory to 
 employ all the wretched people ; he would plant 
 Church missionaries among them ; he would burn 
 down all the gin-palaces, and raise in their places 
 temperance coffee-houses ; and, in short, everything 
 seemed to Lord Chobham's eager nature possible, 
 except to go home and do nothing. 
 
 " Chobham," interrupted Sir Arthur, "you are 
 talking so easily of hundreds of thousands, that 
 you will never be able to fall back on mere common- 
 place pounds, shillings and pence again !" 
 
 " I despise your miserable shillings and half- 
 pence ! Formerly, I thought I had done the whole 
 duty of man, and rather more, if I gave half-a- 
 crown a- week to an old servant ; but to-day I feel 
 myself a perfect Howard and Mrs. Fry thrown into 
 one." 
 
 "It is the greatest of earthly privileges to do 
 real good, and also the greatest of earthly diffi- 
 culties," observed Madelaine. " People's faith must 
 be tried to see whether they will do their duty as 
 philanthropists, without hope of reward in this 
 world, not even the reward of thanks or of success ; 
 for very seldom indeed do those who labour for the 
 good of others, meet with gratitude, or witness their
 
 70 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 own wishes realized. It is a god-like privilege to do 
 good ; and from God only should we look for any 
 reward, not on earth, but in Heaven." 
 
 "Well, I, who generally laugh as if twenty clowns 
 and harlequins were amusing me, have had enough 
 to-day to make me grave, or even melancholy ; but 
 I never was a victim-to-circumstance man ; there- 
 fore, I will not give way to the dismals. Now, 
 good people, take care all of you, for I am going to 
 be witty." 
 
 " How very disagreeable and dangerous !" said 
 Madelaine, pretending to make for the door. " Are 
 you going to try the sublime or the ridiculous ?" 
 
 " That depends upon what song you sing to me 
 now. Give us ' Withered Leaves.' The music 
 takes me back to those days when we used to sing 
 duets together." 
 
 " Together ! Oh no ; we never kept together for 
 a single bar. You always disdained the trammels of 
 time, or any trammels whatsoever." 
 
 " I was a reckless truant then, Madelaine, steal- 
 ing off from school to get one glimpse of you ; 
 an untamed colt, not worked into idiotcy by too 
 many lessons, but with my whole boyish being 
 'one mighty heart of joy.' 
 
 " Oh ! golden time of youthful prime. 
 Why com'st thou not again P"
 
 LONDON HOMES. 71 
 
 "Your boyhood had its annoyances too, Chob- 
 ham," observed Sir Arthur, reflectively. " I often 
 wonder at the equahty of all states with respect to 
 happiness ; and nothing shows me so clearly the 
 hand of a directing Providence as the obvious fact, 
 that no age or station escapes for one day the uni- 
 versal doom of sorrow, in some shape or other, to 
 discipline our minds. There are joys too for every 
 period ; and I am a great believer in the superior 
 felicity of middle-age, after the eager anxieties of 
 youth are tamed, and before the infirmities of age 
 are begun." 
 
 " Say what you will, my old companions, but 
 give me back the days of our nonsensical childhood," 
 exclaimed Lord Chobham, with a grimace of buoyant 
 humour ; "for as good as you are now, Mrs. Made- 
 laine, can I ever forget the delightful novel you 
 surreptitiously concealed within your pocket in the 
 school-room, and daily read, peeping in at the 
 pocket-hole." 
 
 "How very ill-natured of you to remember 
 that !" 
 
 " And can we ever be as joyfully excited about our 
 own marriage when it happens, and the sooner that day 
 comes the better, as we were on my seventh birthday, 
 when you had attained the advancd age of half-past- 
 five, and we celebrated a wedding between our dolls.
 
 72 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 My little Highland chief to your waxen bride in a 
 pink and silver frock, after which we sat down to a 
 splendid entertainment of sugar-plums and to a con- 
 cert of music on my barrel-organ." 
 
 " It seems like a diverting dream now," replied 
 Madelaine smiling and colouring. "Any one who 
 could make us as merry in these our older and wiser 
 days, would deserve a handsome reward !" 
 
 " Years afterwards, on my return from Eton, do 
 you remember how very superior I thought myself 
 to Orpheus on the flute. I am celebrated for 
 praising myself, therefore it may be as well to say, 
 that my performance was rather supernatural, and 
 Jullien wished I was poor that he might engage me 
 as an ornament to his orchestra ; but when I sere- 
 naded you one evening in most romantic strains 
 under your window, did you not mischievously and 
 of malice afore-thought, pretending to take me for 
 the usual hurdy-gurdy man, throw up the sash and 
 shower down halfpence in a perfect hailstorm on my 
 devoted and indignant head ?" 
 
 " It was not penny-wise to pay you so handsomely. 
 I am afraid you thought the donation meant as a 
 bribe to bring you back every day." 
 
 " So I determined to hope ! One of the halfpence 
 I keep for the donor's sake, and because it is the 
 only honest penny I ever earned."
 
 LONDON HOMES. 73 
 
 " I hope 3'ou never earned a dishonest one ? Now 
 pray. Lord Chobham, tell me in two minutes, all 
 about your tour on the Continent. Do you remem- 
 ber when we had a party here, the day you took 
 leave, for Tea and Tears." 
 
 " Yes, and I recollect the exact spot on that carpet 
 where you stood when we said farewell. My eyes 
 were never dried again till I got to Mount Ve 
 suvius." 
 
 " Well ! what sort of looking creature is he ?" 
 
 " A very fine fellow indeed ! He is five hundred 
 feet higher than Highgate Hill ; he smokes at times 
 immensely, he gave some very respectable puffs 
 while I was looking at him. He is exceedingly dif- 
 ficult to ascend ; the crater seemed rather hot when 
 I peeped in, and the whole place was confused and 
 disorderly with cinders and trash lying about." 
 
 " A most luminous description, indeed ! Your 
 journal would be worth publishing." 
 
 Next day Lord Chobham called again, saying he 
 could think of nothing but those hundreds of poor 
 creatures in Rag Castle, who seemed to have a choice 
 only between theft, starvation, and death, and many 
 of whom steal often, that they may be committed to 
 the comparative luxury of a prison. At Sir Arthur's 
 he found a perfect levee of the poor assembled, to 
 receive advice or assistance, most of them clothed in
 
 74 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 a mere remnant of dress, and some with bloated 
 faces and a soupron in their breath of smoke or gin, 
 though Sir Arthur always refused his aid to those 
 whom he knew to spend their means on such sources 
 of ruin to body and soul. 
 
 Among those who waited at Sir Arthur's door 
 were street-sweepers, dog-stealers, water-cress-gather- 
 ers, bird-sellers, bill-stickers, and placard- carriers. 
 In the very midst of these stood one man, taller than 
 the rest, who wore a broken hat of the ragged 
 species, and the torn remains of a coat, but the mo- 
 ment he saw Lord Chobham advancing, he started 
 off at full speed and ran as if his very life depended 
 on getting away. Lord Chobham, who never liked 
 to be outdone in anything, instantly, without asking 
 himself why, followed in pursuit. The race became 
 frightfully eager, Lord Chobham running from a 
 mere love of frolic, but in the other case it was very 
 different. As the fugitive rushed into a house, and 
 as he hurriedly slammed the door, locking and 
 double-locking it with terrific vehemence. Lord Chob- 
 ham recognized the alarmed countenance of his 
 uncle's former valet, Duvoisier. 
 
 " D'Arcy," said Lord Chobham, " those who 
 fancy a conscientious philanthropist's life easy, 
 should go about for a week, arm-in-arm with you, 
 who seem to hurry from street to street continually
 
 LONDON HOMES. /O 
 
 and from house to house, consoling the afflicted or 
 adding sunshine to dayhght by making the happy 
 happier." 
 
 " And when he is supremely tired, Arthur comes 
 home to talk his work all over with me," added 
 Madelaine smiling. " Those who would thoroughly 
 enjoy rest must labour like Arthur." 
 
 " And who would not envy him ?" exclaimed Lord 
 Chobham, with a sudden burst of emotion. " The 
 misery of my existence is, to feel totally useless ? I 
 often wish a committee could be appointed to teach 
 everybody the true art of happiness, and also to legis- 
 late how people's spare hours can be most advan- 
 tageously spent." 
 
 " Yes," observed Sir Arthur earnestly, " there 
 are in London at this moment, hundreds of men 
 with talent, energy, and abundant leisure, to whom 
 your proposed committee might point out their own 
 vast power to do good instead of harm. Many per- 
 sons have never yet met with any obvious opportu- 
 nities to draw them out, or they would astonish 
 the world and themselves by exhibiting the noblest 
 qualities, if a revolution or any other sufficient stimu- 
 lant excited them to action." 
 
 " Let me hope it might be so with me. I have 
 placed at your disposal, D'Arcy, myself and what is 
 more efficient than my own very insignificant abilities.
 
 76 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 my purse to second all your benevolent schemes," 
 said Lord Chobham, earnestly, " and especially to 
 relieve those poor, honest sufferers from the cow- 
 shed." 
 
 " The surest way of doing good is to help the 
 faUing," said Sir Arthur, thoughtfully. "A man 
 originally ardent, hopeful, and industrious, once 
 completely down, drops into the mental torpor of 
 despair. Penury freezes the genial current of his 
 soul, or desperation drives him to that worst of all 
 resources, the gin-palace, till you see in him the list- 
 lessness of departed hope, or the indolence of a broken 
 heart. A finger held out to the tottering is charity 
 indeed." 
 
 " I remember, in respect to affording timely aid, 
 a case in point," observed Madelaine, smiling. 
 " When the ship in which I returned from Malta, 
 last year, arrived near Portsmouth, we discovered 
 that owing to a very low tide, she could not approach 
 closely to the pier, but stopped about thirty feet dis- 
 tant. A plank without any balustrade was thrown 
 across the chasm, and on this bridge we terrified 
 passengers were invited to land. Never shall I for- 
 get my own giddy horror on discovering that it was 
 expected of me to trust myself on this tight-rope. 
 My first step would have been my last, I should 
 so inevitably have reeled off into the gulf below, but
 
 LONDON HOMES. 11 
 
 a stout, gootl-humoured, honest-hearted sailor, hke 
 the best of all good Samaritans, offered to assist me 
 over. There was not room for two, side by side on 
 the plank, but I grasped his arms behind and followed 
 Jack step by step, till we were safely across, I then 
 burst into an hysterical agony of tears at my own 
 escape, and often dream of it since ; but from that 
 day when I was assisted over the gulf, my motto has 
 been, ' Help the falling.' " 
 
 "When Lord Chobham was sitting with the D'Arcys 
 that day at luncheon, the servant entered to say that 
 a man below was anxious to see Sir Arthur immedi- 
 ately. This sounded very like a troublesome inter- 
 ruption to a very pleasant conversation, therefore, 
 the young Baronet said impatiently : 
 
 " Is he a man that can wait, or a gentleman that 
 must be seen immediately ?" 
 
 " Rather between the two. Sir Arthur. A sort of 
 half-quarter gentleman ; a rural-looking man in top- 
 boots, who speaks very Yorkshire, and wears a white 
 wide-awake." 
 
 " That sounds very like Lord Deloraine's worthy 
 factor, who was dangerously wounded in an affray 
 with poachers, lately. He cannot surely be enough 
 recovered to travel ! Something must be very much 
 awry at home, for to my certain knowledge Hartfield 
 never was in London before."
 
 78 LONDON HOiMES. 
 
 " Pray have him up. It would be quite refreshing 
 to see such a country-mouse come to town !" said 
 Lord Chobham. "Pray wind up this Dorsetshire 
 bumpkin to describe all he has seen lately." 
 
 Hartfield entered hat- in-hand, making a compre- 
 hensive bow to the company, and Sir Arthur received 
 him with friendly cordiality, saying, after the first 
 stormy greeting of kindness was over : 
 
 " Have you come up to see the fashions, Jack ? 
 You used to say that new buttons were life to an old 
 coat, and I would know this one of your's even 
 without yourself. Are you arrived to enquire about 
 the Darby and the Oaks, or is the old report of your 
 marriage come true at last, and are you here upon 
 some tenderer subject ? Now Hartfield, answer me 
 truly." 
 
 " It must be truly. Sir Arthur, if I answer at all," 
 replied the factor, with smiling respect. " I have 
 but one business in London, and if that were settled 
 the sooner I get home again the better. I abhor 
 London life, and scarcely know my own name or 
 nature here. Yesterday, an impudent young jacka- 
 napes, one of the swell-mob, I believe, in the street, 
 pretended to be my son, and I wished for a minute 
 he were, that I might give him a sound drubbing." 
 
 At these words, Sir Arthur smilingly glanced 
 towards Lord Chobham, who was leaning his head
 
 LONDON HOMES. 79 
 
 on his hand so as not to be visible, and the young 
 Baronet sniilingly asked, " What was the fellow 
 like?" 
 
 " I scarcely looked at the villain, but the mob 
 that gathered round us declared he was very like 
 me ! No tlianks to them for thinking so. I saved 
 my watch and purse from him, however, but he 
 lost me a precious hour, that was worth at the 
 moment more than gold to myself and others. I 
 had caught sight at a distance of poor ruined Willie 
 Watson, skulking along the street, not quite so sober 
 as he should be ; and my object in coming here is to 
 find him, and also his poor father, who wandered 
 away, after Mr. Hargrave's bankruptcy, on foot to 
 London, with poor Fanny, and I was too ill to over- 
 take them. His son ruined, his house burned down, 
 and his last farthing lost in Mr. Hargrave's saving- 
 bank, old Watson hoped to regain something by 
 coming here ; but the poor things must be hke 
 bewildered mites in this great Babylon. I am 
 a simpleton here myself, and what must they be, 
 knowing no more of London than country spar- 
 rows }" 
 
 " And have you persuaded them to return 
 home ?" 
 
 " I cannot even find them. Sir. What poor 
 Fanny must have suffered, and what may yet be 
 to come, I dare not think of."
 
 80 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 " Then let me compensate for all the foolish 
 annoyance I caused you yesterday, by announcing 
 that they are safely lodged with my housekeeper," 
 said Lord Chobham, rising and offering his hand to 
 Hartfield, who started back as if he had seen an 
 apparition. " I am shocked beyond measure to 
 hear how serious has been the result of what I 
 intended as a mere jest. I have read a lesson to-day 
 among the London poor, never to be forgotten. 
 I have seen the most romantic extreme of misery 
 almost within hearing of my own fireside ; and my 
 greatest pleasure in life shall hereafter be, like 
 Sir Arthur, to relieve it, and to seek out the 
 afflicted." 
 
 "Then you will not have far to search in any 
 part of London," replied Madelaine, earnestly; 
 " ^nd no virtue is so much its own reward as that of 
 personally visiting the fatherless and widows ; for 
 I delight in seeing myself, like a good fairy, dis- 
 tributing my little gifts, and, like Cinderella's god- 
 mother, watching a transformation of rags into 
 decent clothing, and of tears into smiles. You will 
 need no cigars to banish thought on the days that 
 your heart has expanded, like Arthur's, in such 
 scenes." 
 
 On the 22nd of August, 1852, all London was 
 aghast with horror and consternation. The most 
 splendid and luxurious house in Grosvenor Square
 
 LONDON HOMES 81 
 
 had been made the scene of a midnight murder, 
 and Lord Delorainc was discovered dead in his bed, 
 while there appeared every evidence that a frightful 
 struggle had previously taken place. The officers 
 of justice were summoned, a coroner's inquest sat, 
 and every search was made for a trace of the assassin. 
 He seemed evidently some one well acquainted with 
 the premises ; and as a great amount of jewellery was 
 missing, a diligent scrutiny became instituted among 
 all pawnbrokers and receivers of stolen goods, to de- 
 tect whether any of the missing articles of value were 
 brought there for sale. 
 
 Gaunt, stiff and silent, on its stately bed, lay the 
 corpse — a fearful memorial of that scene respecting 
 which no living ear seemed likely ever to hear 
 the dreadful particulars. What a tale those lips 
 could have told ! What a scene was the last on 
 earth which these eyes had witnessed! What 
 sounds of terror had rung the death -knell on those 
 ears, now closed for ever ! All the wisdom of man 
 was at work to find out what had been the circum- 
 stances occurring in that very room only a few hours 
 before, to him whose countenance was yet before the 
 spectators ; whose hand they could touch, and who 
 could so recently have commanded the aid of hun- 
 dreds. 
 
 Lord Deloraine had retired in apparent safety 
 
 G
 
 82 LONDON HOMES. 
 
 on the previous night, leaving his desk strewed with 
 half-finished letters, never now to be concluded ; 
 lists of dinner engagements, never to be fulfilled ; 
 sketches of speeches, never now to be delivered in 
 the House ; and outlines of a long tour on the 
 continent, never to be travelled. On the drawing- 
 room floor numerous matches, which had evidently 
 been lighted by the miscreants in too much haste to 
 burn, lay scattered about over the carpet ; and 
 several gas-lamps, which the assassin had lighted, 
 continued still to blaze brightly, mingling a ghastly 
 glare with the daylight, which disclosed this scene 
 of horror ! 
 
 The police were excited to a pitch of energy, 
 almost, if possible, beyond that of any former time ; 
 and Lord Chobham performed prodigies of activity 
 and ingenuity, while trying to ferret out the criminal. 
 He suspected as strongly as if he had witnessed the 
 deed that it was no English hand which had dealt 
 this treacherous blow to his uncle ; and in his zeal 
 for discovery, he caused every plank in the floors to 
 be torn up, the skirting of the wall explored ; and 
 from garret to kitchen, from roof to cellar, not a 
 loose slate nor a rat-hole remained unexplored. 
 
 "Whenever a misfortune happens, people always 
 fancy, without in the least intending to say what is 
 untrue, that they had a presentiment of it ; and
 
 LONDON HOMES. 83 
 
 either the sufferer looked unusually melancholy the 
 day before, or had become so marvellously lively, 
 that it was quite alarming ; and now every one 
 remembered something wonderful, or something 
 apparently prophetic that Lord Deloraine had said 
 on the previous night. 
 
 Lord Chobham was not a man ever to be baulked 
 in any pursuit, and he succeeded at last in capturing 
 Duvoisier, who, desperate and reckless, contrived 
 means that very night to end his wretched life. 
 By his means, a clue was found to WiUie Watson's 
 place of concealment ; but it was a relief to all who 
 knew his family, to find that the poor young man 
 had sunk under the intensity of his remorse and 
 shame, long before the murder of Lord Deloraine. 
 He had expired on the filthy straw in a wretched 
 hovel, some weeks previous to that on which the 
 assassination was committed ; and over Willie's 
 remains had been placed, by his own desire, a name- 
 less board of wood, bearing this inscription : 
 
 "the drunkard's grave." 
 
 Six mouths afterwards, there took place a joyous 
 wedding in the village of Arrowfiekl, for Lord Chob- 
 ham was married in the rural parish church to his 
 long-beloved Madelaine D'Arcy ; and he jestingly 
 remarked, in his exuberance of joy, that, on the 
 
 G 2
 
 .84 LONDON HOMES, 
 
 whole, he beUeved a marriage the most melancholy 
 of all ceremonies, as at a funeral there is only one 
 victim to be pitied, but at a wedding there are 
 two. 
 
 Fanny Watson gave her hand, with her best 
 affections, to the benefactor and old friend of her 
 childhood, Jack Hartfield. 
 
 The home to which he took her — very different 
 indeed from her last London Home — was one which 
 artists often delighted to paint. That porch, so 
 luxuriantly clothed with jassamine, honeysuckle and 
 roses, had appeared in many a sketch-book ; for 
 nothing could be more beautiful than the grassy 
 mound behind, and the tall cedar, like a feather 
 in its bonnet, that crowned the eminence. Arches 
 of lilacs had been hung by the peasantry, and 
 festoons of laburnums quite across the road, along 
 which Hartfield, amidst cheers of welcome, with 
 quiet self-possession, drove his willing horse ; while 
 Fanny, blushing and smiling, sat by his side. 
 
 "Well, Fanny," said the happy bridegroom, 
 turning suddenly to her as they drove up the short 
 approach, bordered with flowering rhododendrons, 
 which led to his handsome, red-brick house, " here 
 is the home which you have promised to share 
 with me." 
 
 " May God grant me the power to make it a
 
 LONDON HOMES. 85 
 
 liappy one for you," exclaimed Fanny, with fervent 
 emotion. " There is only one drawhack to my hap- 
 j)incss, and it is that I am so undeserving." 
 
 " Leave others to judge of that ; but I am too glad 
 to take you for vporse as well as for better, indeed 
 you could not be better, Fanny, and happy is the 
 man who can gain such a heart as your's. We 
 must make our home an earthly paradise to each 
 other." 
 
 " As unlike, then, as possible to my London 
 Home," added Fanny smiling. " Oh, how often I 
 shall look back upon that scene of horror, and try to 
 keep others from falling into such a black hole of 
 despair. There should be a picture of Rag Castle 
 hung up in every gin-palace and in every tobacco- 
 shop ! And now my own husband every wish I shall 
 ever have beyond this pleasant home might be con- 
 tained in a nutshell." 
 
 " How the Vichest and greatest in our land might 
 envy me the happiness I shall hereafter enjoy, work- 
 ing early and late for you, Fanny. I find no bread 
 so palatable as what I earn for myself ; and with our 
 few acres of garden, our many friendly neighbours, 
 and our readiness to welcome the will of Providence 
 in all events, what more can the heart of man desire 
 till we exchange a happy world here for a still hap- 
 pier hereafter ?"
 
 86 LONDON HOMES, 
 
 " My only wish," said Fanny, strangling a tear 
 that sprung into her eyes, "my sole endeavour shall 
 be gratefully to fulfil our destiny together, and in 
 calm or in storm you must be my kind and safe pilot. 
 Our lives, I trust and believe, shall be full of cheer- 
 ful hopes, or at the vporst of cheerful resignation, 
 
 " Till all our prospects, Ijright'ning to the last, 
 Our Heaveu comnieuces ere tlie world be past."
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 AN ANCIENT LEGEND. 
 
 Ah, frantic Fear ! 
 I see, I see thee near; 
 I know thy hm-ried step, thy haggard eye ! 
 like thee I start, like thee disorder'd fly ! 
 
 COLLINS. 
 
 In a remote district of country belonging to Lord 
 Cassillis, between Ayrshire and Galloway, about three 
 hundred years ago, a moor of apparently boundless 
 extent stretched several miles along the road, and 
 wearied the eye of the traveller, by the sameness and 
 desolation of its appearance ; not a tree varied the 
 prospect — not a shrub enlivened the eye by its fresh- 
 ness — nor a native flower bloomed to adorn this un- 
 senial soil. One " lonesome desert " reached the 
 horizon on every side, with nothing to mark that any 
 mortal had ever visited the scene before, except a 
 few rude huts that were scattered near its centre ;
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 and a road, or rather pathway, for those whom busi- 
 ness or necessity obhged to pass in that direction. 
 At length, deserted as this wild region had always 
 been, it became still more gloomy. Strange rumours 
 arose, that the path of unwary travellers had been 
 beset on this " blasted heath," and that treachery 
 and murder had intercepted the solitary stranger as 
 he traversed its dreary extent. 
 
 When several persons, who were known to have 
 passed that way, mysteriously disappeared, the in- 
 quiries of their relatives led to a strict and anxious 
 investigation ; but though the officers of justice were 
 sent to scour the country, and examine the inhabit- 
 ants, not a trace could be obtained of the persons in 
 question, nor of any place of concealment which 
 could be a refuge for the lawless or desperate to 
 horde in. Yet, as inquiry became stricter, and the 
 disappearance of individuals more frequent, the 
 simple inhabitants of the neighbourhing hamlet were 
 agitated by the most fearful apprehensions. Some 
 declared that the deathlike stillness of the night was 
 often interrupted by sudden and preternatural cries 
 of more than mortal anguish, which seemed to arise 
 in the distance ; and a shepherd one evening, who 
 had lost his way on the moor, declared he had ap- 
 proached three mysterious figures, who seemed 
 struggling against each other with supernatural
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 energy, till at length one of tliem, with a frightful 
 scream, suddenly sunk into the earth. 
 
 Gradually the inhabitants deserted their dwellings 
 on the heath, and settled in distant quarters, till at 
 length but one of the cottages continued to be in- 
 habited by an old woman and her two sons, who 
 loudly lamented that poverty chained them to this 
 solitary and mysterious spot. Travellers who fre- 
 quented this road now generally did so in groups to 
 protect each other ; and if night overtook them, they 
 usually stopped at the humble cottage of the old 
 woman and her sons, where cleanliness compensated 
 for the want of luxury, and where, over a blazing 
 fire of peat, the bolder spirits smiled at the imagi- 
 nary terrors of the road, and the more timid trembled 
 as they listened to the tales of terror and affright with 
 which their hosts entertained them. 
 
 One gloomy and tempestuous night in November, 
 a pedlar boy hastily traversed the moor. Terrified 
 to find himself involved in darkness amidst its bound- 
 less waste, a thousand frightful traditions, connected 
 with this dreary scene, darted across his mind — every 
 blast, as it swept in hollow gusts over the heath, 
 seemed to teem with the sighs of departed spirits — 
 and the birds, as they winged their way above his 
 head, appeared, with loud and shrill cries, to warn 
 him of approaching danger. The whistle with which
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 he usually beguiled his weary pilgrimage died away 
 into silence, and he groped along with trembling and 
 uncertain steps, which sounded too loudly in his ears. 
 The promise of Scripture occurred to his memory, 
 and revived his courage. " I will be unto thee as a 
 rock in the desert, and as an hiding-place in the 
 storm." Surely, thought he, though alone, I am not 
 forsaken ; and a prayer for assistance hovered on his 
 lips. 
 
 A light now glimmered in the distance which 
 would lead him, he conjectured, to the cottage of 
 the old woman ; and towards that he eagerly bent 
 his way, remembering, as he hastened along, that 
 when he had visited it the year before, it was in 
 company with a large party of travellers, who had 
 beguiled the evening with those tales of mystery 
 which had so lately filled his brain with images of 
 terror. He recollected, too, how anxiously the old 
 woman and her sons had endeavoured to detain him 
 when the other travellers were departing ; and now, 
 therefore, he confidently anticipated a cordial and 
 cheering reception. 
 
 His first call for admission obtained no visible 
 marks of attention, but instantly the greatest noise 
 and confusion prevailed within the cottage. "They 
 think it is one of the supernatural visitants of whom 
 the old lady talks so much," thought the boy.
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 approaching a window, where the light within showed 
 him all the inhabitants at their several occupations ; 
 the old woman was hastily scrubbing the stone floor, 
 and strewing it thickly over with sand, while her two 
 sons seemed with equal haste to be thrusting some- 
 thing large and heavy into an immense chest, which 
 they carefully locked. The boy, in a frolicsome 
 mood, thoughtlessly tapped at the window, when 
 they all instantly started up, with consternation so 
 strongly depicted in their countenances, that he 
 shrunk back involuntarily with an undefined feeling 
 of apprehension ; but before he had time to reflect 
 a moment longer, one of the men suddenly darted 
 out at the door, and seizing the boy roughly by the 
 shoulder, dragged him violently into the cottage. 
 
 " I am not what you take me for," said the boy, 
 attempting to laugh, " but only the poor pedlar who 
 visited you last year." 
 
 " Are you alone ?" inquired the old woman, in a 
 harsh, deep tone, which made his heart thrill with 
 apprehension. 
 
 " Yes," said the boy, " I am alone, here ; and 
 alas!" he added, with a burst of uncontrollable feel- 
 ing, " I am alone in the wide world also ! Not a 
 person exists who would assist me in distress, or shed 
 a single tear if I died this very night." 
 
 " Then you are welcome !" said one of the men.
 
 b THE MXJRDER HOLE. 
 
 with a sneer, while he cast a glance of peculiar ex- 
 pression at the other inhabitants of the cottage. 
 
 It was with a shiver of apprehension, rather than 
 of cold, that the boy drew towards the fire ; and the 
 looks which the old woman and her sons exchanged, 
 made him wish that he had preferred the shelter of 
 any one of the roofless cottages which were scattered 
 near, rather than trust himself among persons of such 
 dubious aspect. Dreadful surmises flitted across his 
 brain ; and terrors, which he could neither combat 
 nor examine, imperceptibly stole into his mind ; but 
 alone, and beyond the reach of assistance, he resolved 
 to smother his suspicions, or at least not increase 
 the danger by revealing them. 
 
 The room to which he retired for the night had a 
 confused and desolate aspect ; the curtains seemed to 
 have been violently torn down from the bed, and still 
 hung in tatters around it — the table seemed to have 
 been broken by some violent concussion, and the 
 fragments of various pieces of furnit.ure lay scattered 
 upon the floor. The boy begged that a light might 
 burn in his apartment till he was asleep, and anxiously 
 examined the fastenings of the door ; but they seemed 
 to have been wrenched asunder on some former occa- 
 sion, and were still left rusty and broken. 
 
 It was long ere the pedlar attempted to compose 
 his agitated nerves to rest ; but at length his senses
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. / 
 
 began to " steep themselves in forgetfulncss," though 
 his imagination remained painfully active, and pre- 
 sented new scenes of terror to his mind, with all the 
 vividness of reality. He fancied himself again wan- 
 dering on ihe heath, which appeared to be peopled 
 with spectres, who all beckoned to him not to enter 
 the cottage, and as he approached it, they vanished 
 with a hollow and despairing cry. The scene then 
 changed, and he found himself again seated by the 
 fire, where the countenances of the men scowled upon 
 him with the most terrifying malignity, and he 
 thought the old woman suddenly seized him by the 
 arms, and pinioned them to his side. Suddenly the 
 boy was startled from these agitated slumbers by 
 what sounded to him like a cry of distress ; he was 
 broad awake in a moment, and sat up in bed, — but 
 the noise was not repeated, and he endeavoured to 
 persuade himself it had only been a continuation of 
 the fearful images which had disturbed his rest, 
 when, on glancing at the door, he observed under- 
 neath it a broad red stream of blood silently stealing 
 its course along the floor. Frantic with alarm, it 
 was but the work of a moment to spring from his 
 bed and rush to the door, through a chink of which, 
 his eye nearly dimmed with affright, he could watch 
 unsuspected whatever might be done in the adjoining 
 room.
 
 8 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 His fear vanished instantly when he perceived 
 it vv^as only a goat that they had been slaughtering ; 
 and he was about to steal into his bed again, ashamed 
 of his groundless apprehensions, when his ear was 
 arrested by a conversation which transfixed him 
 aghast with terror to the spot. 
 
 " This is an easier job than you had yesterday," 
 said the man who held the goat. " I wish all the 
 throats we've cut were as easily and quietly done. 
 Did you ever hear such a noise as the old gentleman 
 made last night ! It was well we had no neighbour 
 within a dozen miles, or they must have heard his 
 cries for help and mercy." 
 
 " Don't speak of it," replied the other; " I was 
 never fond of bloodshed." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" said the other, with a sneer, "you 
 say so, do you ?" 
 
 " I do," answered the first, gloomily ; "the Murder 
 Hole is the thing for me — that tells no tales — a sin- 
 gle scuffle — a single plunge — and the fellow's dead 
 and buried to your hand in a moment. I would 
 defy all the officers in Christendom to discover any 
 mischief there." 
 
 " Ay, Nature did us a good turn when she con- 
 trived such a place as that. Who that saw a hole in 
 the heath, filled with clear water, and so small that 
 the long grass meets over the top of it, would
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. y 
 
 suppose that the depth is unfathomable, and that it 
 conceals more than forty people who have met their 
 deaths there ? — it sucks them in like a leech ?" 
 
 " How do you mean to dispatch the lad in the 
 next room ?" asked the old woman in an under tone. 
 The elder sou made her a sign to be silent, and 
 pointed towards the door where their trembling 
 auditor was concealed ; while the other, with an 
 expression of brutal ferocity, passed his bloody knife 
 across his throat. 
 
 The pedlar boy possessed a bold and daring 
 spirit, which was now roused to desperation ; but 
 in any open resistance the odds were so completely 
 against him, that flight seemed his best resource. 
 He gently stole to the window, and having by one 
 desperate eifort broke the rusty bolt by which the 
 casement had been fastened, he let himself down 
 without noise or difficulty. This betokens good, 
 thought he, pausing an instant in dreadful hesitation 
 what direction to take. This momentary deliberation 
 was fearfully interrupted by the hoarse voice of the 
 men calling aloud, ' ' The boy has fled — let loose the 
 bloodhound .'" These words sunk like a death-knell 
 on his heart, for escape appeared now impossible, 
 and his nerves seemed to melt away like wax in a 
 furnace. Shall I perish without a struggle ! thought 
 he, rousing himself to exertion, and, helpless and
 
 10 
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 terrified as a hare pursued by its ruthless hunters, 
 he fled across the heath. Soon the baying of the 
 bloodhound broke the stillness of the night, and the 
 voice of its masters sounded through the moor, as 
 they endeavoured to accelerate its speed, — panting 
 and breathless, the boy pursued his hopeless career, 
 but every moment his pursuers seemed to gain upon 
 his faihng steps. The hound was unimpeded by the 
 darkness which was to him so impenetrable, and its 
 noise rung louder and deeper on his ear — while the 
 lanterns which were carried by the men gleamed near 
 and distinct upon his vision. 
 
 At his fullest speed the terrified boy fell with 
 violence over a heap of stones, and having nothing 
 on but his shirt, he was severely cut in every limb. 
 With one wild cry to Heaven for assistance, he con- 
 tinued prostrate on the earth, bleeding, and nearly 
 insensible. The hoarse voices of the men, and the 
 still louder baying of the dog were now so near, that 
 instant destruction seemed inevitable, — already he 
 felt himself in their fangs, and the bloody knife of 
 the assassin appeared to gleam before his eyes, — de- 
 spair renewed his energy, and once more, in an agony 
 of affright that seemed verging towards madness, 
 he rushed forward so rapidly that terror seemed to 
 have given wings to his feet. A loud cry near the 
 spot he had left arose on his ears without suspending
 
 THE MURDER HOLE. 11 
 
 his flight. The hound had stopped at the place 
 where the pedlar's wounds bled so profusely, and 
 deeming the chase now over, it lay down there, 
 and could not be induced to proceed ; in vain the 
 men beat it with frantic violence, and tried again to 
 put the hound on the scent, — the sight of blood had 
 satisfied the animal that its work was done, and with 
 dogged resolution it resisted every inducement to 
 pursue the same scent a second time. 
 
 The pedlar boy in the meantime paused not in 
 his flight till morning dawned — and still as he fled, 
 the noise of steps seemed to pursue him, and the 
 cry of his assassins still sounded in the distance. 
 Ten miles off he reached a village, and spread 
 instant alarm throughout the neighbourhood — the 
 inhabitants w-ere aroused with one accord into a 
 timiult of indignation — several of them had lost 
 sons, brothers, or friends on the heath, and all united 
 in proceeding instantly to seize the old woman and 
 her sons, who were nearly torn to pieces by their 
 violence. 
 
 Thi'ee gibbets were immediately raised on the 
 moor, and the wretched culprits confessed before 
 their execution to the destruction of nearly fifty vic- 
 tims in the Murder Hole, which they pointed out, 
 and near which they suffered the penalty of their 
 crimes. The bones of several murdered persons were
 
 12 THE MURDER HOLE. 
 
 with difficulty brought up from the abyss iuto which 
 they had been thrust ; but so narrow is the aperture, 
 and so extraordinary the depth, that all who see it 
 are inclined to coincide in the tradition of the country- 
 people, that it is unfathomable. 
 
 The scene of these events still continues nearly as it 
 was three hundred years ago. The remains of the old 
 cottage with its blackened walls, (haunted of course 
 by a thousand evil spirits,) and the extensive moor, 
 on which a more modern inn (if it can be dignified 
 with such an epithet) resembles its predecessor in 
 everything but the character of its inhabitants ; the 
 landlord is deformed, but possesses extraordinary 
 genius ; he has himself manufactured a violin, on 
 which he plays with untaught skill, — and if any 
 discord be heard in the house, or any murder com- 
 mitted in it, this is his only instrument. 
 
 His daughter (who has never travelled beyond 
 the heath) has inherited her father's talent, and 
 learnt all his tales of terror and superstition, which 
 she relates with infinite spirit ; but when you are 
 led by her across the heath to drop a stone into that 
 deep and narrow gulf to which our story relates, — 
 when you stand on its slippery edge and (parting the 
 long grass with which it is covered) gaze into its 
 mysterious depths, — when she describes, with all 
 the animation of an eye-witness, the struggle of
 
 THE MURDER HOLE, 13 
 
 the victims grasping the grass as a last hope of pre- 
 servation, and trying to drag in their assassin as an 
 expiring effort of vengeance, — when you are told that 
 for three hundred years the clear waters in this dia- 
 mond of the desert have remained untasted by mor- 
 tal lips, and that the solitary traveller is still pur- 
 sued at night by the howling of the bloodhound, — 
 it is then only that it is possible fully to appreciate 
 the terrors of the murder hole.
 
 CxVPTAIN DAWSON; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE DROWNING DRAGOON. 
 
 Captain Dawson, of the heavy dragoons, having 
 fallen desperately — and, it is to be hoped, disinterest- 
 edly — in love with a young lady of large fortune and 
 extensive property, the attachment was not, unfor- 
 tunately, reciprocal on the part of the richly- endowed 
 heiress. Miss Grey. Her country cousin, however, 
 and humble companion. Miss Davenport, having 
 been fascinated by his merit and his moustachios, 
 viewed him with partiality, which she showed by 
 generously promoting his happiness, and recom- 
 mending him on every occasion to the heiress. 
 
 One day, the whole party having embarked in a 
 boat on Duddingston Loch, it was unfortunately
 
 iS CAPTAIN DAWSON ; 
 
 upset, and Captain Dawson, finding himself able to 
 save one of the ladies — but only one — hesitated for 
 some time between gratitude and love, till at length 
 he finally saved Miss Davenport ; and, then rushing 
 back headlong into the lake, he drowned himself 
 with Miss Grey ! 
 
 This improbable incident having been related once 
 by an officer of dragoons as a perfectly credible 
 every-day fact, the narrator observed, with indig- 
 nation, that the story occasioned laughter rather 
 than tears ; but one of his auditors obligingly 
 offered to dramatize the incident, so that it should 
 end well, and he should himself be induced to 
 laugh. 
 
 The result was as follows : — 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 Captain Dawson attached to Marianne. 
 
 Marianne Gket, an heiress . . . attached to No-bodt. 
 Caroline Davenport, cousin to Marianne, attached to Capt. Dawson. 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene opens, and discovers a magnificent drawing- 
 room, superbly furnished, and littered with musical 
 instruments, worsted work, flowers, new novels, 
 and china ornaments. — Marianne seated on a 
 sofa, and turning her back to Captain Dawson. — 
 Captain Dawson on a chair, with his back to
 
 OR, THE DROWNING DRAGOON. 3 
 
 Miss Davenport. — Caroline seated between 
 them, and looking straight before her. 
 
 Caroline (m a tone of diffident inquiry). Tell 
 
 me, Marianne, how do you like the new regulation 
 
 changes in Captain Dawson's uniform ? 
 
 Marianne {yaions, and answers without looking 
 
 round). Changes ! I did not happen to remark 
 
 them ; but any change is, I dare say, for the 
 
 better. 
 
 (Captain Dawson, sighs deeply, and pensively con- 
 templates his new epaulettes.) 
 Caroline (politely). I understood that before 
 
 now you expected to be a major, unattached. 
 
 Captain Dawson (glancing expressively towards 
 
 Marianne). I never now can be unattached — 
 
 never ! 
 
 Caroline. Marianne, have you read those verses 
 
 of Captain Dawson's, beginning, 
 
 " My bliglited liopes at one fell stroke 
 Destroyed aud lost, cashiered and broke." 
 
 They are charming ! 
 
 Marianne. Chacun a son godt ! I generally 
 detest manuscript verses. 
 
 (Captain Dawson smothers a sigh.) 
 
 Caroline. Suppose we try a little music ? Cap- 
 tain Dawson will perhaps accompany you in "Waiting 
 with despair."
 
 4 CAPTAIN DAWSON ; 
 
 Marianne (drily). The piano is out of tune. 
 
 Caroline (aside). And so are you ! We were 
 planning a walk in the garden this morning ! Per- 
 haps Captain Dawson will be so obliging as to escort 
 us. 
 
 Marianne. It is but lately that you have found 
 an escort necessary within the four walls of our 
 garden, where I have always hitherto been perfectly 
 safe without one. 
 
 Caroline. Perhaps, then, under Captain Daw- 
 son's protection you may venture to try something 
 more hazardous, and we might make a boating 
 excursion on Duddingston Loch ? 
 
 Captain Dawson (sentimentally). In such society 
 all places are alike to me. 
 
 Marianne (satirically). And to me! 
 
 Caroline, (inaudibly). And to me ! 
 
 [Exeunt, all sighing deeply. 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 Scene opens, discovering Duddingston Loch, with 
 a flock of ducks on it, and a small boat rowed by 
 Captain Dawson — Caroline guiding the helm, 
 and Marianne gracefully reclining in an attitude 
 of abstraction, from which, however, she suddenly 
 rouses herself, exclaiming, with evident terror : 
 
 Marianne. How the wind rises !
 
 OR, THE DROWNING DRAGOON. 5 
 
 Captain Dawson (in an insinuating tone). Were 
 my hopes as much raised as the wind, what a storm 
 of joy it would occasion ; but, alas ! they are ship- 
 wrecked, as I fear we shall ourselves be. The very 
 ducks are seeking refuge ! 
 
 Marianne {imperatively). Land us, then, in- 
 stantly ! Oh, hasten to the shore ! 
 
 Captain Dawson {mournfully suspending the oars). 
 Ah ! thus drifting along the stream of life, and brav- 
 ing hardship or danger in your service, — thus would 
 I wish to spend the rest of my life ! 
 
 Marianne {sharply). Our lives will not be very 
 long, sir, if you don't row a little better ! 
 
 Caroline {with spirit). The fault is in my steer- 
 ing ! Captain Dawson rows — as he does everything 
 — well. 
 
 (The boat strikes .' ! ! Marianne, terrified, seizes 
 hold of Captain Dawson's arm, exclaiming, in 
 accents of terror, — ) 
 
 Marianne. Help ! help ! Is there any fear ? 
 Captain Dawson (majestically). There may be 
 danger, but let there be no fear ! This hand, which 
 you have hitherto rejected, shall save you, and 
 then, I trust, it may acquire some value in your 
 eyes ! 
 
 Marianne (frantically). Save my life, and I '11 
 live only for you !
 
 6 CAPTAIN DAWSON ; 
 
 Caroline {loith emotion). Though I Hve not to 
 see it, may you hoth be as happy as you expect and 
 deserve ! 
 (Captain Dawson seizes Marianne's hand, while 
 
 he ofers his arm to Caroline. They form a group, 
 
 and the boat gradually sinks !) 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 Scene opens, and discovers Captain Dawson 
 floating in the Loch, and supporting both ladies by 
 the hair of their heads. He looks at them alter- 
 nately with an air of extreme irresolution, and 
 sighs. 
 
 Captain Dawson. Alas ! to rescue both is im- 
 possible ! and thus, like a pair of scales, I am balanced 
 between gratitude and love. 
 
 Marianne (eagerly). Save me. 
 
 Caroline {magnanimously). Yes! bravest and best 
 of men, let me sink ! 
 (Captain Dawson, in a transport of admiration and 
 
 gratitude, seizes Caroline's hand, and drops her 
 
 Cousin's. Exit Marianne below the water.) 
 
 (Song by Captain Dawson.) 
 
 Adieu, Miss Grey ! — a long adieu, 
 My heart, alas ! has sunk with you ; 
 Six weeks in vain youi' love I sued. 
 Disdain was mine whene'er I woo'd.
 
 OR, THE DROWNING DRAGOON. 7 
 
 Chorus. 
 You 'U ne'er asain look dry on me, 
 Nor say I need not die for thee. 
 
 Adieu, Miss Grey !— once more adieu. 
 Long days of coldness now you'll rue. 
 At last the hand I must resign 
 , Cold water oft that threw on mine. 
 Then ne'er again look dry, &c. 
 
 (Captain Dawson reaches the shore, and places 
 
 Caroline on a rock, while she distractedly ivriiigs 
 
 her hands — and wrings out her dress — exclaiming, 
 
 in accents of tenderness and despair,) 
 
 Caroline. Oh! that I were at the bottom of that 
 
 loch, and you happy with Mariaune ! Why am I 
 
 here!— why! oh! why? Permit me, nevertheless, 
 
 to admire, sir, the coolness and presence of mind with 
 
 which you have saved my hfe, as well as your 
 
 own ! 
 
 Captain Daw^son (tvith dignity). Madam! we 
 did get on swimmingly ! — and now — excuse my leav- 
 ing you — but, having obeyed the dictates of my 
 gratitude, I must follow the impulse of my love. 
 
 [^Exit, plunging headlong into the water. 
 (Caroline rushes off, with dishevelled hair, screaming 
 
 for assistatice.) 
 (A flourish of trumpets. Enter the Humane Society.) 
 (Chorus by the Humane Society.) 
 
 Air. — " Blow gentle gales" 
 
 In the river have you sunk, sir ? 
 Too much water have you drunk, sir?
 
 8 CAPTAIN DAWSON ; 
 
 Still she sent with propriety 
 For the Humane Society. 
 
 (Chokus by Caroline.) 
 Still we've sent, &c. 
 
 Above water keep yonr head, sir. 
 Or full soon you will be dead, sir ; 
 
 While the wind and rain fly at ye. 
 
 Trust the Humane Society. 
 
 Now your friends need not deplore ye, sir, 
 If there 's life left, we '11 restore ye, sir ; 
 
 See in danger how we fly at ye ! 
 
 Trust the Humane Society, 
 
 (They drag Captain Dawson out of the water, who 
 
 sings,) 
 
 Alas ! she 's gone, I fear, past hope ! 
 
 (Humane Society sing,) 
 
 Yet we shall throw her out a rope ! 
 
 (Captain Dawson tears his hair,) 
 
 Alas ! alas ! I see she's drown'd ! 
 
 (Humane Society in full chorus,) 
 
 But her body shall be found. 
 
 (They continue singing, with a polite glance towards 
 Caroline,) 
 
 And in the water, without doubt, sir, 
 There^s better fish than e'er came out, sir. 
 
 (Captain Dawson listens intently, then suddenly 
 starts up, and casts himself at the feet of Caroline, 
 exclaiming,) 
 Captain Dawson. You are right ! Let me no 
 
 longer be blind to so many sterling good qualities !
 
 OR, THE DROWNING DRAGOON. 9 
 
 Accept, Miss Davenport, of my hand and my 
 heart. 
 
 Caroline {despondingly) . Alas! these have long 
 been devoted to my cousin. 
 
 Captain Dav^'son {in an insinuating tone). But, 
 since you succeed by inheritance to all the other 
 possessions of your cousin, why not succeed to this 
 also ! {Lays his hand on his heart, and drops on his 
 knees. Caroline, blushing, puts up her fan, and the 
 curtain drops amid 
 
 CHEERS FROM THE HUMANE SOCIETY!)
 
 THE 
 
 PRIEST AND THE CURATE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE TWO DIARIES.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 During the ensuing year, it is intended by the 
 Author to puWish a series containing twelve " Com- 
 mon Sense Tracts" on various subjects of general 
 interest, especially connected with the Protestant 
 Faith. In human life, as in a gallery of pic- 
 tures, how varied are the subjects of contemplation 
 presented to spectators ! In the proposed little 
 cluster of stories, the object is, to be as diversified 
 as the Dulwich Gallery, where visitors inspect 
 first a cheering representation of humble piety in 
 Wilkie's picture of "A Cottar's Saturday Night," 
 and turn next to observe a red-hatted Cardinal 
 proudly bestowing his benediction on a prostrate 
 suppliant kneeling in the gutter; or the amateur 
 passes on to a sketch of little Samuel praying
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 alone to an unseen God, in his own childish sim- 
 plicity. 
 
 Such scenes are all promiscuously mingled in 
 a gallery, as these Tracts are intended to be, with 
 gayer subjects. Human life is never all light, or 
 all shade — all joy, or all sorrow ; but in the diver- 
 sity of incidents, thoughts and characters, the 
 scene changes at a glance from pleasure to pain, 
 from carelessness to anxiety, just as, to continue 
 the comparison, a spectator sees in the Dulwich 
 Gallery, the rural " Fete Champetre" of Watteau ; 
 side by side with Popish saints in torture, by 
 Guido ; Haymakers, by Wouvermans ; Sportsmen, 
 by Landseer ; Flower-girls, by Murillo ; Shepherd- 
 esses, by Teuiers ; or ladies and gentlemen in 
 a drawing-room, by Watson Gordon and by Francis 
 Grant, 
 
 JANUARY, 1853.
 
 THE 
 
 PRIEST AND THE CURATE. 
 
 For as the vassals of his will, 
 Such men tlie Pope selected still, 
 As either joyed in doing ill, 
 Or thought more grace to gain. 
 
 SCOTT. ^ 
 
 Fear not the guilt, if you can pay for't. 
 There is no Dives in the Roman hell — 
 They hoast the gift of Heaven is in their power; 
 Well may they give the God they can devour! 
 
 DEIDEN .
 
 THE 
 
 CURATE'S DIARY. 
 
 After a peaceful night of unbroken sleep, awoke 
 thankful to God for this necessary refreshment. 
 Studied my Bible for an hour with renewed strength 
 of mind and body. May I never degenerate into 
 a mere empty formalist, or into a mere philosopher 
 — nor to being a mere Church-worshipper, nor a 
 mere brain-worshipper, but serve God, as He com- 
 mands, in Spirit and in Truth, with a free Bible, free 
 worship, free judgment, free homes, free institutions, 
 and all the blessings with which " Christ has made 
 His people free." 
 
 Washed, shaved, dressed and breakfasted. Having 
 thus performed every service that is due to the body.
 
 THE 
 
 CONFESSOR'S DIARY. 
 
 Lay wide awake all night on the floor, and hope 
 soon entirely to conquer sleep. Prostrate on the 
 bare stones, I told my beads over incessantly before 
 the image of my Patron, St. Dunstan. 
 
 Feel very rheumatic and most sinfully sleepy this 
 morning, but the beautiful portrait of St. Theresa 
 looked benignly on me as I rose before smirise, and 
 there seemed a misty radiance all round that lovely 
 picture. I almost thought it smiled on me, and 
 that a tear was in its eye. 
 
 Have refrained entirely all this month from wash- 
 ing, or shaving. Put on my usual hair-shirt and the 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE CURATE S DIARY. 
 
 resolved to forget that I have a body at all, in re- 
 spect to thmking of its necessities. With a pleasant 
 feeling of enjoyment proceeded to seek out what are 
 my duties this day towards God and man. I wish 
 to look at nothing but my blessings, and to me the 
 sense of existence is in itself a delight. All men 
 are bound to cherish as well as to value it ; for is 
 not long life represented always as a desirable boon 
 in Scripture ? It is promised as the greatest of re- 
 wards for keeping the fifth commandment, being 
 distinctly a favour which God, the giver of life, 
 desires that we should all prize. 
 
 Before my desire for the sacred duties of my 
 profession induced me humbly to enter the Church, 
 how deep and devoted was the mutual attachment 
 between Lady Jane Acton and myself. But prin- 
 ciple impeded our union, as we had no income to 
 render it prudent ; therefore her mother. Lady 
 Deptford, forbade us to meet. She sent for me 
 to-day, being ill, and expressed her grateful con- 
 sciousness that I had so honestly stated all my 
 circumstances and so honourably refrained from any 
 clandestine attempt to influence Lady Jane. Lady 
 Deptford' s health being very uncertain, and her 
 mind agitated, I urged her to read her Bible with
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 5 
 
 belt with spikes through the breast. Scourged my- 
 self severely, remaiued silently looking at the wall 
 during three hours and ate no breakfast. My mind 
 now most sinfully engrossed by the sense of acute 
 hunger. Surely death will soon relieve me from the 
 burden of life, and then Low great the reward of all 
 my voluntary suffering. My body and soul seem 
 scarcely held together now by a thread, but that 
 enables me to see visions and to dream dreams such 
 as no ordinary mind ever enjoys. 
 
 Before my disappointments as a lawyer drove me 
 into the Roman Church, how deep and devoted was 
 the mutual attachment between Lady Mary Seton 
 and myself! Since her marriage to Colonel Dermon- 
 ville I have heard nothing of her till this morning, 
 when Lady Penzance, her mother, being ill, sent for 
 me as an old friend. Did not feel it necessary yet 
 to mention that my profession and my religion are 
 both changed. Talked to the old lady as if I were 
 still an Anglo-Catholic, and persuaded her to pro- 
 mise me that she will give up reading the Bible. 
 Brought her own copy away with me in case of a 
 relapse into Scripture-reading, and left on her table
 
 THE CURATE^S DIARY. 
 
 prayer. Marked several appropriate chapters, and 
 left her attentively studying them. 
 
 Bought a great bargaiiv to-day — a copy of the 
 Bible in very ancient type. The binding rather 
 soiled, therefore sent it to be newly bound by Hey- 
 day, before placing the precious volume on a reading- 
 desk in my study, that all who come there may read 
 for their everlasting advantage. 
 
 When I remarked to Lady Deptford that as our 
 souls and minds are invisible, with which we worship 
 an invisible God, so we require no visible object of 
 adoration before us when we pray, she expressed her 
 surprise that if the deluded votaries of superstition 
 must see something to receive their prayers, they 
 should choose idols, the work of their own hands. 
 " Now," she said, " I can better understand the 
 fire-worshippers, because they fall prostrate before 
 the noblest object of God's visible creation ; but 
 that a baker should take a wafer out of his oven and 
 adore it as the Host of Heaven, or that I, when 
 modelling wax fruit, should model a wax doll, put 
 one of my own old dresses on it, and then fall down
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 
 
 instead " The Glories of Mary."* Lady Penzance 
 is not yet come to idol-pitch, or I should have liked 
 to leave her an image also of St. Dominick. 
 
 Bought a great bargain to-day — an image of St. 
 Theresa in old mahogany. The red satin robe rather 
 soiled ; therefore sent it to be newly dressed, before 
 placing it in a niche at our new chapel. Saw a 
 strange old carving in Roslin Chapel last year of a 
 monkey in a pulpit preaching to the Pope. 
 
 After I showed Lady Penzance the beautiful little 
 picture for our Chapel of " the Mater Dolorosa," 
 she asked with a look of stupid astonishment why 
 we represent the Virgin Mary wearing a crown of 
 thorns. When I expressed my dislike of Rubens' 
 picture of " the Assumption" because Mary is not 
 so voung or so very beautiful as in many other pic- 
 tures of her that I have a pleasure in praying before. 
 Lady Penzance, in her usual matter-of-fact way, 
 asked if the Virgin Mary had not been above sixty 
 before she died, and said that as Our Lord is called 
 " her first-born son," she must have had others, 
 who were probably those mentioned in St. Matthew, 
 
 * See Appendix.
 
 8 THE curate's diary. 
 
 and worship the manufacture of my fingers, is be- 
 yond lunacy itself." I told her of the Indian who 
 was lately converted from idolatry by reading the 
 description in Isaiah* of the carpenter planting a 
 tree and hewing it down. " Then shall it be for a 
 man to burn : for he will take thereof and warm 
 himself; yea, he kindleth it, and baketh bread ; yea, 
 he maketh a god and worshippeth it ; he maketh 
 it a graven image, and falleth down thereto. He 
 burneth part thereof in the fire ; with part thereof 
 he eateth flesh, he roasteth meat and is satisfied ; 
 yea, he warmeth himself and is satisfied, and the 
 residue thereof he maketh a god : he falleth down 
 unto it and worshippeth it and prayeth unto it, and 
 saith, Deliver me : for thou art my god." 
 
 Went to that large shop near Grosvenor Square, 
 in which there used to be so splendid a collection of 
 Bibles and Prayer-books, wishing to select some 
 copies, but not one will ever be found there again ! 
 On my first entrance it seemed to me that I had gone 
 by mistake to a toy-shop, for the whole counter was 
 covered with strings of beads, little stucco images, 
 and a coinage of trash that looked like temperance 
 medals for charity children. Aghast with surprise, 
 
 ,* Isaiah, c. 44, v. IG.
 
 THE confessor's DiAttY. 9 
 
 when Christ is told that his mother and his brethren 
 stood without " desiring to speak with him." I \\'ish 
 Lady Penzance could forget her Bible, or I shall be 
 in continual difficulty to keep her in our Church ! 
 That obstinate heretic, Colonel Dermonville, seeing 
 that Lady Mary has a taste for excitement, has been 
 travelling her about all over the Continent to keep 
 her away from Romanists, as if there were any quarter 
 of the globe where he could elude our vigilance. A 
 person likely to be converted is hemmed in on every 
 side, and he may take Lady Mary to Kamschatka or 
 China, but the news of her approach will precede her 
 there, and our emissaries be ready to welcome her. 
 There is no protection from our snares for any woman 
 but in herself. 
 
 When I told Lady Penzance to repeat fifteen 
 Ave Marias every morning and evening, she asked 
 me to explain the meaning of that text, " Use not 
 vain repetitions, as the Heathen do." She also 
 requested me to tell her when the publican smote 
 upon his breast saying, " God be merciful to me a 
 sinner!" whether he had a rosary in his hand, and 
 what image he knelt before. She was also anxious 
 to know, when the jailer asked the Apostles, " Sirs, 
 what must I do to be saved ?" whether the answer
 
 10 THE curate's diary. 
 
 I read the shop-bill, and took a copy of it as follows, 
 being an actual advertisement in London during this 
 present year. 
 
 " Rosaries of the Seven Dolours, very neat, 9d. 
 each : also the crown of the B. V. M., 4rf. A very 
 strong brass crucifix, 4d., or 3s. 6d. per dozen, (3^ 
 inches long). Scapulars of all kinds. Id. on linen, 
 or beautifully made up, 4c?., or 3s. 6d. per dozen, 
 and upwards. Good strong beads, in a nice red colour. 
 Is. Ad. a dozen. Better qualities at all prices, with 
 the usual allowance per gross. A beautiful image of 
 St. Joseph, after a new model, 26 inches high, to 
 match the images of Our Lady, already on sale in 
 coloured plaster, 7d., painted and gilt." 
 
 Visited my school. The children had arranged, as 
 I desired them, all the texts in Scripture which forbid 
 idolatry, and they are legion. It was delightful to 
 see their young minds and hearts so pleasingly oc- 
 cupied in learning from the word of God himself 
 to give a reason for the hope that is in them. 
 
 Took them all as a holiday treat to see that won- 
 derful conjuror the Wizard of the North, who brought 
 twelve different kinds of liquid out of one bottle. It 
 is lucky the Papists have not engaged him to perform 
 on their behalf, as the blood of St. Januarius in a
 
 THE CONFESSOR^S DIARY, 11 
 
 was not simply, " Believe on the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, and thou shalt be saved." She had looked 
 in vain at this passage for any mention of the Virgin 
 and Saints. Those ladies who have read a Bible 
 are very difficult to convert, and are sometimes in 
 the habit of remembering Dr. Chalmers' advice, 
 which would put an end to our influence. " Believe, 
 and do what the Bible bids you." Told Lady 
 Penzance that, as a good Catholic, she is bound to 
 give over thinking for herself or asking questions, 
 but must implicitly receive the infallible teaching 
 which it is my office to bestow. 
 
 Visited my school. The children had been for 
 some days as I desired, sitting with their eyes fixed on 
 a white-washed wall, therefore now they are ready 
 to believe anything. Shall get up a few visions 
 next week, and exhibit a bleeding picture, which is 
 easily managed by fixing behind the canvas some 
 leeches, saturated with blood, from the hospitals.* 
 
 In Ireland, at the last election, I actually per- 
 suaded an Irish constituent that we priests had the 
 pow^er of turning all his children into goats, if he 
 
 * See Appendix.
 
 12 THE curate's diary. 
 
 bottle, at Naples, would be mere child's play in 
 comparison of what this clever juggler could do,* 
 
 As God spreads abundance of food for all animals 
 in every field, it is only man who has to prepare what 
 he eats, and to eat it with a thankful remembrance 
 of the bountiful hand which gives us all things, so 
 "richly to enjoy." After my own simple dinner, 
 distributed all that remained among some orphan 
 children who have no mortal friend to provide for 
 them, and were in danger of actually tasting no food 
 all day ! Those who pray like us for daily bread, 
 must take care that others do not want theirs. 
 
 Felt particularly energetic and wide-awake when 
 dismissing my school. Told the children previously 
 some improving little stories of every-day life, but 
 avoided all that is supernatural or exciting. That 
 old Popish maid of Lady Penzance, who was supposed 
 to have such ecstatic visions, turns out to have been 
 in a state of delirium tremens, from having long 
 
 * See Appendix, No. 1.
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 13 
 
 voted against our wishes, and he yielded up his vote 
 from terror of that threat. In Ireland now the 
 mode of canvassing, literally, is, " Your vote or your 
 life !" 
 
 Having eaten no breakfast, felt most sinfully 
 hungry as I hurried past a baker's shop, and could 
 think of nothing else for an hour, being so haunted 
 by the smell of new bread. Could have relished a 
 mouldy crust, or picked any bone that a dog would 
 have despised, butresolved to complete my meritorious 
 penance. Enjoined a total fast on the children to- 
 morrow. Several burst into tears on hearing this, 
 and that sickly girl Jenny Pratt fainted. She evi- 
 dently cannot live long, and why should she ? one of 
 her eyes is blind already. 
 
 Having kept myself awake all last night, fell asleep 
 standing to-day while I was dismissing the school, 
 and retired to scourge myself wide awake again. 
 Thought that I became supernaturally suspended a 
 few inches oif the ground for several minutes, and 
 told the brethren of it, who were much pleased at 
 this result of all my watchfulness and fasting. Read 
 that beautiful new book, " The Dark, Dark Night,"
 
 14 THE curate's diary. 
 
 secretly practised the habit of becoming drunk with 
 spirits of wine. (A fact.) 
 
 Called on old Sir Simon Pigot, and was sorry to 
 find him still bitter against his sons. Succeeded in 
 pacifying him so far that he has consented to see the 
 eldest. Sir Simon is to continue him in the succes- 
 sion, rather than endow some ostentatious institu- 
 tion, as so many foolish old men do now, meaning it, 
 not for the good of others, but as a monument to 
 themselves — and a monument it often remains of 
 their malignity, selfishness, or vanity. When I 
 brought young Pigot to his dying father, and saw 
 them embrace with tears of restored affection, how 
 strongly did my own feelings tell me the truth of that 
 text : " Blessed are the peace-makers !" 
 
 Visited that dying convert, David Connell, and 
 showed him that each sinner must work out his own 
 salvation with fear and trembling, for, as the wise 
 virgins could not spare any oil for the foolish ones, 
 no more can any mortal man have any works of 
 supererogation with which to endow his neighbours. 
 Told him not to trust in grovelling heathenisms but
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 15 
 
 and " The Wei, Wet Weather," to keep me wide, 
 wide awake another night, but they had the contrary 
 effect, as I am more than half asleep all day now. 
 
 Called on old Sir Joseph Wilton, who continues 
 tolerably bitter against his two eldest sons, whom I 
 have every hope that he will disinherit in favour of 
 our Church. The only obstacle is, that unluckily 
 the third having been on foreign service these many 
 years, we can bring nothing very tangible against 
 him. Sir Joseph is, however, almost at disinheriting 
 pitch, for I refuse him absolution if he leaves more 
 than a shiUing to those heretics, his sons, and the 
 papers are ready for signature in his first paroxysm 
 of ill-humour. 
 
 Spent an hour with that dying profligate, Patrick 
 Martin, who has a most unsilenceable conscience. 
 Relieved his mind by promising to take the guilt of 
 his sins upon myself, on condition that he appoints 
 me trustee to his will and bequeaths his whole 
 possessions to our Church. The wretched creature 
 is thoroughly frightened, but hesitates about whether
 
 16 THE curate's diary. 
 
 to pray for the grace of repentance, to look hopefully 
 to his Saviour, and to do justly by all men. Connell 
 thought of leaving all his possessions to charity, but 
 as God appoints us our duties as relatives, I objected 
 against his beggaring those young children. I shall 
 get the wife some employment, and put the boys to 
 school. 
 
 Pointed out to Lady Deptford that the Bereans 
 wisely searched the Scriptures daily, and that the 
 strongest witness on earth against idolatry is the 
 Bible, therefore who can wonder that idolaters forbid 
 so indisputable a witness to appear at all in court. 
 The Popish priest boldly asserts that the only in- 
 fallible guide is himself, but a Protestant clergyman 
 declares that infallible teaching is only in the 
 Bible. Showed her that St. Peter's alleged supre- 
 macy is only a precedence among equals, and that he 
 was the only Apostle to whom our Lord spoke vdth 
 severity, saying, "Get thee behind me, Satan !" 
 
 Gave Jane Connell a few rational and pious tracts, 
 advising her at the same time to take the advice of 
 her deservedly venerated mother as to what she shall
 
 THE confessor's DIARY, 17 
 
 my bail be sufficient, and about beggaring his young 
 family. I must persuade the widow to become a 
 nun, and entice the boys into La Trappe. 
 
 Saw Lady Penzance again, who asked me why in 
 the second commandment it is said " thou shalt not 
 make unto thee any graven image." She thought if 
 images were not even to be made, how much less are 
 they to be worshipped. I explained that in our 
 Church we have expunged the second commandment 
 entirely, and divided the tenth in two so as to make 
 up the difference in point of number. Finding her 
 questions often difficult to answer, I have enjoined 
 her to take a vow of silence, for unless her mind be 
 put to sleep, it may turn out, as our Cardinal said, 
 that " every one trusted with a Bible becomes a 
 Protestant." 
 
 Summoned Fanny Martin for the first time to 
 confession. Found her wonderfully ignorant on 
 some subjects. A girl of fifteen in our Church 
 
 c
 
 18 THE curate's diary. 
 
 read, but above all, to sbut up at once any book 
 containing any impropriety, as well as to relinquish 
 instantly any friendship with those whose conversa- 
 tion is not strictly correct. I told her mother, 
 Mrs. Connell, that as the best feelings of girlhood 
 will at once teach her daughter to avoid the society 
 of any man who talks too freely, there is less danger 
 from such persons in society, than from the ill- 
 directed conversation of silly or profligate women ; 
 but that as the modesty of girls is like the butter- 
 fly's wing, which must not even be touched, she 
 should give her daughter the safest books and com- 
 panions that her own anxious judgment can select. 
 
 Six Irish reapers came to my morning lecture, for 
 whom I got employment from farmer Dixon, and 
 exhorted them to use all Christian diligence in what- 
 ever honest labour they undertook. Not one had 
 any respect for truth, and when they take an oath in 
 any court of justice, the priest gives them his testa- 
 ment, with a paper cross pasted on it, to be kissed by 
 each witness, as an evasion ! 
 
 Had a visit from our M.P., and explained to him 
 that I can take no part in the coming election, as it 
 is not for such purposes that influence is entrusted
 
 THE CONFESSOR^S DIARY. 19 
 
 knows more than a Protestant girl ever learns in 
 the longest life. Appointed Fanny a penance of 
 sitting alone with her face to the wall all day for 
 avoiding to give me direct answers. She professed 
 not to understand my questions, but I saw by her 
 colouring and stammering that she did, and at all 
 events I made my meaning so plain at last, that 
 the girl can never pretend any ignorance of evil 
 again. The girl was brought by her own mother ! 
 
 Insisted on her taking home the Book of Con- 
 fession, in which I marked the passages she must 
 particularly study, and on which I shall examine her 
 most particularly next time. She blushed deeply, 
 and looked certainly very pretty when she turned 
 away to hurry out of my presence ; but what a 
 change an hour has wrought in putting her mind 
 through that mental dung-hill ! 
 
 Six Irish reapers came to confession. Ordered 
 them to spend all Wednesday on bare knees at the 
 Holy "Well of St. Bridget, telling their beads, and 
 to fast till sunset. 
 
 Had a visit from our M.P., to consult as to the 
 best means of intimidating voters at the coming 
 election. Promised to terrify them at confession, 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE CURATE^S DIARY. 
 
 to me. It is never good for the parishioners when 
 the clergy allow religion and politics to clash their 
 chariot- wheels. 
 
 My whole fortune in life depended on my using 
 an equivocation to-day, but it was not even a momen- 
 tary temptation, as there is a Divine sacredness in 
 genuine truth never to be tampered with. The Har- 
 denstone estate was left to me by an uncle, who 
 omitted half my four Christian names in the will. 
 When asked for my legal signature, I could not 
 deny that omission, which invalidates the deed, but 
 acknowledged at once, that having been christened 
 "Thomas John Edward Henry," and being only 
 named as Henry, the estate must go to my cousin, 
 contrary to the evident intention of our uncle. This 
 prevents me giving the thousand pounds I had con- 
 ditionally promised to our new church, but I hope 
 never to have a heavy purse if accompanied by a 
 heavy conscience.
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 21 
 
 and to denounce from the altar all those who oppose 
 his being returned. 
 
 Detected Pat Donovan in having bought a winter- 
 cloak for his mother with the money he owed me 
 for masses for his father, who died ten years ago. 
 
 Was asked point-blank by Lady Penzance whether 
 I had heard that story Lady Mary told me yester- 
 day, but I positively denied having ever heard a 
 word of it, and would have sworn ignorance had that 
 been necessary, as Alphonso Lignori says, " in a just 
 cause we may equivocate, and a Confessor may 
 declare, even upon oath, that he knows nothing of a 
 fact heard in confession," by understanding "as 
 man, not minister of Christ." My vows bind me to 
 "vagrancy and profitable mendicity," therefore, 
 before setting out, exchanged confessions with Priest 
 Oldhem, when we absolved each other. We both 
 acknowledged having become infidels ever since we 
 attempted to believe the Eomish miracles as certainly 
 as the true miracles of Holy Scripture. The stone 
 and lime Chapel of Loretto flying through the air 
 to Rome was a great stumbling-block to my belief, 
 and seeing the consecrated wafer in a state of cor- 
 ruption like any other bread. In Scripture, none of 
 the miracles are contrary to our senses.
 
 22 THE curate's diary. 
 
 Told Lady Deptford that as no one in the present 
 day seeks health of body in the good old way, but 
 all are trying hydropathy, homoeopathy, or mes- 
 merism, so people are equally eccentric in seeking 
 health to their souls by becoming Latter-day Saints, 
 or Papists, or anything but Bible Christians, in safe 
 and simple adherence to their only Saviour. " By 
 their fruits ye shall know them ;" and those who trust 
 in a risen Saviour, will best imitate His character by 
 strict moral virtue, by truth, by meekness, gentleness, 
 charity, and honesty in all our actions. 
 
 Spent an evening with the Bishop, who received 
 me in a most friendly manner, and seemed pleased 
 with the account I gave of my yoimg candidates 
 for confirmation. The girls come twice a week with 
 their mothers for instruction, and are writing down 
 their thoughts on confirmation, that I may judge 
 whether the whole solemnity is clearly before their 
 minds. Told the Bishop my opinion that the religion 
 of some apostate ladies in the parish seems returned 
 to its second childhood : they are become so fond of 
 beads, dolls, flowers, processions and theatrical kneel- 
 ings, and of everything in short, but a reformation of 
 heart.
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 33 
 
 Told Lady Penzance she was wrong to have dis- 
 missed her abigail for stealing some stockings and 
 shifts, as the rule is (" Overbury," p. 79,) that all 
 servants who think their services inadequately remu- 
 nerated " are excused from sin and from restitution, 
 if they only take an equitable compensation." Con- 
 vinced Lady Penzance how wrong she is ever to think 
 for herself, as I am her infallible guide, and that she 
 must even believe everything that is incredible. 
 
 Went to his Eminent issimo' s levee, knelt, kissed 
 hands, and reported progress in confiscating Bibles, 
 &c. Asked directions respecting the visits of wives 
 without the knowledge of their husbands, and of 
 daughters without the knowledge of their parents. 
 Met a number of excited-looking young ladies, evi- 
 dently somewhat delirious, who are soon about to 
 be " received." Lady Mary seemed much pleased 
 with the novelty of kneeling and kissing a diamond 
 ring instead of wearing one. It is singular that the 
 proudest and most exclusive ladies are those most 
 delighted with this unusual prostration to one more 
 exalted and assuming than themselves !
 
 24 THE curate's diary. 
 
 Attended at St. Paul's, the sermon for the Sons 
 of the Clergy, a society most deserving of encourage- 
 ment. Those who wear out their time, health, and 
 income for our sakes deserve that their children 
 should be taken care of when orphans, and how often 
 do they become so from the unsparing zeal of their 
 parents to do all the arduous duties of a parish. 
 
 Had every hope till yesterday of being able to 
 marry Lady Jane, but now that I have lost the 
 Hardenstone estate, Lady Deptford very naturally 
 objects to our attempting to live on "a starving" 
 like my curacy. Saw Lady Jane probably for the 
 last time, in her mother's presence, as it is a useless 
 trial of our feelings to meet, though nothing can 
 alter our attachment ; and she has refused, her uncle 
 tells me, to marry Colonel Holford, M.P,, preferring 
 comparative poverty with her mother, and the diligent 
 exercise of all her home duties. 
 
 The Popish Church is the greatest monument of 
 liuman talent and of human wickedness in this world : 
 she keeps her votaries in constant excitement, and I am 
 sorry to see my cousin. Lady Mary, continually with 
 her former lover, who so recently apostatised into a
 
 THE confessor's diary. 25 
 
 Old Mrs. Martin asked me the meaning of Caesar 
 Borgia and other historical men being called " The 
 Pope's Sons." Had no idea of any Pope having had 
 a wife and family. She inquired also about Rome 
 having been "under petticoat government," with Pope 
 Joan during two years and five months. Her real 
 name was Gilborta, but she took the name of John 
 English when delivering public lectures, and became 
 unanimously elected Pope John VIII. 
 
 "When Lady Penzance, the mother of Lady Mary, 
 objected to our mutual attachment on account of 
 poverty, we were both nearly heart-broken ; but she 
 was since persuaded, from prudential motives, and 
 against her will, to marry Colonel Dermonville, M.P., 
 a Protestant. Now that she is privately converted 
 without his knowledge, she has a dispensation to 
 keep it secret, and I have got myself appointed her 
 Confessor. Thus I shall have clandestine access to 
 her at all hours, and be more in Lady Mary's 
 confidence than that obstinate heretic her husband. 
 Lady Mary looked more beautiful than ever when I 
 questioned her very closely as to her feelings in 
 respect to Colonel Dermonville, whom she positively 
 detests. 
 
 Described to my people the Holy Well, near West-
 
 26 THE CURATE^S DIARY. 
 
 Churcli wliicli bribes its votaries by very strange 
 licences. It was well said that the Pope gave to 
 Charles II. mistresses, and to his graver brother 
 James, confessors ! 
 
 Nothing is in general more unpalatable to a young 
 person in a state of high excitement than being 
 advised to do her home duties of God's appointment; 
 but I cannot sufficiently admire the quiet, unpre- 
 tending, domestic life of Lady Jane, sitting day after 
 day beside her aged mother, to whom she reads the 
 Bible. She also studies Hooker, Pearson, Leighton, 
 and other standard authors of our Church, whom 
 we reverence, but do not worship. She was smiling 
 with good-humoured cheerfulness when I left her 
 mother's bojidoir yesterday, and I could not but 
 think with a sigh of regret what a wife so affectionate 
 a daughter would be. 
 
 Lady Jane keeps off ennui by many innocent 
 amusements, and leaves herself no time for idle 
 thoughts. She educates her late brother's little boy, 
 to whom she seems devotedly attached. Her music 
 and painting are great resources, and she has a
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 27 
 
 port, Ireland, in which lives a sacred trout who 
 operates miraculous cures ! If the patient sees the 
 trout floating on his back, he dies ; if otherwise, he 
 lives ! 
 
 Poor Lady Mary ! her chief subject of confession 
 is, the misery of living with a husband in whose 
 sympathy she can no longer confide, while he has no 
 notion that her faith is different from his own. 
 
 The Colonel has surrounded her with every means 
 of worldly enjoyment, but much to her credit she is 
 miserable. Prostrate on the floor sometimes for 
 hours in the dark, unable to care for her child, and 
 in constant terror of Colonel Dermonville finding me 
 with her. None but a heretic would be jealous as 
 he is of one in my office. She fainted the last time 
 I left her boudoir, and is evidently wasting away 
 with misery, so that my sympathy seems her only 
 consolation ; and I give her absolution every day for 
 everything. 
 
 Lady Mary, unable to endure the society of her 
 heretic husband and his heretic friends, agrees with 
 me that she must get rid of all family ties, but com- 
 plains of ennui ; so I advised her to try some imiocent 
 amusements, such as the girls enjoy at our Retreat,
 
 28 THE CURATE^S DIARY. 
 
 number of well-chosen friends, with whom she 
 frequently converses on books, and with whom she 
 is associated in many plans of usefulness ; but above 
 all, her family ties at home involve the most obvious 
 duties, and are the source of her greatest happiness. 
 Her religion is better exemplified than by sackcloth 
 raiment, a crucifix, and philippics against the Bible ! 
 
 Heard that the carnival at Eome this year is to 
 be without masks, and most heartily wish the religion 
 of Rome were also without a mask. 
 
 My cousin Lady Mary's religion seems to consist 
 in " will-worship," dismal dress, and eccentric food. 
 Her whole expression of countenance is an affectation 
 of lugubrious solemnity, and I really fear the best 
 prescription for her will soon be a cab to the nearest 
 lunatic asylum. If I fixed that my religion was to 
 consist in wearing a grey coat instead of a black one, 
 and in eating boiled beef rather than roasted, how 
 scrupulously I might observe these rules without 
 being one atom the more religious for doing so. The 
 whole fable of Romanism is a blasphemous as well 
 as a most cruel imposture, and like a false diamond, 
 the greater its pretensions to worth, the more
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 29 
 
 to make a procession with her maid, and nursery- 
 governess, round the house, to string arhutus berries, 
 for a cross, to have up the kitten and the Skye terrier, 
 to embroider an apron for St. Bridget, to weave a 
 garland of snowdrops for St. Theresa, and to try how 
 many times in a day she can count over her beads. 
 We must keep her excited or put her mind to sleep, 
 for otherwise she will grow untractable. 
 
 Heard Lady Mary, as I left her room yesterday, 
 say to her sympathizing maid, " I shall keep a strict 
 fast and take no dinner to-day." Felt pleased, as 
 in general her appetite is sinfully good ; but she 
 added, in a tone of mournful reflection : " Tell Mrs. 
 Jobson to send me a severe tea at six, with fried 
 sole, omelette, muffins, poached eggs, scolloped 
 oysters, and several kinds of preserves." 
 
 As soon as I entice her to take the vows, this will 
 all be curtailed, and she shall know the conventual 
 meaning of a fast ; but meanwhile we must not show 
 the rod nor pull the reins. Lady Mary says the 
 music and processions in our Church are quite equal 
 to the Italian Opera. 
 
 Lady Mary has thought of an admirable plan ! 
 Her husband, suspecting that she and her married
 
 30 THE curate's diary. 
 
 desirous every one should be to proclaim the fraud, 
 and to rescue the intended victims. It is, in Parlia- 
 mentary phrase, "wise, just, and beneficial," so to 
 do ; therefore, I hope that our greatest of all debating 
 clubs, in the House of Commons, will now assert the 
 Protestantism of England in unmistakeable terms. 
 
 When I gave Lady Deptford that text to meditate 
 on : " There is no other name given under Heaven, 
 whereby a man may be saved, but the name of 
 Christ," pointed out to her the sin and folly of 
 imagining that such a Saviour can want either the 
 power or the will to save her, therefore why do the 
 Romanists ask for any one to mediate with Him r 
 That Church flaunting in purple and gold at Rome 
 always reminds me of the rich man in the parable, 
 and ours in humiliation and suffering, of Lazarus, 
 
 Lady Deptford complains that she is tired of 
 hearing about the Popish Aggression. She wishes
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 31 
 
 sister, Lady Anne, talk Romanism together, said he 
 would allow them still to meet constantly, provided 
 they promised never to mention religion to each other 
 at all. He took her most solemn assurance on the 
 subject, and said he could still trust to her truthful- 
 ness, therefore she told me that she and Lady Anne 
 have agreed not to speak to each other on the for- 
 bidden subject, but to appoint that I shall come 
 daily and talk to them, while they listen together. 
 Surely they will both soon join our Church, for 
 which this incident shows them so fitted. 
 
 When I gave Lady Penzance "The Glories of 
 Mary " to study, she asked whether there were any 
 books recommended by our Church in which she 
 could read of the Saviour Himself, as she never now 
 heard His name. I appointed her a penance for 
 presuming to think independently, and told her she 
 must forget all she ever read formerly in the Bible, 
 as for my own part I never read any of it except the 
 few fragments contained in the Mass-book. 
 
 The Protestants having talked much and done 
 little about the Popish Aggression, seem all going as
 
 33 THE CURATE^S DIARY. 
 
 people would think of something else and forget it, 
 but the Roman candle is not so easily snuffed out as 
 she thinks. The more people talk of their danger 
 and think of it, the better ; or the lighting of candles 
 may very soon be followed by the lighting of fires — 
 candles on the altar are the light-houses to give 
 warning of fires at Smithfield, and the confessional 
 is avant courier to the Inquisition. The old Popish 
 rule was, "Put to sleep the enemies you caunotkill." 
 
 A lady of the Popish persuasion invited me to 
 visit her clandestinely, as she wishes to be instructed 
 on religious subjects in the absence of her husband, 
 while he is attending at his office. Declined any 
 such underhand proceeding, being resolved never to 
 steal into a dwelling-house on false pretences. A 
 Protestant minister must always appear in the 
 truthful and open character of his sacred office, I 
 would no more act a lie than speak one. 
 
 Lady Jane, with exemplary devotion, has been 
 trying to convince poor Fanny Martin that there is 
 but one Saviour for sinners. The child showed her 
 a list of those she is taught at the Popish Chapel to
 
 THE confessor's diary. 33 
 
 soundly and comfortably to sleep as they did at 
 Paris on the night of St. Bartholomew. Our pro- 
 gress is as quiet as the digging of a mine under a 
 besieged city ; but in hundreds of families now we 
 have the sons or the daughters, the servants or the 
 governesses, either doubting Protestants or unac- 
 knowledged Papists. Minds ungarrisoued by previous 
 knowledge are easily captured, and then go round 
 their own axis for ever afterwards in blind, mecha- 
 nical, unquestioning obedience. 
 
 Attended a meeting of the Religious Equality 
 Society. It is a capital farce to keep up, but our 
 Church will soon put all heretics on an equality of 
 total extinction. Being ourselves united as one man, 
 drilled to our work, and unrestrained by any law, 
 moral or civil, from doing and saying whatever shall 
 advance our Church, we must soon build up a 
 splendid edifice on the ruin of every other. 
 
 Lady Mary, with, exemplary devotion, has lent all 
 her diamonds to be worn by the image of St. Theresa, 
 at the festival in our Chapel to-morrow, and I assisted 
 her to decorate the shrine with flowers. Lady
 
 34 THE curate's diary. 
 
 waste her prayers on. St. Barbara is to protect ber 
 during thunder; St. Lucia will heal the disease 
 brought on her eyes by staring at white-washed walls. 
 St. Nicholas is the saint who obtains husbands for 
 those who wish to marry ; St. Polonia preserves the 
 teeth ; St. Domingo cures fevers ; and St. Blaise 
 cures disorders of the throat. The doctors in their 
 green chariots will be quite superseded, if Popery 
 become established. 
 
 Colonel Morgan, M.P., intending to have a 
 splendid establishment in London now, has proposed 
 to Lady Jane, but on account of the difference in 
 her religious principles, she would not have accepted 
 any Papist, even had he been in other respects 
 deserving. Lady Jane said she would never consent 
 to preside over any house, unless she could devote her 
 best earthly afPections to him mth whom she was to 
 share it, and deserve his unbounded confidence in 
 return for her own. To enter a home where a con- 
 fessor was to stand between the confi.dence of husband 
 and wife she considers out of the question, and Lady 
 Jane has no sympathy with Colonel Morgan's love of 
 candles, crosses, and genuflections, knowing that much 
 more is required to make a saint than sackcloth, 
 gold crucifixes, and kissing diamond rings.
 
 THE COXFESSOR^S DIARY. 35 
 
 Mary ought to give the jewels entirely ! She must 
 be made to do so at last, but she has the weakness to 
 be afraid of her husband, who presented them to her 
 on her wedding-dfiy. That obstinate heretic has 
 discovered that I visit in the house, and forbidden 
 the servants to admit me, but luckily the butler has 
 secretly become one of my flock. The Colonel is a 
 most un-get-at-able man in argument ! 
 
 Colonel Dermonville intended remaining in the 
 school-room last night, as formerly, to hear his little 
 boy's hymns and prayers, but the child cried out- 
 rageously, saying he would rather papa did not stay. 
 On being pressed to give a reason, he said that when 
 papa was not in the room he was allowed to pray 
 before that beautiful doll in the closet. Colonel 
 Dermonville instantly rose, and before Lady ]\Iary 
 could invent any story to prevent him, opened the 
 door, and there was my St. Theresa, wearing all his 
 family diamonds. Instead of storming, as he used to 
 do, the obstinate heretic inquired into this business 
 so closely, that he discovered the secret of Lady 
 Mary having been "received" into our Church, and 
 when the whole truth came out he fainted. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE CURATE^S DIARY. 
 
 Found good old Mrs. Connell contented and 
 happy, though bed-ridden and poor, with no com- 
 panion but her Bible. Surely a verdict of wilful 
 misconception may be brought against those who 
 say God's word is only for the Priests, when it is so 
 evidently intended to solve the whole mysterious 
 riddle for us of human life, which no unassisted 
 mortal can do. 
 
 Lord Hampstead has in the kindest manner in- 
 formed me, that from a feeling of cordial friendship 
 he has long intended bestowing on me his chief living, 
 now vacant, " Oakfield Vicarage." He had heard of 
 the circumstances under which I lost the Hardenstone 
 estate, and said in the handsomest terms, that origi- 
 nally he proposed to do me a favour by settling me in 
 Oakfield, but that now he feels himself doing a favour 
 to his family and to the village. Lord Hampstead 
 invited me to meet his cousin Lady Jane, at dinner, 
 and made some pleasant allusions to the loss of all 
 my curate -comforts, and his hopes that I would make 
 up for that at the Rectory, and imitate the Apostle 
 Peter by marrying a wife. The kind old man evi- 
 dently sees my attachment to his young cousin and 
 approves of it, therefore if Lady Deptford consents.
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 37 
 
 Detected Mrs. Martin in having a Bible, and in 
 having become a pervert to Protestantism. She was 
 confined only three weeks ago, and is still in bed ; 
 but when I found she had got her child christened 
 by a Protestant clergyman, struck her three times 
 with my umbrella. Those persecuting heretics, her 
 relations, threaten to prosecute me, but had we been 
 in Ireland they dared not com})lain. Lord Eglinton 
 seems putting every string of the Irish harp in tune 
 now ! 
 
 Lady Mary, as I expected, has not waited for a 
 legal separation. She wisely came to me this morning, 
 that I may conduct her to my own convent of St. 
 Theresa, where I am myself the Confessor. Lady 
 Mary brought the precious image with her, and all 
 that she could lawfully claim. Her husband, like a 
 true heretic, tried to take Lady Mary to her parents, 
 but this cruel attempt was frustrated. Lord Pen- 
 zance is the very worst person to have charge of her, 
 as he reads the Bible constantly, and actually has 
 family prayers twice a-day. Lady Mary and I had 
 a delightful conference for several hours alone to- 
 gether, during which we exchanged ten thousand 
 congratulations on her escape. I have mentioned 
 that it is now her duty to say that she never knew 
 happiness before, and that she has not a wish im-
 
 38 THE curate's diary. 
 
 but not without her permission, I shall propose to 
 Lady Jane. Our domestic duties do not rest on the 
 shifting sands of human tradition, but on the laws of 
 n ature, of the Bible, and of God Himself. 
 
 Lady Jane is exactly the person to exemplify 
 Protestant principles. She considers that to fulfil 
 her own family duties is the task in life obviously 
 portioned, out for her by the Divine Creator, and 
 that therefore she best fulfils her duty to God by 
 fulfilling them. Well and diligently does she mi- 
 nister to the comfort of her aged relatives, to the 
 happiness of those who are her contemporaries, and 
 to the instruction of the young. Unlike those fo- 
 reign ladies, who seem scarcely to know there is 
 such a place as home, she seems scarcely to know 
 there is any other, while her most trusted friend, and 
 only Confessor, has been her own sensible, excellent 
 mother. To take the first place in the affections of 
 a mind so pure and a heart so true as Lady Jane's, 
 is felicity in deed, and now, united in every thought 
 and feeling, for time and for eternity, we gratefully 
 accept the happy lot that God has appointed us to 
 serve Him together, and to consider every mortal a 
 friend of our own who is a friend of religion.
 
 THE confessor's DIARY. 39 
 
 gratified, as well as to be always smiling with a look 
 of beatitude, but nevertheless to wear a religious 
 bonnet and a very mournful dress, as well as to give 
 up curling her hair, or washing her face. 
 
 Lady Mary is exactly the person for us, having 
 always hated home as she needs continual excite- 
 ment. She says her parents were humdrum, every- 
 day people, her husband so good-natured that there 
 was no interest in trying to please him, and she 
 never cared for her little boy. We shall at last, I 
 think, bring round Englishwomen to the principles 
 and practice of the Spanish and Italian ladies, 
 which will be an immense improvement — masks, 
 confessionals, cicisbeos, duennas, carnivals, proces- 
 sions, assignations, convents, &c. 
 
 I have half promised Lady Mary that she shall 
 at last be canonized, so her vain and ambitious spirit 
 will be in full work to gain this distinction, and 
 she shall soon exceed any Faquir in the desert, for 
 filth and starvation. 
 
 I see her much astonished at the infantine silliness 
 of the nuns, but we shall soon bring her to the 
 same level. I must now go and scourge myself for 
 an hour, and then prostrate myself on the floor for 
 the rest of this evening.
 
 40 THE curate's diary. 
 
 I trust the day may long continue when the 
 homes of England are acknowledged as the happiest, 
 because the most domestic and religious, the sacred 
 tie being recognized and respected of husbands and 
 wives, parents and children, brothers and sisters, all 
 in accordance with Scripture and with the teach- 
 ing of our pulpits. How strange that some men 
 think it an instance of piety towards God to under- 
 value the privileges He has given us, and to speak 
 as if it were a condescension to live on this earth at 
 all. The pleasures of this world are asserted to be 
 incompatible with those of another, as if all were 
 not parts of one grand system. We should make 
 the best of this world, as well as of another. It is 
 not by disparaging and despising God's works and 
 dispensations in this world, that we shall be taught 
 to think more reverently of His works and dispensa- 
 tions hereafter. Our Divine Saviour did not show 
 us an example of standing with folded arms looking 
 disdainfully at existence and its objects, nor to look 
 upon life as so much time lost, but to value it, to 
 enjoy it, and yet be ready to lay it down rather than 
 sacrifice conscience, principle, or patriotism.* 
 
 * See Popish Legends,
 
 THE CONFESSOR^S DIARY. 41 
 
 I trust the cLay is not far distant when there shall be 
 no homes in England, but the men all living in monas- 
 teries, the women in convents, and only the priests 
 at liberty. Wc shall then have all the broad lands 
 of Britain for Church property, and unbounded 
 incomes to the priesthood, with power that no one 
 shall question. As Confessors to all the ladies, we 
 shall visit them constantly, teaching the necessity of 
 never opening a Bible, the evils of marriage, and the 
 whole code of Lignori, who shows that the entire 
 moral law may be set aside at the bidding of any 
 priest, and that with his sanction, theft, lying and all 
 other crimes are commendable. 
 
 We shall soon have our Popish friends, the 
 Emperor of Austria and the new Emperor Napoleon 
 here, to assist us. The one is never to be at rest 
 till he has avenged the injuries of Marshal Haynau, 
 and the other declares that the memory of his uncle. 
 Napoleon I., will haunt him like a nightmare till 
 he has revenged himself upon England, by an in- 
 vasion, and then Great Britain shall become one vast 
 monastery.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 PAGE 6. 
 
 Extract from "The Glories of Mary," recommended 
 and re-published by the Papists. 
 
 " On the mountains of Trent there lived a famous 
 robber, who being one day warned by a monk to 
 change his mode of life, replied, that for him there 
 was no hope. ' No ?' said the monk. ' Then do 
 this that I tell you ! Fast on Saturday in honour of 
 Marj^, and on that day molest no one.' The injunc- 
 tion not to rob was thus limited to only one day in 
 the week, with free licence for all the others. ' The 
 good robber' made the vow, and not to fail, he went 
 unarmed on Saturday. It happened one Saturday 
 the robber was caught by the officials of justice. He 
 was beheaded, and a ditch being dug, he was buried 
 with small honour. Then the Mother of God was 
 seen, who, with four holy virgins, made his body be
 
 APPENDIX. 43 
 
 taken from that place and wrapped in a rich cloth 
 wrought with gold ; and having themselves carried 
 it to the gate of the city, the Virgin said to the 
 guards, 'Tell the Bishop from me that he give 
 honourable burial in a church to this defunct, be- 
 cause he was my faithful servant.' And it was 
 done." 
 
 The notes of the Douay Bible assert the right and 
 duty of Papists to coerce heretics and exterminate 
 them. 
 
 " During Lent we used the discipline twice a-week 
 — we made ready by uncovering our shoulders — each 
 sitting in his bed — and seized the whip — and then, 
 oh ! then, if the thing edifies you, gentle reader, be 
 edified! if it make you laugh, laugh to your heart's 
 content, at the sound of twenty whips cracking like a 
 hail-storm on the twenty backs in question." — The 
 Jesuit in Training, p. 261. 
 
 From " Practical Working of the Church in Spain," 
 as noticed in Blackwood' s Magazine. 
 
 " At Malaga, bigotry is the order of the day, and 
 it is so insolent that it absolutely prohibits all places
 
 44 APPENDIX. 
 
 of Protestant worship ; not even in a private house 
 may 'two or three be gathered together,' The 
 only place where they are suffered to meet is the 
 Consul's house, where of course, the Spaniards look 
 upon the meeting as an affair wholly civil, or as we 
 should look upon a meeting of negroes for the per- 
 formance of an Obeah woman — the Consul's flag 
 being the only protection. 
 
 " In the cathedral of Malaga, the ladies had books 
 of the service, yet they talked and played with their 
 fans all the while. They have the art of shutting 
 their fans with a tremendous crack, and in the most 
 solemn parts of the service, one fan after another 
 would go crack, crack, all round. The motion and 
 buzz are like a bee-hive. 
 
 "The image of the 'Virgin de los Reyes,' which 
 was carried about by Ferdinand and Isabella in their 
 conquest of Granada, was now raised by four men in 
 surplices, and the procession moved. The progress 
 was to the Vittoria Convent, where there is another 
 image of the Virgin, called, ' De la Vittoria,' which 
 this image went to see ! — The helpless way in which 
 the image shakes about, as it is carried, reminds one 
 rather painfully of some of the chapters in Isaiah. 
 
 " An especial feature of this awful absurdity was 
 the appearance of the * Nazarenes.' These are a 
 brotherhood whose zeal is applied to getting up pro-
 
 APPENDIX. 45 
 
 cessions. They were robed in dark red velvet, Avith 
 gilt crowns of tliorns, and veiled faces, and ringing 
 large bells. The lady writer, a tender Protestant, 
 says : ' I do not think that any, with the feel- 
 ings of the day, could have looked at the image 
 without reverence and love!!!' {Blackwood.) If the 
 Almighty, in the most solemn display of His presence 
 ever given to man — the descent on Sinai — has for- 
 bidden the making of an image, not only of Him sell", 
 but of anything in Heaven or earth, for worship of 
 any kind ; if He has declared that such worship is 
 equivalent to hating Him ; and if He has ordered 
 that no toleration of variety of opinion on the subject, 
 or scepticism whatever should be permitted to the 
 Jew — the Jewish idolater being put to death as a 
 heathen and a rebel — how can man suffer himself to 
 conceive, that this guilty, irreverent, and irrational 
 practice is not equally forbidden to the Christian." 
 
 From " Lord Roden's Tour." 
 " In the South Island, near Ireland, has been reli- 
 giously preserved and worshipped, a stone idol, which 
 in appearance resembles a thick roll of home-spun 
 flannel. It is the custom to dedicate a dress of that 
 material to the image, which is sewed on by an old 
 woman, its priestess, whose peculiar care it is. This
 
 46 APPENDIX. 
 
 flannel-covered god is invoked when a storm is 
 desired to dash some helpless ship upon the coast, 
 and again to calm the angry waves that the natives 
 may fish." 
 
 Father Felix Macabe, author of a grammar of 
 the English language, preached a sermon in which 
 was the following sentence: "At the last day the 
 Great Judge will say, ' Well, Father Felix, and how 
 have you fulfilled the duties of your ofllice among the 
 people ?' and I shall reply, ' I preached to them and 
 gave them my blessing.' ' Well, Father Felix, and 
 how did they trate you ? Did they pay their dues, 
 and bring you their oflferings ?' And then, you 
 villains, what am I to say ? You know you do 
 nothing but chate me !" 
 
 " Protestant Britain has, at this hour, seven hun- 
 dred and eight chapels, in which incense is offered to 
 images, ten times the number that existed in the 
 beginning of the century." — Blackwood'' s Magazine. 
 
 "' In Spain, the Virgin, instead of being shown as 
 a majestic and sacred form, is represented often by
 
 APPENDIX. 47 
 
 the most contemptible dolls, sometimes as a Black- 
 moor ; and on high occasions, in the flighty and 
 tinsel costume of an opera-dancer. In another 
 instance, her head is on one side, but with a fashion- 
 able lace pocket-handkerchief in her hand. The head 
 has probably been carved from one of those handsome 
 women more known than respected." — Blackwood.'* 
 
 From " The Eclipse of Faith,"" page 6. 
 
 " No doubt you were startled to find from the French 
 papers that reached you from Tahiti, and on no less 
 an authority than that of the * Apostolic Letter of 
 the Pope,' and Cardinal Wiseman's ' Pastoral,' that 
 this enlightened country was once more, or was 
 on the eve of becoming, a ' satellite' of Rome. Sub- 
 sequent information, touching the course of the 
 almost unprecedented agitation which England has 
 just passed through, will serve to convince you either 
 that Pio Nono's supplications to the Virgin and all 
 the Enghsh saints from St. Dunstan downwards, 
 have not been so successful as he flattered himself 
 that they would have been ; or that the nation, if it 
 be about to embrace Romanism, has the oddest way 
 of showing it. It has acquired most completely the 
 Jesuitical art of disguising its real feelings ; or as the 
 
 * See Kaleidoscope of Anecdotes.
 
 48 APPENDIX. 
 
 Anglicans would say, of practising the doctrine of 
 ' reserve.' 
 
 " Too many of the clergy were easily con- 
 verted to a system which confirmed all their eccle- 
 siastical prejudices, and favoured their sacerdotal 
 pretensions, which endowed every youngster upon 
 whom the Bishop laid hands with * preternatural 
 graces,' and with the power of working 'spiritual 
 miracles.' But the people generally were in little 
 danger of being misled by these absurdities ; and 
 facts, even before the recent outbreak, ought to have 
 convinced the clergy that if they thought proper to 
 go to Rome, their flocks were by no means prepared 
 to follow them. Except among some fashionable 
 folks here and there — young ladies to whom ennui, 
 susceptible nerves, and a sentimental imagination, 
 made any sort of excitement acceptable ; who turned 
 their arts of embroidery and painting, and their love 
 of music, to ' spiritual' uses, thus displaying their 
 piety and their accomplishments at the same time — 
 except among these, I say, and those among the more 
 ignorant of our rural population, the failure of the 
 thing was often most ignominious. No sooner were 
 the candles placed upon the ' altar,' than the con- 
 gregation began to thin, and by the time the ' obso- 
 lete' rubrics were all admirably observed, the priest 
 faultlessly arranged, the service properly intoned, and
 
 APPENDIX. 49 
 
 the entire ' spiritual' machine set in motion, the 
 people were apt to desert the sacred edifice altogether. 
 It was a pity, doubtless, that when such admirable 
 completeness in the ecclesiastical equipments had 
 been attained, it should be found that the machine 
 would not work, that just when the Church became 
 perfect it should fail for so insignificant an accident 
 as the want of a congregation. Yet so it often was. 
 The ecclesiastical play was an admirable rehearsal, 
 and nothing more." 
 
 Bluckioood on " The Church in Spain." 
 
 " Preaching in Spain is (in the instance at least of 
 popular preaching) a description of future torment — 
 a matter of which man can know nothing, and which 
 substitutes vague terrors for the motives of natural 
 duty — the fear which casteth out love, for the ' love 
 which casteth out fear' — the great impulse which 
 reigns in the whole revelation of Christianity. But 
 excitement is here the universal object. On the day 
 of All Souls, the writer went to hear a celebrated 
 preacher. The subject was Purgatory, and the 
 Church was crowded, chiefly with women. The 
 sermon was — ' A long prayer for those in the flames 
 of purgatory.' First, for all Cardinals, Bishops and 
 Priests. To which the congregation answered, with 
 
 £
 
 50 APPENDIX. 
 
 a suppressed, but unanimous voice, ' Requiescat in 
 pace.' Then he reminded them of fathers, brothers, 
 wives, husbands, and children suffering still, and 
 partly through their neglect. And you might hear 
 suppressed sobs run through the church, joined with 
 often-repeated prayer, ' Requiescat in pace.' But 
 the impression did not last long. J went out and 
 watched the people leaving the church, and saw them 
 wipe away their tears, and exchange salutations, as 
 light-hearted and as quickly moved either way." 
 
 When Henry VIII. was informed that the Pope 
 intended to bestow a Cardinal's hat on Fisher, Bishop 
 of Rochester, he angrily exclaimed : " Then let him 
 wear it on his shoulders, for he shall have no head to 
 put it on." 
 
 The life of St. Rose, by Faber, was pronounced, 
 even by Dolman's Popish Magazine for 1848, to be 
 " a mass of incredible and inimitable austerities, 
 painful to read, impossible, nay, sinful to imitate — a 
 series of charnel-horrors." 
 
 The feeling of many recent perverts in adorning 
 the churches, may be said to resemble that of children
 
 APPENDIX. 51 
 
 building a baby-house. Dr. Baines described one 
 chapel thus : " The Blessed Sacrament was suspended 
 from the ceiling by a chain in a silver dove ! On 
 Good Friday, the consecrated Host was inserted in 
 the breast of a full-sized wooden figure of our 
 Saviour in the tomb !" It was by a feast of remem- 
 brance, not by a tomb that our Divine Lord com- 
 manded that His victory over sin and death should 
 be commemorated. 
 
 A Priest not long since incurred the anger of the 
 Inquisition, which is now as active in Rome as ever, 
 but that tribunal must not arrest an anouited Priest. 
 To obviate this difficulty the Jesuits cut off the skin 
 of his hands and of his head, those being the parts 
 touched by the sacred oil of consecration. Ha^•ing 
 thus un-ordained the wretched victim, he was carried 
 off to the Inquisition, and there tortured to death. 
 
 At the Propaganda in Rome, it is well-known 
 that these many years past, a catalogue has been 
 kept of all the English likely to become Popish 
 converts. The plan is now extended all over Great 
 Britain, and a lady lately saw the list kept at 
 Glasgow, in which were two rich widows, enrolled as 
 being " immensely wealthy, and persons proper to 
 
 E 2
 
 52 APPENDIX. 
 
 be looked after.'" Tidings may very soon be expected 
 of at least one in that opulent and hitherto very 
 Protestant neighbourhood, having sold all that she 
 had, to give, not to the poor, but to " the Priests /" 
 "When the book of instructions respecting the Jesuits 
 was found at the destruction of the Inquisition, the 
 minuteness of detail respecting intended converts was 
 marvellous. "Whether one young man liked best a 
 dog or a cat, what wine he preferred, what colour he 
 admired most, &c. 
 
 Dr. Duff records the opinion of a Jesuit Dr. that 
 "it is lawful for a son to rejoice at the murder of 
 his parent, committed by himself, in a state of 
 drunkenness, on account of the great riches thence 
 acquired by himself." Upon such " killing-no- 
 murder" principles, Eugene Aram would have been 
 an exemplary Jesuit, as he destroyed his aged victim 
 merely in order to use the old miser's money more 
 advantageously to the community. Thus the Jesuits 
 inculcate that if any man be about to commit a sin, 
 he must direct his attention from the evil to the 
 benefit which he may reap from it, and, " then the 
 actioii is safe!" 
 
 The law of Theodosius confiscated any house or
 
 APPENDIX. 03 
 
 land where idols were honoured by the lighting vip 
 of candles, burning of incense, or hanging up of 
 garlands. For several ages, even in Pagan Rome, 
 idolatry was thought detestable, and by the first 
 Christian Emperors forbidden on pain of death. 
 
 Timothy calls celibacy " a doctrine of devils," and 
 St. Ambrose records that all the Apostles, except 
 two, were married. lu Ranke's " History of the 
 Popes' Lives and Vices," it is said of Alexander VI., 
 " His only care was, to seize on all means that 
 might aid him to advance the wealth and dignity 
 of his sons, on no other subject did he seriously 
 bestow a thought. Rome trembled at the name of 
 Caesar Borgia, the Pope's son! In 913, John X. 
 became Pope, through the influence of an infamous 
 woman, named Theodora, with whom he lived in 
 sin." 
 
 Ranke mentions that at the court of Pope Leo X. 
 " it w as ever considered characteristic of good society 
 to call the principles of Christianity in question." 
 " One passes," says Bandino, " no longer for a 
 man of cultivation, unless one put forth heterodox 
 opinions regarding the Christian faith." At Leo's 
 court, the ordinances of the Catholic Church and
 
 54 APPENDIX. 
 
 passages from Holy Scripture, were made subjects 
 of jest ; the mysteries of the faith had become at 
 Rome matters of derision. 
 
 " Every sun must sooner or later set, and Cardinal 
 della Somaglia, State Secretary of Pias VIII., said, 
 after the restoration of Pius IX. : ' When the Pope 
 was seized in his own capital, and dragged through 
 Europe by sbirri, without a protest being raised 
 against the outrage, we were taught a lesson which 
 we must remember, though we would wish others to 
 forget it.' The prestige is gone, and we must conceal 
 our weakness by seeming to concede what we have 
 not the power to resist." — Quarterly Review. 
 
 Prince Hohenlohe's miracles ceased as soon as 
 he was only allowed to perform them before very 
 competent witnesses ; but there is an account in 
 Mr. Glassford Bell's " Life of Mary Stuart," of 
 a miracle quite in keeping with the Prince's " lying 
 wonders." " There was, in the neighbourhood of 
 Musselburgh, a chapel dedicated to the Lady of 
 Loretto, which from the character of superior 
 sanctity it acquired, had long been the favourite 
 resort of religious devotees. In this chapel, a body 
 of Popish priests undertook to put their religion to
 
 APPENDIX. OO 
 
 the test by performing a miracle. They fixed upon 
 a young man who was well known as a common 
 beggar in the streets of Edinburgh, and engaged to 
 restore to him, in the presence of the assembled 
 people, the perfect use of his eye-sight. A day was 
 named on which they calculated they might ex- 
 pect this wonderful interposition of Divine power on 
 their behalf. From motives of great curiosity, a 
 great crowd was attracted at the appointed time in 
 the chapel. The bhnd man made his appearance on 
 the scaffold erected for the occasion. The priests 
 approached the altar, and after praying very de- 
 voutly, and performing other religious ceremonies, 
 he who had been previously stone-blind, opened his 
 eyes and declared he saw all things plainly. Having 
 humbly and gratefully thanked his benefactors, the 
 priests, he was permitted to mingle among the 
 astonished people and receive their charity. Un- 
 fortunately, however, for the success of this de- 
 ception, a gentleman from Fife, of the name of 
 Colville, determined to penetrate, if possible, a little 
 further into the mystery. He prevailed upon the 
 subject of the recent experiment to accompany him 
 to his lodging in Edinburgh. As soon as they were 
 alone, he locked the chamber door, and either by 
 bribes or threats contrived to win from him the 
 whole secret. It turned out that in his boyhood.
 
 06 APPENDIX. 
 
 this tool in the hands of the designing, had been 
 employed as herd by the nuns of the Convent of 
 Sciennes, then in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. 
 It was remarked by the sisterhood that he had an 
 extraordinary facihty in ' flipping up the lid of his 
 eyes, and casting up the white.' Some of the 
 neighbouring priests, hearing accidentally of this 
 talent, imagined that it might be applied to good 
 account. They accordingly took him from Sciennes 
 to the monastery near Musselburgh, where they 
 kept him till he had made himself an adept in 
 this mode of counterfeiting bhndness, and till his 
 personal appearance was so much changed that the 
 few who had been acquainted with him before, would 
 not be able to recognize him. They then sent him 
 to Edinburgh, to beg publicly, and make himself 
 familiarly known to the inhabitants as a common 
 blind mendicant. So far everything had gone 
 smoothljr, and the scene at the Chapel of Loretto 
 might have had effect on the minds of the vulgar, 
 had Colville's activity not discovered the gross im- 
 posture. Colville, who belonged to the congregation, 
 instantly took the most effectual means to make 
 known the deceit. He insisted upon the blind man's 
 appearing with him next day at the Cross of Edin- 
 burgh, where the latter repeated all he had told 
 Colville, and confessed the iniquity of his own con-
 
 APPENDIX. 57 
 
 duct, as well as that of the priests. To shelter him 
 from their revenge, Colville immediately afterwards 
 carried him off to Fife, and the story, with all its 
 details being speedily disseminated, exposed the 
 Popish clergy to more contempt than ever." 
 
 When the monasteries in Spain were destroyed, 
 a glass bottle was discovered, quite opaque on one 
 side, and transparent on the other. It was filled 
 with blood, so that the people were taught to believe 
 it became red miraculously when the transparent 
 side of the bottle was unobservedly turned to the 
 spectators, and that it faded into white when they 
 acted amiss. It is probably somewhat on this plan 
 that the blood of St. Januarius appears to liquefy. 
 
 Popish Legends, from " The Church in Spain.'' 
 
 " A man died in mortal sin ; but as he had once 
 been a worshipper of the Virgin, she cannot let him 
 go into final ruin. But then came a dilemma. Of 
 course he cannot enter heaven, nor can he, with 
 mortal sin on him, enter purgatory, that being only 
 the place for venial sins. The affair was puzzling. 
 However, it was managed at last in this dexterous 
 way : ' Our Lord could not reject His mother's
 
 58 APPENDIX. 
 
 petition,' and so the man was sent back to earth, 
 to earn money enough to pay for his iniquities, and 
 thus work out his own salvation.' 
 
 " In society, the hghter conversations were of the 
 prettiness of the nuns, to whom one of the priests 
 was Confessor !" 
 
 " Popery has produced the effects in Spain which 
 it long since produced in France, every man of any 
 intellectual vigour being an infidel. Not that his 
 infidelity is loud and loquacious, as everything was 
 and is in France ; but it is sober, sneering, and 
 smiling, as becomes a country in which the times 
 are remembered when a look brought a man into the 
 jaws of the Inquisition. The Inquisition is no more, 
 but the grown man has been so long trained in 
 terror, that he still trembles at the ghost. The 
 Spaniard is still cautious of speaking of the ' Church,' 
 but he exhibits his liberty in scoffing at the Scrip- 
 tures ; which, however, not one in two thousand 
 ever reads." — Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 Formerly confession was required before any man 
 could hold an office under Government ; but the
 
 APPENDIX. 59 
 
 annoyance of submitting to confession was easily 
 obviated, the certificate being sold for ten-pence. 
 
 "The Papacy is the ghost of the deceased Roman 
 Empire, sitting crowned upon the grave. It is a 
 shuttle-cock kept up by the differences between 
 princes." — Thomas Hobbes. 
 
 Quakerism ; or the Story of My Life. By a Lady, 
 who, for forty years, was a Member of the Society 
 of Friends. 1851. 
 
 " We were in Cork on All Souls' Day ; and my 
 mother, accompanied by some of her friends, went in 
 the evening to the Roman Catholic Cathedral, having 
 heard that there would be a curious exhibition of 
 the efficacy of prayers for the dead. She told me 
 that on going in, the chapel was dazzlingly lit. Wax 
 candles, three feet high, blazed upon the altar, and 
 every one of the numerous priests in attendance 
 carried in his hand a lighted taper. One of them 
 gave an oration, or sermon, on the inestimable value 
 of masses for the souls in purgatory ; and assured 
 his hearers that that very evening they should behold 
 the souls of their own dead ancestors, who, having 
 spent years in torment, were now, thanks to the
 
 60 APPENDIX. 
 
 masses offered up in that chapel, emancipated from 
 their misery, and going to enter into the regions of 
 glory. When he ceased speaking, the prayers for 
 the dead were chaunted. The lights gradually went 
 out, until the whole chapel and its vast congregation 
 were in total darkness ; then, a sickly glare was 
 visible around the altar ; and in that dim light was 
 distinctly seen a number of small, bright-red, queer- 
 looking objects passing over it. One of the priests, 
 as if in ecstacy, then gave thanks for the answer to 
 his prayers, and called on the people to be no longer 
 faithless, but believe, as they now saw with their 
 own eyes, that souls were indeed released from pur- 
 gatory by the prayers of the Church. 
 
 " This curious exhibition interested me greatly, 
 and we were all guessing and puzzling ourselves to 
 understand it, but in vain. However, before leaving 
 Cork, my mother went to pay a visit to her old nurse, 
 and took me with her. The old woman was delighted 
 to see her foster child, and called her as of old, 'my 
 own dear Miss Mary.' They chatted together for a 
 long time, giving each other intelligence of their 
 different families. At last my mother asked for James, 
 her own foster brother. Nurse said, he was well, 
 and had now got a fine situation in the Cathedral. 
 He was most cordial in his welcome; and my mother, 
 with her usual tact, set him at his ease. In a few
 
 APPENDIX. 61 
 
 moments he joined in the conversation, but I forget 
 all they said, except one part, that no one could ever 
 forget that heard it. My mother told them of her 
 visit to the chapel, and of the queer things she had 
 seen crawling over the altar ; and she asked James 
 what they were? 'The souls to be sure, Ma'am,' 
 said James. But my mother laughed, and said, 
 surely he knew she was only a heretic, and he might 
 gratify her by telling what they really were. ' Indeed, 
 then,' said James, ' when you were a child, like 
 myself, I never could refuse you anything; and I am 
 sure I won't begin to deny you now; and besides, as 
 you say, you are a heretic ; and I wish I had half as 
 good a chance of Heaven, for all that, as you have ; 
 but at any rate there is no chance of the priest ever 
 knowing that I told you; so you may as well hear it. 
 It was I myself that got them for him ; I got all the 
 crabs I could lay my hands on, for love or money ; 
 and Father Kelly and I put the little red cloth 
 jackets on them ; and we had a thread fastened to 
 every one of them ; if they did not choose to walk 
 right, to make them. And, you know, it was so 
 dark, you could not see much about it; and now, 
 Ma'am dear, was it not a capital clever delusion for 
 the poor ignorant creatures that believe everything V " 
 
 The late Sir John Sinclair used to mention that
 
 62 APPENDIX. 
 
 he dined once with a Roman Catholic acquaintance, 
 when no other gentleman was present except an 
 individual in black, who seemed the most com- 
 plaisant of human beings. The stranger coincided 
 in every opinion of his host, took whatever was 
 offered him, and retired at a sign given. In the 
 course of conversation afterwards. Sir John said 
 to his entertainer : " It appears to me that you 
 are less anxious for Catholic Emancipation than I 
 should have expected." 
 
 "Nothing I dread more," replied the Papist, 
 earnestly. " Did you see my Confessor to-day ? 
 He had not an opinion of his own, and retired at 
 my bidding; but if we are emancipated, I become 
 his slave for life. He and I would then completely 
 reverse our positions." 
 
 Such is still the feeling of many Papists. The 
 estabhshment of a Popish hierarchy in England, 
 has been a severe blow to the liberty of English 
 Romanists. Formerly, all interference with their 
 habits or families had to come from Rome, but now 
 there is a grinding tyranny established at their very 
 doors and peeping through their very key-holes. It 
 is a tyranny that places a fool's-cap on the head of 
 every mortal but the priest, and would, as Victor 
 Hugo says : " extinguish Conscience, and Provi- 
 dence, and God."
 
 APPENDIX. 63 
 
 In 1587, the fort of Deventcr, in Ovcryssel, was 
 surrendered to the Spanish by Sir William Stanley, 
 a Papist. His excuse was this, and the plea was 
 deliberately defended by Cardinal Allen : " My con- 
 science does not allow me to fight for heretics." 
 
 In the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the Pope granted 
 a free pardon of all their sins to English subjects who 
 should join the Spaniards in attempting to depose 
 
 their Sovereign.
 
 LADY 
 MARY PIERREPOINT.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The present state of Ireland being a perfect 
 exemplification of Romanism in its public and 
 domestic influence on society, the Author has felt 
 desirous in these pages to paint its effects, in the 
 degradation of the poor and the danger of the 
 rich, arising from the irresponsible power of the 
 priesthood. Those who think that the hue of 
 Rome can be represented in too scarlet a colour, 
 are much to be envied for not having yet painfully 
 experienced the blighting influence of superstition 
 on every home it approaches ; and as the Pope is 
 despotic master of all his myrmidons in Ireland,
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 there can be no doubt that he is himself deeply 
 responsible for those evils in that country, resulting 
 from the priests, which a single Bull from the 
 Vatican could terminate at once. The mania for 
 Popery among excited or disappointed young 
 people, is now on the decline in Britain ; but an 
 attempt was made to revive it lately by His 
 Eminentissimo, the English Pope, who went a 
 tour in state last month, starring it among the 
 provinces. In one great mercantile city he paraded 
 through the streets in a showy carriage-and-four, 
 accompanied by brass bands of music. The proces- 
 sion resembled those with which Franconi sometimes 
 favours the public; and it had an immense eflfect 
 on the Irish beggars. One old woman, in a rapture 
 of admiration, exclaimed : " Here comes the Kins 
 of the Catholics ! The clergy must give up their 
 churches to him." May all such attempts to 
 Ireland- ize England and the English, prove as it
 
 PRKFACE. Vii 
 
 (lid then — a signal failure ; for Popery in this free 
 country is as yet only like a was]) upon the 
 window of a drawing-room, all the inhabitants 
 wondering how it got there, wishing the intruder 
 away, and afraid to encounter its sting. 
 
 FEBRUARY, 1853.
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " To see the saddest sight of all, a gay and girlish thing, 
 Lay aside her maiden, gladness for a name and for a ring." 
 
 On the 25th of July, 1852, in the splendidly- 
 furnished drawing-room of Connemara Castle, 
 beside the Lake of Killarney, the exterior 
 adorned with ancient turrets, and the interior 
 Louvreized with ancient pictures, sat Sir Cosmo 
 Pierrepoint, padded, stuffed, and George-the- 
 Fourth'd to the utmost pitch of imaginable 
 fashion ; and beside him stood his mother. Lady 
 Pierrepoint, dressed in the costume of a corpse — 
 a bandeau of white linen concealed her fore- 
 head, a black cloud of draperies floated around 
 her figure, and a prodigious rosary dangled in 
 her hand. 
 
 6
 
 2 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint (sternly). Cosmo ! have I 
 then left my convent in vain? Within its walls 
 is peace indeed, because there no one dare oppose 
 my wishes for the fraction of a moment ! My rules, 
 when I take the veil and become lady abbess, shall 
 be strict, and most strictly shall they be obeyed 
 by nuns, novices, and lay-sisters. 
 
 Sir Cosmo (aside). Poor wretches! I pity 
 them ! 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Father O'Murphy, that best 
 of men, is my right hand. 
 
 Sir Cosmo (vehemently). He is fiendishly clever! 
 I told you so from the first, mother ; and though 
 your confessor himself never unbuttons his mind 
 to me, he and his myrmidons will do you out of 
 every shilling. He makes all his cats catch mice! 
 If Father O'Murphy said it was your duty to 
 give up the skin on your face, mother, you would 
 begin the next minute to peel it off for the priests. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint (with a solemn laugh). Not 
 if vou obey me ! Only say that little Ida, my grand- 
 daughter, shall be educated under my own eye at 
 the Convent of St. Theresa, and every atom of my 
 large income shall go, first to yourself and then 
 to your child. 
 
 Sir Cosmo. What would Father O'Murphy's 
 ever-gaping treasury say to that arrangement }
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 3 
 
 No, no ! I am situated like tlic Gorman poet, 
 who was not summoned into the world until all 
 its treasures had been divided. It stretches my 
 imagination to conceive that there exists in all 
 Ireland such a sum as the five thousand pounds you 
 lately lavished on that meek-looking, unwashed priest! 
 One does hear people speak of such sums, but — 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint {muttering angrily between 
 her set teeth) . It was my pleasure to give it. 
 
 Sir Cosmo. Of course ! You are not the person 
 ever to do anything on earth you did not like. In 
 that respect I can do you justice ! You do con- 
 scientiously consider nothing but your own will and 
 pleasure. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Then, do you consent to 
 the very simple condition on which I offer you 
 an inheritance, which is undoubtedly worth a 
 thought — these broad acres and this old castle 
 of my ancestors ? 
 
 Sir Cosmo (meditatively). I certainly am, like 
 most Irishmen, not violently rich ! Money has 
 its advantages, and I should be sorry to forfeit 
 your — a-hem ! — your ^ooA.-ivill — a-hem ! But you 
 know, mother, the thing cannot be ! It is past 
 hoping for ! These atrocious lawyers, with their 
 marriage settlements, tied up our hands about a 
 daughter, if I had one — 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Pshaw ! Who cares for 
 such trash ? Why, in every Russian marriage 
 settlement it is stipulated, that the wife is not 
 to be struck, beaten, or kicked ; but do you 
 suppose that these promises are ever kept? If 
 you tried some of the discipline we use in our 
 convent, with refractory nuns, who pretend to have 
 any rights, your wife would not dare to endanger 
 your succession to my estate. Try her with a little 
 severity. For my sake do ! She is very timid ; 
 and I wish you saw how we manage the nuns. 
 
 Sir Cosmo. But old Lady Dublin has the obsti- 
 nacy of ten heretics, and would interfere on her 
 daughter's behalf, if I forced my wife to give you 
 up our child. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint {who seems emtircly occupied 
 with arranging her black veil in folds ; and is evi- 
 dently as occupied with her lugubrious dress, as 
 Malvolio with his cross-garters). Then your influ- 
 ence over Lady Mary is entirely extinct now ? 
 She used to care for you, and would have sacri- 
 ficed something to please her husband ; but love 
 does not always last for ever. Your day is over, 
 I perceive, for ruling in your own house. 
 
 " I know not which have most unnatural lives, 
 Oheying husliands or commanding wives." 
 
 (Turns contemptuously away.)
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 5 
 
 Sir Cosmo {hesitating). I am not quite sure — 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Pshaw! "Were you ever 
 quite sure of anything in the whole course of 
 your Ufe ? Think what a brilhant career is before 
 you, Cosmo! Father O' Murphy promises to bring 
 you into ParUament at this election, and you are 
 the very picture of a public man ! I long to hear 
 of your brilliant maiden speech ! 
 
 Sir Cosmo. I must swallow a speaking- machine 
 first. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. No, no ! Leave off all 
 domestic nonsense about being happy at home, 
 and join our Irish Brigade, which is to be held 
 together, as Father O' Murphy says, with Roman 
 cement. You have been lately as motionless and 
 immoveable as the neighbourmg steeple, a mere 
 Jerry Sneak, afraid of your own wife ; but now 
 Father O' Murphy will enlighten your political con- 
 science, by an appointment in the ministry. 
 
 Sir Cosmo. If I join this administration, the 
 arms on my carriage should be a turning-lathe for 
 the crest, and two men with coats turned, proper, 
 for supporters. I dare not listen for another minute 
 to your too tempting offers ; and though my wife 
 is complaisance itself on all ordinary occasions, yet 
 about Ida she is firmer than any rock. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint {muttering angrily). Very
 
 b LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 self-willed submission indeed ! I wish we had 
 her in the convent. Cosmo ! why do you not 
 keep all her heretic relations from the house ? 
 
 Sir Cosmo. So I do ; but the great wall 
 of China could not keep out opinions and 
 thoughts. In the solitude of her own room, 
 where Mary is of late solitary enough some- 
 times, she remains resolute, as if surrounded by 
 a whole congregation of heretics. No, mother ! 
 There is no evading those parchment deeds of 
 settlement. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint {with a very artful smile). 
 If that were always the case, my son, how came 
 you to be of my faith ? Your Protestant father 
 thought he had secured you to his own church, 
 but was it so? What device did I leave un- 
 tried to secretly circumvent him .'' You remem- 
 ber how very privately I introduced you to the 
 Sacred College? He even extracted a promise 
 from me, on his dying-bed, that you should 
 have a Protestant tutor, and was it so ? Was 
 Father 0' Murphy, the Star of Maynooth, a 
 Protestant or not ? I decline any recollections 
 that interfere with my duty to the Pope, and 
 all my promises are given to the winds if they do 
 so. 
 
 {Sir Cosmo shudders and turns away.)
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 7 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint {sternly). Consign Ida to 
 my care to-morrow, or relinquish for ever the 
 succession to this roof that covers us, and which 
 has been the roof of my ancestors for eight noble 
 generations. If your only child is to be a Pro- 
 testant, the parchments are ready for me to sign 
 that transfer all these broad lands to the Papal 
 Church. You know me, Cosmo, and that I am 
 not one merely to threaten. 
 
 Sir Cosmo (mutters). That I do know, as 
 every nun must experience in your miserable con- 
 vent. Mother, it will break Mary's heart — 
 indeed her heart takes a great deal of breaking, 
 or it would have been broken long ago. You were 
 always a true chicken of the Mother Gary breed, 
 thriving only in disaster, knowing no rest your- 
 self, and an omen of ill to others ! When I looked 
 at poor Mary's parched lips, haggard cheeks, and 
 distended eye-balls, after you had last drawn the 
 trigger of your tongue upon her about Ida, I 
 positively asked myself if ours could be a right 
 religion, that enjoined such doings. Her sigh, 
 as you left the room, sounded like the extinction 
 of every earthly hope ! 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Nonsense! Who minds 
 the sorrow of an obstinate heretic ? 
 
 Sir Cosmo. Mary has been taught to consider
 
 8 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 the Pope as the successor, not of St. Peter, but 
 of Julius Csesar, at Rome. The apostle had no 
 such magnificent palace as the Vatican, and neither 
 gorgeous dresses, guards, soldiers, courtiers, nor 
 policemen. Pius IX. is the reigning Csesar at 
 Rome, who punishes people as the old Roman 
 Emperors did, for not worshipping idols, though 
 St. Peter forbade men to do so. Pius IX. would 
 condemn Christians to the flames, as his prede- 
 cessors, the Roman Emperors did, for not wor- 
 shipping a plurality of saints and deities ; and his 
 Holiness claims supremacy over the whole world, 
 which Peter never assumed, but Csesar did. The 
 Pope, like Csesar, also places his image on the 
 tribute-money, which Peter never attempted, as 
 he possessed, like his Master, " neither silver nor 
 gold." 
 
 {Lady Pierrepoint remains angrily silent.) 
 
 Sir Cosmo. It seems but yesterday, and it is but 
 a few years, since Mary and I agreed at the altar to 
 make each other happy, and we succeeded until — 
 but no matter ! It is what people must all come to, 
 sooner or later ! One cannot be happy for ever ! 
 Poor Mary ! neither she nor I thought much about 
 the difference of our creeds when we married. Her 
 young mind, when a girl, was as transparent as
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 9 
 
 crystal, and filled with kind aflFections as well as 
 with good intentions ; but now, since my mother has 
 interfered, 
 
 " She weeps in silent solitude, and there is no one near 
 To press her hand within his own and wipe away the tear." 
 
 BATLET.
 
 10 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 At the United Service Club, Dublin, two officers in 
 uniform are stretched full-length on a divan, me- 
 ditatively smoking their cigars. Captain Compton 
 enlivens himself with a luxurious yawn, exclaim- 
 ing : [" Apropos, Davenant ! I have an idea." — 
 
 Major Davenant (rousing himself). You an idea ! 
 that is a rarity ! Now reveal what you have been so 
 deeply meditating on lately." 
 
 Capt. Compton. I have an idea that the pole- 
 piece of your drag is better cleaned than mine. 
 
 Major Davenant. I perceived you were in a 
 misanthropical, done-with-the-world state of mind, 
 to-day ; but is that all ? 
 
 Capt. Compton. Why, truth to say, I am 
 wearied now of Club-land and all its pleasures. 
 We who are born to sun ourselves on the highest 
 pinnacle of the hill of prosperity which others are
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 11 
 
 toiling up till they die, are killed with too much 
 leisure. Talk of criminals being condemned to hard 
 labour for a month, but that is nothing to the 
 fatigue of doing nothing. 
 
 Major Davenant. The most arduous labour on 
 earth is to be lively and entertaining from morning 
 till night, trying to leaven the dull weight of society, 
 when you feel as I do, completely used up — like a 
 gas-ball with a pin through it. Let us do some- 
 thing desperate to enliven ourselves. Now that all 
 the nobility are giving pubhc lectures, suppose you 
 announce a course on flirtation in all its branches — 
 or set up a yacht ? 
 
 Capt. Compton. I have a requisition from all 
 my uncle's tenantry in Ireland, to try this contested 
 election. What do you say to that, or shall I marry ? 
 
 Major Davenant. Could you possibly prevail 
 on yourself at last to think seriously of any one ? 
 Say, for instance, Miss Tremayne ? 
 
 Capt. Compton. There you are, coming the 
 grandfather over me! Miss Tremayne is a mere 
 nugget of gold! She is always dressed a Voutrance, 
 and every inch an heiress. 
 
 Major Davenant. All rouge and teeth. 
 
 Capt. Compton {laughing satirically). I never 
 saw any one so saturated with self-importance ; and 
 should Miss Tremayne ever write her own memoirs,
 
 12 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 it will be with a peacock's pen. The last time she 
 came to live at my uncle's, I made the whole party- 
 promise to indulge her egotism by talking for an 
 entii-e day about nothing but her. From dawn till 
 midnight any mortal mentioning any other subject 
 whatever, was condemned to pay a fine ; and more- 
 over, I promised the company that if she appeared 
 conscious of monopolizing more than her due share 
 of notice, she should receive a proposal from me 
 that very hour ; but do you think she did ? 
 
 Major Davenant. No ! You might have carried 
 on that joke against Miss Tremayne for a month 
 unsuspected. The secret of society is always to 
 think yourself, as she does, the principal person 
 present. It takes amazingly. What do you say 
 to Lady Adelaide Morgan ? 
 
 Capt. Compton. If I consulted the Herald's 
 Office, she would certainly be recommended there ; 
 but I would as soon marry an opera-singer and 
 make my home in the stage-box. Her dancing and 
 dressing are beyond all praise ; but her conversation 
 is in such a head-over-heels style that there is 
 no following her. I must have some mind and 
 heart. 
 
 Major Davenant. You ! 
 
 Capt. Compton. Poz ! The last thing on earth, 
 I see, that you would have supposed me likely to
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 13 
 
 value. Have I no more heart and feeling, do you 
 suppose, than a brick-bat ? Promise not to die of 
 astonishment, and I shall tell you a great fact — I 
 am in love ! 
 
 Major Davenant. How ! "When ! Where ! Tell 
 me all in a single word. Is it Lady Susan Dormor, 
 or, as we call her, Dormouse, because she is never 
 quite awake — or Lady Jane Fitz-Eustace — or the 
 beautiful Lady Oxford — or — 
 
 Capt. Compton. Drop the peerage, and travel 
 vour imagination a hundred miles from Dublin 
 before you guess again. But there is an insuperable 
 bar. 
 
 Major Davenant. Impossible, if you love in 
 earnest ! 
 
 Capt. Compton. Listen, then, I have pro- 
 posed twice, and twice been refused. It may 
 seem to you a flat impossibilily ; but such is un- 
 deniably the case ! The objection is merely that I 
 am a Papist. 
 
 Major Davenant. Phoolphoo! No girl could 
 be obstinate merely on that score. 
 
 Capt. Compton. No other girl ! No regimental 
 girl, such as you and I are accustomed to dance and 
 flirt with ; but there are principles and feelings, 
 
 ft , 
 
 Davenant, such as, till lately, I had no conception 
 of. The loveliest girl on whom that glorious old
 
 14 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 sun ever shone, loving me as she acknowledges with 
 her whole heart, is resolute to — 
 
 Major Davenant. To take a vow of celibacy, 
 and weep her eyes out of her head with repentance 
 ever after. 
 
 Capt. Compton. No ! She neither takes vows 
 nor sheds tears, but she occupies herself unceasingly 
 in doing good. 
 
 Major Davenant. Oh-h ! ! — a young Mrs. Fry ! 
 a Howard in petticoats ! a heretic ! Well ! to quote 
 the only fragment of Latin that still remains with 
 me, De gustibus non est disputandum. . 
 
 Capt. Compton. If all heretics were like Nora 
 Dounington and her father, I should wish nothing 
 better than to be like them. 
 
 Major Davenant. Your lady-love is not surely 
 the daughter of Dr. Donnington, that great Pro- 
 testant divine, and the chief opponent of sisterhoods ? 
 Only consider what I owe to those establishments. 
 Two hopelessly plain sisters of mine, who were 
 always in my way, wanting balls, operas, the park, 
 and every sort of insane excitement, having both 
 met with disappointments, suddenly wished for the 
 excitement of rushing into that Retreat at Cork, 
 where they are locked up for life. I only wish my 
 pretty sister Adeline would follow them, sts it is an 
 easy provision for superfluous ladies ; but she was
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 15 
 
 always of a domestic, happy, contented disposition, 
 not anxious to gain notoriety. Adeline has no 
 genius for the picturesque in attitude and dress. 
 She told me a great deal about your Dr. Donning- 
 ton and Co., for Adeline is more than half-inclined 
 to desert over to the enemy. 
 
 Capt. Compton. Dr. Donnington is the enemy 
 of no one, but the friend of all whom he can serve. 
 He calls himself the enemy of our superstition, but 
 not of our persons. You have been a great observer 
 of life from the windows of your club, Davenant ; 
 but you know much less than nothing of a Protestant 
 clergyman. He never goes about, like Father 
 O'Murphy to-day, followed by a drove of armed 
 reapers, in corduroys, unbuttoned at the knees, 
 drab frieze coats, blackthorn cudgels, ready for any 
 row, and a wisp of straw round their waists. 
 
 Major Davenant. Then Parson Donnington is 
 not a bad style of man ? 
 
 Capt. Compton. Never did you see people so 
 kind towards those who differ from them as the 
 amiable inhabitants of Southdown Parsonage, where 
 I have lately been located for a month. 
 
 Major Davenant. A month ! It would be no 
 Irish house if you did not feel at home in it before 
 the first day, or the first hour was over. There 
 should be a statue of hospitality at every door in
 
 16 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 old Ireland, holding out her hand to weary travellers. 
 Some great author says — I forget who, but no 
 matter — that one's warmest welcome is at an inn. 
 
 Capt. Compton. Not in the neighbourhood 
 of Southdown Parsonage, where the inhabitants 
 are quite a Strangers' Friend Society. I had 
 gone to visit my uncle's confessor, Father O' Murphy, 
 about the election, when he was suddenly seized 
 with mahgnant fever. His house being small. 
 Dr. Donnington called to offer me a bed in the 
 Rectory, which turned out the happiest home I 
 ever entered — happier than any I can ever see 
 again. 
 
 Major Davenant. I cannot speak of happiness 
 from experience ; but surely, Compton, you do not 
 mean seriously to act the despairing swain ? Look at 
 Ponto begging you to be consoled! Give him a 
 morsel of biscuit. In your place, I would not let 
 hope be kicked out of doors even by Cinderella 
 in her glass slipper. For my own part, if I heard 
 myself say that any girl had refused you, I would 
 disbelieve the evidence of my own ears. I do not 
 really suppose you in earnest now. Positively I 
 do not! One has heard of Messrs. Tag-rag and 
 Bob-tail being rejected, but the gem of my regi- 
 ment ! Tom Compton of our's ! Impossible ! 
 
 Capt. Compton. Perhaps I thought so once,
 
 LADY MARY PIERREI'OINT. 17 
 
 but we live and learn. Nora Donnington acts for 
 something beyond this world, and for something 
 deeper than even its best aifections, much as she 
 values these, Davenant ! I have thought more 
 during the last month, than in all my previous 
 life. My boyhood was one incessant steeple-chase 
 among dictionaries of the dead and living lan- 
 guages, and the consequence is a perfect book-o- 
 phobia. I never was allowed time to know which 
 way the wind blew, nor to observe whether the 
 sky over my head were pink or green, nor how 
 many moons adorned the firmament. After my 
 emancipation from school, no author could have 
 hired me at so much a day to read his works ; 
 but at Southdown Rectory, for Nora's sake, I 
 used to steal away every book she read, in order 
 to get up the subject for a delightful discussion 
 with herself. She is the prima donna of the 
 world ! 
 
 Major Davenant (gives a long incredulous 
 whistle). Ah, Compton ! yours is the inevitable fate 
 of every deserving young officer doomed to country 
 quarters ; but you must positively throw the waters of 
 prudence over this unlucky flame. First impressions 
 and second thoughts are always best ; so let this 
 fair daughter of the shamrock "look out from her 
 lattice high " for you in vain. I grant every per- 
 
 c
 
 18 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 fection under the sun, and a great many more, 
 to your fascinating unknown, small Irish jokes, 
 and hearty Irish laughter ; but only reflect how 
 very nearly you are disinherited already, and what 
 vague unsettled notions your arbitrary uncle has 
 about who shall be his heir. Think of losing 
 Killarney Castle, with its nine-and-forty rooms. 
 
 Capt. Compton. There are but forty-eight. 
 Your statement is erroneous. 
 
 Major Davenant. Well ! as many boudoirs 
 and bed-rooms as any reasonable house need desire. 
 " Och !" — as your Irish friends would say — " How's 
 every inch of you? Sure an' it's airly to spake 
 your intintions, when it's 'cute ye are, Captain !" 
 Take no more romantic strolls along the banks of 
 Killarney, no more hops at the Tipperary as- 
 semblies, discourse no more sentimentalisms over 
 the cold turkey and maringles at supper, where 
 the tay-boy is in attendance ; but keep up your 
 spirits, and above all, do not commit yourself for 
 life a prisoner in the jail of matrimony. 
 
 Capt. Compton. Davenant, you jest at scars 
 that never felt a wound. 
 
 Major Davenant. I shall never get myself 
 into " a fix" for the sake of any parsonage girl, 
 merely because we have sung Moore's melodies, 
 and other outlandish songs together in an Irish
 
 LADY MARY I'lERREl'OINT. 19 
 
 bog, or because she can mangle my favourite airs 
 in " Norma" on tlie Irish harp. You'll soon be 
 toired, honest boy, so do not thry that dodq;e. 
 It is mad ye are. More the deponent sayeth not, 
 except to express my firm conviction that if you 
 marry a duke's daughter. Sir Ronald will settle 
 five thousand pounds a-year on you, if only an 
 earl's, four thousand five hundred, and if an un- 
 titled heiress, he will pay down guinea for guinea 
 as an equivalent for all she brings you. Remember 
 the old saying, that riches are long in coming, 
 but have wings to fly away ; and probably this 
 Rev. Miss Donnington is, in common phraseology, 
 " worth nothing." 
 
 Capt. Compton. You mercenary man, Da- 
 venant ! Your eye is always on the till. With 
 people like you it has become an established 
 barbarism, that the love of money is the root of 
 all good. 
 
 Major Davenant. Surely, Compton, you will 
 not so thoroughly play into the hands of Father 
 O'lMurphy, as to announce an undying attachment 
 for the daughter of a Protestant parson, with a 
 pedigree as long as the King of Connaught's, an 
 empty purse, and a rich Irish brogue ! I should 
 like to see Sir Ronald's face — or rather, I should 
 prefer to be a hundred miles off, looking at him 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 through a telescope. He would give you the most 
 terrifying " No " that ever was uttered ! 
 
 Capt. Compton {laugJi'mg). In a voice like a 
 steam-whistle. 
 
 Major Davenant. It's daring him ye are! 
 A wild boar would be safe company in com- 
 parison ; for even at his best, I sometimes walk 
 cautiously round Sir Ronald, as if he were some 
 wild untameable hyena from the zoological gar- 
 dens ! What did old Thunderbolt say 1 
 
 Capt. Compton. He first became red in the 
 face, then perfectly livid. His eyes looked like 
 burning lenses, his very lips were white, and he 
 hurriedly motioned me out of the room. I would 
 sooner have stood at the cannon's mouth than 
 remained, and so we parted ! Father O'Murphy 
 poisons his dear old temper ; and now he has 
 probably cut me off with an angry shilling. Sir 
 Ronald is a rough diamond ! 
 
 Major Davenant. Very rough, indeed! You 
 never see such men now, with a " frame of iron and 
 a soul of fire !" I have always wondered at the sort 
 of terrified attachment with which, as a boy, you 
 clung to that hurricane of a man ! 
 
 Capt. Compton. Positively I would rather have 
 pleased him, than any other six of my relatives !
 
 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At Pierrepoint Castle, Sir Cosmo and Lady Mary are 
 seated at breakfast. She looks flushed and nervous, 
 her hand visibly trembling while she makes the 
 tea, and her voice, while she attempts to speak 
 cheerfully, quivers with agitation. Sir Cosmo, 
 averting his eye with a frown that no one would 
 wish to encounter, reads the newspaper, looking 
 gloomily self-dissatisfied and peevish, till at length 
 he throws it on the floor, exclaiming: ''What 
 is the use of a newspaper without any news 
 in it ? There is wind enough coming under that 
 door to turn a mill !" 
 
 Lady Mary (timidly). It has been said that 
 the wind, when it enters our dwellings, emits 
 a melancholy soimd always, as if in sympathy with 
 the sorrows of the inhabitants. 
 
 Sir Cosmo {wrathfuUy) . We have neither sun-
 
 22 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 sliine nor cooks in Ireland ! This tea is perfect 
 trash ! You have some good quaUties, Mary, but 
 the making of tea is not your forte. Will you 
 never take the trouble to learn how I like my 
 breakfast ? It is probably the simplest thing on 
 earth to please me, and yet you never take the 
 slightest pains to do so. 
 
 Lady Mary {looking frightened). It never used 
 to be difficult, Cosmo ; but times are sadly changed. 
 I hope your tea is like the Frenchman's soup, only 
 boiled " a bubble too much !" I really did my 
 little best — 
 
 Sir Cosmo. Perhaps you did. Or perhaps you 
 belong to some anti-black-boy association, which 
 forbids the use of sugar, as you have it McAdamized 
 to such morsels as these. 
 
 Lady Mary (in a mild, deprecating tone). I 
 belong to no such associations. I scarcely ever 
 leave the house, Cosmo, and am very seldom further 
 oiF from this room than my nursery. 
 
 Sir Cosmo. Whose fault is that ? Who asks 
 you to be on such a stay-at-home system ? Who 
 asks you, I say ? 
 
 Lady Mary. Only my own inclination. 
 
 Sir Cosmo {assuming a yet more sullen and ill- 
 used air). Then, in studying your own inclinations, 
 pray think occasionally of mine. Let me have
 
 LADY MARY PIERREl'OINT. 23 
 
 my meals in comfort at home, or I must take 
 them elsewhere. You have perhaps heard that 
 St. Alphonso Lignori was ordered a diet of" rotten 
 eggs, and adhered to it; but Father 0' Murphy 
 has not yet thought of that for me, or I should 
 obey. 
 
 Lady Mary. Whatever is amiss, pray excuse it. • 
 I have made some great mistake — 
 
 Sir Cosmo. Now do not torment me with that 
 eau Sucre manner, for I hate people to be so 
 happy and so sorry all in a breath. Your con- 
 versation has no more spirit of late than the 
 white of an egg and ycu speak in a voice like 
 a consumptive penny-trumpet. One would fancy 
 your head was only fit to hang a cap upon ! But 
 why look red in the face, and exaggerate my words ? 
 I did not say you had made a great mistake. I 
 merely say, that if you live a hundred years, you 
 seem never likely to learn how home can be made 
 endurable. 
 
 Lady Mary (endeavouring to compose herself). 
 It has been of late my misfortune — 
 
 Sir Cosmo {bitterly). Not your misfortune, but 
 your fault. Now spare me a scene, pray ! I 
 hope you are not intending to try the hysterical 
 dodge — 
 
 Lady Mary (endeavouring to smile). No,
 
 24 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 Cosmo ! I know you better than to attempt that ; 
 but tell me what has changed you so? Ever 
 since your mother left her convent to attempt my 
 conversion, your temper seems to have been stroked 
 the wrong way, and your manners too. I see your 
 features the same, Cosmo — I hear the same voice 
 as in better days, yet all is changed, and my 
 heart feels desolate as death. If our happiness 
 was but a dream, why did I ever awake ! Once 
 I knew of sorrow only as an evil which must some 
 day reach me, and we could have been happy 
 together in the poorest Irish cabin. Then the 
 joys that brightened my existence could scarcely 
 find a cloud on which the rainbow of hope might 
 be displayed ; but now, I do not know my own 
 husband. 
 
 Sir Cosmo {savagely). Nor I my wife. You are 
 of late dull as a catacomb, and your mind seems to 
 live in a cellar. 
 
 Lady Mary. No, Cosmo ! my heart still lingers 
 among the ruins of our former love. I remember 
 reading, when a child, of two fairies, who employed 
 their whole lives, the one in throwing sun-beams at 
 every mortal she met, and the other in throwing 
 snow-balls. Now Cosmo, you have lately forgotten 
 your basket of sun-beams, and you owe me a great 
 many, which I am quite willing to receive.
 
 LADY MAUY PIERREPOINT, 25 
 
 Lady ]\Iary lays her hand gently on his arm, 
 and smiles with a look of tearful sensibility ; but 
 Sir Cosmo starts angrily off, saying: "I abhor 
 scenes ! Do you consent that my daughter shall 
 accompany her grandmother back to the Convent of 
 St. Theresa ? There the abbess promises a system of 
 non-interference with Ida's faith. 
 
 Lady ]\Iary {bursting out into atone of unmeasured 
 and unmeasurable contempt). She promises! Oh, Cos- 
 mo ! spare me the sorrow of another quarrel on that 
 subject. You cannot break my resolution, but you 
 may break my heart. Am I not now quivering in every 
 nerve of my body with agitation at having to oppose 
 your wishes } Grief is gnawing my very heart-strings ; 
 but you see one here, Cosmo, who could die at the 
 stake for her child. I suffer the far worse martyr- 
 dom of losing a much-loved husband's affection, 
 rather than sacrifice my child to Moloch. You have 
 hitherto seen me timid as a hare ; but I can have 
 the courage of a lion for Ida. On every other sub- 
 ject my spirit seems in a state of palsied weakness ; 
 but if my heart break in the struggle, let it do so. 
 Ida then legally falls to the care of my own pious 
 mother, who solemnly foresaw all that has now come 
 between us, Cosmo, and warned you against what 
 she called " a piebald marriage." Till Lady Pierre-
 
 26 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 point came I never knew the whole evil of our 
 differing in faith. 
 
 Sir Cosmo (ferociously/). It is all owing to your 
 absurd obstinacy. 
 
 Lady Mary. When your mother would teach 
 my child all the foolish eccentricities of a fanatical 
 superstition, to worship canonized assassins, such 
 as St. Dominick, and to sympathize with those 
 Papists who are more sorry for having spared 
 Luther's Ufe than for having murdered Huss, is 
 it not time to protect my Ida ? Now that I have 
 lost your affection, Cosmo, if it were not for my 
 duty to our child, I might well ask myself for 
 what earthly purpose I exist. "Alone," is now 
 inscribed on every feeling of my mind ; but my hps 
 shall be sealed from all farther complaint till this 
 breaking heart can bleed no more. 
 
 Sir Cosmo (aside). My conscience goads me to 
 agony ; but I dare not yield, or Father O'Murphy 
 ruins me ! Her very soul seems convulsed ; but 
 my duty to the Church in giving up Ida must be 
 done. [-j^j,j7. 
 
 Lady Mary covers her face with her hands and 
 sinks back in an agony of tears. Enter Lady Pierre- 
 point, with a slow, solemn, conventual step, and 
 looking as religious as crape and bombazine can
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 2/ 
 
 make her ; a rosary in her hand, her mouth but- 
 toned up, and her eyes on the ground. Inaudibly 
 advances, and stands for several minutes contem- 
 plating the bitter anguish of Lady Mary with evident 
 contempt. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Good morning! In former 
 days. Lady Mary, I was unaccustomed to the insig- 
 nificance of standing unnoticed in my son's house ; 
 but when he placed a heretic at the head of it, what 
 had I to expect ? 
 
 Lady Mary {rising, and in a tone of polite respect). 
 We heretics are taught that every duty of relative 
 kindness should be most sacredly observed — 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Yes, yes ! All very fine ; 
 but give me deeds, not words. Is Ida to accompany 
 me to Cork ? 
 
 Lady Mary (in a tone of solemn earnestness). 
 Never ! oh never ! Lady Pierrepoint ! Within this 
 month I have suffered every sorrow that the heart of 
 woman can endure, and live. The extinction of my 
 husband's affection, the death of my boy from the 
 hardships he suffered in a Jesuit College. (Lady 
 Mary convulsively clasps her hands together, pale 
 with anguish, and exclaims in accents of piercing 
 grief) I have lived to be thankful that he died! 
 All — all that I suffer is deserved, because of having 
 sacrificed my principles, for the love I bore Sir
 
 28 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 Cosmo ; yet. Lady Pierrepoint, the charge of Ida's 
 education is mine hy every law human or divine. 
 May she and I both be laid together in our graves 
 before I relinquish the dear-bought privilege. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint. Quite a flare-up ! A 
 country-barn actress could scarcely rant it better. 
 For a meek, submissive wife, you can be on occasion 
 tolerably determined. 
 
 Lady Mary (with a deep, struggling sigh). On 
 one occasion, but on one only. Lady Pierrepoint, 
 the very lowest animals can become courageous in 
 defence of their offspring. If my husband please, 
 let him take from me the very light of day, but let 
 him not take my child. That is the only arrow in 
 his quiver that could kill me. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint (turning contemptuously 
 away) . You have an enviable facility in weeping ! 
 There shall be no peace in this house, however, 
 till you yield up Ida.
 
 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Lady Mary entering her nursery, finds the Pro- 
 testant nursery-governess reading aloud to Ida, 
 and commenting as she proceeds ; while the 
 child eagerly listens with flushed cheeks and 
 distended eye-balls. " Good, trustworthy crea- 
 ture ! she is preparing the child's lessons for 
 me." Listens, and starts in consternation. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan continues reading : " St. Maria 
 Francisca, canonized in 1839, walked unassisted, 
 when only six months old, to a holy picture, 
 and with many signs of reverence, remained, 
 as if enchanted, before it." Seeing her mistress, 
 hurriedly conceals the book, and becomes of 
 an ashy paleness, Ida rushes into the arms of 
 her mother, while Lady Mary advances, say- 
 ing, in a voice trembling with agitation : " Mrs. 
 Morgan! what are you reading to my child?"
 
 30 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan {stoutly). The Arabian Nights, 
 my Lady. 
 
 Lady Mary. Not when I heard you, though 
 something quite as marvellous and untrue. Show 
 me that book now in your basket. I came here 
 intending kindly by you, Mrs. Morgan, as your 
 own child is ill. Mothers should feel for each 
 other ; and since your little Jane has a fever, I 
 wrote this morning to request that my mother 
 would supply her amply with winter-clothing, and 
 send for Dr. Hutton ; but have you deserved my 
 kindness ? 
 
 Mrs. Morgan {signs for the nursery -maid to 
 leave the room, and says, in a loic, agitated ichisper) : 
 My Lady, since I came here, Father O'Murphy 
 has so addled my brain with his bewildering talk, 
 that I do not know right from wrong ! My mind 
 seems in a curious state of half-and-half-ism ; but 
 surely, after all, it cannot be a right religion that 
 would bid a governess rob her mistress of the 
 child she is trusted with. 
 
 Lady Mary (nervously clasping Mrs. Morgan 
 by the arm) . What, what ? Tell me all you 
 mean. As you ever hope to see your own child 
 again, tell me — tell me what you mean. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan (in tears). Your kindness to 
 my own little Jane, biings it all out, my Lady.
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 31 
 
 Sir Cosmo has gone to stay to-night at Father 
 0']\[urphy's, to prepare for his election to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Lady Mary {as(oiiished). My husband departed! 
 Impossible ! 
 
 Mrs. Morgan. Yes, my Lady; and you are 
 left m a sort of custody, under Lady Pierrepoint 
 and Father O' Murphy. They are to suppress 
 your letters, to keep you from all intercourse 
 with Protestants, to take away your Bible, and 
 to leave you nothing but their own books. You 
 will find the Bibles gone already from the librarv 
 and boudoir, and — and — 
 
 Lady Mary (gasping and pale as death). Goon, 
 Mrs. INIorgan ! Why do you hesitate ? I am quite 
 composed — able to bear anything — why do you 
 hesitate ? 
 
 Mrs. Morgan (turning aivay). Because, my 
 Lady, I am ashamed to tell the rest — ashamed 
 to confess that I have been made as treacherous to 
 you as midnight itself. This evening, after you go 
 to bed. Sir Cosmo's carriage is to take me, with 
 my little charge, first to Father O'Murphy's, and 
 then to the convent. 
 
 A dead pause ensues. Lady Mary looks for some 
 moments as if turned into stcne, but bv a sudden
 
 32 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 effort recovers herself, and says, with a look of 
 impressive earnestness, her white lips quivering 
 with emotion, her whole countenance assuming an 
 aspect of dignity, and a solemn depth apparent in 
 her eye and voice : " Mrs, Morgan ! If I forgive you 
 all the nefarious past, you must help a mother in 
 her extremity. Tell me what I can do ? Force 
 will he used by Father O' Murphy if cunning fail. 
 "What can I do? This house belongs to my hus- 
 band's mother, and as he has left me here, I am no 
 longer under his protection ; therefore, this very 
 night I must escape. Speak, Morgan ! advise me ! 
 How can I rescue myself and the child ? 
 
 Mrs. Morgan {whispers). Beware of Martha. 
 Father O' Murphy has persuaded the girl that her 
 face shall become miraculously seamed with the small- 
 pox if she betray his scheme. We were to carry 
 little Ida down the back-stairs, to avoid your room, 
 and the two Irish footmen are to deliver us to Father 
 O' Murphy in the village. 
 
 Lady Mary. Morgan! I feel at this moment 
 the ingenuity of perfect desperation. If you save 
 my child, and release myself this night, I promise 
 that my mother shall provide a home where you can 
 live in comfort. Take me in the carriage instead of 
 Martha; make the footmen stop to deliver some
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 'S.i 
 
 message at Dr. Donnington's, as the carriage passes ; 
 and though I never saw that good man, my heart 
 tells me, that if he were to be denounced for shelter- 
 ing me to-morrow, and shot over a hedge next 
 morning, he will give me the protection of his house 
 this night. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan. Yes, Madam ! he is of the right 
 sort ; and I have learned in this Popish house that it 
 takes more than a black coat to make a man holy, 
 and more than a scarlet one to make a man brave. 
 
 Lady Mary. Very true, Morgan ! The fiercest- 
 looking man in a regiment is sometimes the greatest 
 coward ; and the most downcast looking confessor, 
 like Father O' Murphy, the greatest impostor. There 
 are bullies in an army, and hypocrites in many a 
 monastery, if they were known. 
 
 D
 
 34 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In the drawing-room of Southdown Rectory, Nora 
 Donnington overhears the grinding of carriage- 
 wheels along the gravel, and soon after a loud, 
 cheerful voice becomes audible in the passage, 
 saying : " Ah, Donnington ! I guess you had for- 
 gotten an old school-fellow. You were always at 
 the top of our class, and I — no matter where ! 1 
 was passing this way on my road to — pshaw ! who 
 ever remembers names ? — but — in short, here I 
 am ; and if you have not a warm welcome and a 
 hot beef-steak for an old friend, you are no longer 
 Tom Donnington." 
 
 Dr. Donnington. It makes me a boy to see 
 you again. Sir Ronald ! The sorrows of twenty 
 years have not chilled my heart since we parted — 
 
 Sir Ronald. Then let me share, for a few days, 
 the happiness of your happy home ; and not to inter-
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 35 
 
 fere with your clerical duties, I shall stay for the 
 inside of a week, from Monday to Saturday. So 
 you had no idea young Compton was my nephew, 
 and if he conducts himself well my heir ? He wrote 
 me a heroic epistle before he came here yesterday, 
 discarding the whole inheritance of Killarney Castle, 
 as if it had been a football. He announced, that 
 comparing your character to that of Father 
 O'Murphy, had led to the comparing of your creeds, 
 in consequence of which he abjured Romanism. I had 
 secretly reached pretty nearly the same conclusion 
 myself ; and therefore here I am, Donnington, owing 
 my earthly life in boyhood to your courage, and now 
 led towards a better life by your example. 
 
 Dr. Donnington. Dear Jerningham ! always 
 the same ! — honest-hearted, impulsive, and generous, 
 you never grow old. 
 
 Sir Ronald, Older, but not much wiser, as you 
 will say when I explain the scheme that brought me 
 here. Father O'Murphy has shown so very cloven 
 a foot in urging me to disinherit my nephew merely 
 for doing what I did at his age — falling in love — that 
 I utterly abjure the superstition which sanctions such 
 clergy. Before giving my heart-felt consent, how- 
 ever, to Tom's choice, which I am prepared gladly 
 to do, let me indulge a whim by putting him to the 
 test. We must see how he will act towards your 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 Nora under a certainty of being disinherited, and 
 how she will act towards him. If they deserve 
 each other, Tom need not go the Diggings for a 
 fortune. 
 
 Dr. Donnington. Well, Jerningham ! I promise 
 to take no part. Act your own farce or tragedy with 
 our young people on your own plan, and satisfy 
 yourself. I shall be a mere looker-on, though by no 
 means an indifferent one. 
 
 Sir Ronald. There is a strong requisition for 
 Tom to stand for our county in opposition to Father 
 O'Murphy's member, Sir Cosmo, who is about to 
 join a coalition of the Humbug and Humdrum admi- 
 nistrations. It would take the courage of ten Han- 
 nibals to oppose the Papists here ; but Tom has 
 nerve to withstand all the Ribbonism in Munster, 
 and has actually accepted the dangerous honour of 
 being nominated. 
 
 In the conservatory, at Southdown Rectory, Nora 
 Donnington is laughingly holding up an immense 
 bouquet of exotics, which Captain Compton vainly 
 attempts to name, saying : " I know this perfectly — 
 the Aurora Borealis, and that is the — Delirium 
 Tremens." 
 
 Nora. No ! It is the Habeus Corpus Specio- 
 cissima. Really Spring has put out all her flower- 
 pots for us to-day, making this quite a gay and
 
 LADY MARY PIERRKPOINT. 37 
 
 gaudy world, fit for nothing but happiness and 
 good-humour. 
 
 Capt. Compton. Then I wish my old uncle, Sir 
 Ronald, were here, and that St. Patrick would now 
 take all the venom out of him. When absent from 
 Father O' Murphy, he really is the best of uncles 
 and the best of men — so popular among the tenantry, 
 that his health is always drank three times three at 
 the Irish Funerals. 
 
 Looks up, and seeing Sir Ronald, starts in an 
 ecstacy of atonishment, exclaiming : " My uncle !" 
 
 Sir Ronald (s/em/y). So! Mr. Captain of the 
 Fusileers ! You no more expected to see me than 
 a mermaid ! I have come by express train from 
 Dublin, ninety-nine miles, to convince Dr. Don- 
 nington, as I have now succeeded in doing — 
 
 Capt. Compton (interrupting). I trust not, Sir 
 Ronald. You are quite entitled to withhold your 
 property, or to banish me from your house ; but 
 farther than that, even a father could scarcely feel 
 entitled to interfere. I already see a vision of 
 Killarney Castle, the oaken corridors swarming 
 with monks, and Father O' Murphy seated like 
 St. Simon, on the top of a pillar ; but for myself. 
 Sir Ronald, the spell of Romanism is broken, and 
 my whole earthly happiness depends on becoming 
 the son-in-law of Dr. Donuington.
 
 38 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 V 
 
 Sir Ronald. Listen first to the terms on which 
 I am willing to purchase the vacant majority in your 
 regiment to-morrow. 
 
 Capt. Compton. If anything could make me 
 conformable to your wishes. Sir Ronald, it would 
 not be any hopes of pecuniary advantage, but the 
 remembrance of all your past kindness. After you 
 have signed away every acre and every shilling to 
 Father O' Murphy and his myrmidons, if you ever 
 regret the sacrifice of your personal liberty, come to 
 me, and receive the return of kindness due to the 
 benefactor of my boyhood. You shall always be 
 the most welcome of guests under any roof that 
 calls itself mine. 
 
 Sir Ronald turns away to conceal his emotion, 
 and is about to reply, when the door is hesitatingly 
 opened, and enter Lady Mary Pierrepoint, leading 
 by the hand her little girl. She looks anxiously 
 round, saying, in a low, diflfident voice : " I asked to 
 see Dr. Donnington alone." He advances with polite 
 alacrity, and after glancing at his unexpected visitor, 
 exclaims, hi an accent of astonishment and uncer- 
 tainty : " Do I see Lady Mary Pierrepoint ?" 
 
 Lady Mary {hurriedly). This must seem a most 
 unwarrantable intrusion. Excuse me. Dr. Donning- 
 ton. I have suffered deeply to-day from mental 
 distress. My little girl is worn out with fatigue.
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 39 
 
 Her governess is in the passage, and will you afford 
 us a shelter for the night ? I am quite unfit to go 
 through any explanations ; but I am assured that, 
 from the friend and benefactor of his parish, no one 
 can need any kindness that will not be generously 
 bestowed. 
 
 Dr. Donnington. My dear Lady Mary, if I were 
 to choose a pleasure in this world, it would be to 
 receive the daughter of my old friend. Lady Dublin, 
 in this house, and you need only look at my girl's 
 face to see how delighted she is to welcome you 
 here. You do, indeed, look worn and wearied. 
 Nora ! show Lady Mary at once to your best spare, 
 and put this dear child to bed immediately. 
 
 Some time afterwards. Lady Mary rushes hur- 
 riedly into the drawing-room with Ida and Mrs. 
 Morgan, exclaiming, in a tone of agonized terror : 
 " Stop the music ! There have been several shots 
 fired on the other side of the house. We hear 
 voices, oaths, groans, and cries for help ! The sound 
 of carriage-wheels too! — " 
 
 Sir Ronald (mjoe^MOMs/y). Oh, impossible ! Our 
 county is perfectly quiet now. 
 
 Dr. Donnington {very seriously). I fear not, 
 Jemingham ! All this week I have been beset with 
 threatening letters and warning notices. The fiery 
 cross has been sent through my village, and —
 
 40 LADY MARY PIERRETOINT. 
 
 Piercing screams, shouts and imprecations, heard 
 without. Several shots fired almost simultaneously, 
 and loud groans of agony. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan {vehemently). Bar the windows! 
 lock the doors ! You are a doomed man. Dr. 
 Donnington. I was in chapel yesterday, when 
 Father O'Murphy pronounced the Pope's great 
 curse against you, and there was death in the 
 faces of all around him. Fasten every window and 
 door. 
 
 Dr. Donnington. No ! There are cries for 
 help, a sound that no human being should hear 
 with his door closed. Gentlemen! there are arms 
 in that cabinet. No Protestant house in Ireland can 
 be safe without such protection ; and now let us 
 go forth. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan [grasping his arm). It is certain 
 death, Sir ! We shall all be massacred ! The 
 Papists suppress contradiction by killing the contra- 
 dictor ; and I know^ that Father O'Murphy — 
 
 Dr. Donnington (solemnly). Duty must be 
 done, though heaven and earth were passing away. 
 
 " Come he slow, or come he fast, 
 It is but death that comes at last." 
 
 Sir Ronald. The poor Irish are always made 
 to attack their best friends ; therefore, Donnington, 
 you are the most likely man in this county to be
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 41 
 
 assassinated. Those philanthropists who give work 
 to the able-bodied, and relief to the bed-ridden, 
 who educate their children and comfort the sick, 
 become at once marked men — marked, not for 
 honour and gratitude, but for death. Donnington, 
 if my life can save yours now it shall be sacrificed, 
 and the world will be a gainer by the exchange. 
 
 Capt. Compton. My professional duty is to 
 lead the way, and I claim the privilege of advancing 
 first. You, Dr. Donnington, are a minister of peace, 
 you must remain to protect and comfort Nora. 
 
 Dr. Donnington. We are all immortal till our 
 work is done, and my duty is plainly to accompany 
 you in the defence of my home and family. The 
 apostles did not fight for their religion, but they 
 died for it ; and so shall I this night, if necessary. 
 
 The sound again of carriage-wheels, firing, cries, 
 screams of murder, and shouts for help. Several 
 shots pass through the shutter. The gentlemen all 
 hurry out, while Nora and Lady Mary fall silently 
 on their knees. Mrs. Morgan takes from her 
 pocket a small wooden image of St. Dominick, 
 which she kisses and reverently kneels before, 
 while the child plays with her doll, unconscious 
 of surrounding danger. 
 
 At the entrance to Southdown Rectory, the noise 
 increases, while the mob stand with a forest of
 
 42 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 cudgels, hallooing and beating in the door, which 
 already shakes on its hinges. A crash of windows, 
 and the conservatory is reduced to ruins. Captain 
 Compton's animated voice is heard in command, 
 directing the servants, and encouraging them ; while 
 Sir Ronald's, like a gong, is thundering above every 
 other sound. Dr. Donnington calmly addresses the 
 roaring and furious mob, who receive him with a 
 ferocious yell. "Poor, misguided men! tell me what 
 you want?" 
 
 Pat O'Connell {the leader). Ax them as answers 
 questions. 
 
 Dan O'Toole (insolently). We'll have no tenants'- 
 right bill now, but a peasants'-right bill ! No dirty 
 acres, belonging more to one man than another ; no 
 gates, no hedges, no locks, no watch-dogs, no im- 
 pertinent tickets about prosecuting intruders; and 
 our pigs shall be at free quarters in the fields and 
 streets. Father O'Murphy is a go-the-whole-hog 
 boy, and says we shall soon have in Ireland 
 
 " The good and simple plan. 
 That we should take who have the pow'r, 
 And they should keep who can." 
 
 Pat O'Connell. As King "William said : "Every 
 bullet has its billet," and Father O'Murphy orders 
 us to kill our enemy or coax him. Now, boys! if 
 ye get into throuble in the scrimmage, there's
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 43 
 
 twenty Popish houses ready to hide you ; so, in the 
 name of Father O'Murphy, " Fire!" 
 
 Cries of savage exultation, and a frightful struggle 
 ensues. Sir Ronald and Captain Compton seize several 
 of the mob as prisoners, and Dr. Donnington grasps 
 hold of Pat O'Connell, whom he drags, after a despe- 
 rate scuffle, into the house. They meet the foot- 
 man of Sir Cosmo, rushing from the carriage, and 
 dragging in Dan O'Toole by main force, exclaiming : 
 " You murderous villains ! May every hinge of 
 your bodies be broken! Why did you not listen 
 to me ?" 
 
 Pat (sullenly). I'm not such a fool, as attind 
 to a greater fool than myself. 
 
 Footman. You have shot my master and Father 
 O'Murphy in the carriage. They were coming to 
 claim the child. Did I not call out the name of 
 Father O'Murphy, to stop you from firing? 
 
 Pat {looks aghast, exclaiming) : None of your 
 thricks, you English spalpeen, with that dog-in- 
 office look ! Sure it's the raal gintleman we shot ! 
 I'd know Parson Donnington round any corner; 
 and we thought it were he and Captain Compton 
 coming home in the carriage. Sure, I am bate, 
 body and sleeves ! The two's as dead in the car- 
 riage as Egyptian mummies. 
 
 Dr. Donnington {earnestly). Those who sow
 
 44 LADY MARY PIERRI POINT. 
 
 thorns do not reap roses ! Your priest has paid 
 the just penalty of urging you all on to crime. 
 Pat O'Connell, I pity you and all your delirious 
 followers. The broken laws must take their course 
 upon you soon ; but I see you are severely wounded. 
 Let the prisoners be all taken to the kitchen, Brad- 
 ford ; watch them carefully, but give refreshments 
 to every one, and treat them kindly. 
 
 A large, cheerful fire in the Parsonage kitchen, cold 
 meat, bread, and beer in great abundance on the 
 table, and the prisoners all eating like hungry 
 tigers. 
 
 Pat. This bates Bannaghar ! Father O'Murphy 
 used to say, we must hate the giver and take his 
 gifts : but at his rivirence's own house ye may blow 
 on your fingers to warm them. Sorrow a bite or 
 a sup we ever got from his rivirence, let alone such 
 an ilhgant fire. I'd as soon look for the Hill of 
 Howth in a horse-pond, as for anything from him. 
 
 Dan. He's the fox that preached to the geese and 
 devoured them. You may drive a tenpenny nail 
 into the moon, easier than get a rap from the priest. 
 Begging's their trade! His rivirence had reduced 
 us, till wife and I had but a pea a day, and must 
 give the husk to Father O' Murphy's pig. He's 
 like the grave, for ever crying "give, give!" but 
 he's got his fairin' now.
 
 LADY MARY PIERREI'OINT, 45 
 
 V\T (with a dubious laugh). Hold your long tongue, 
 Dan ! A fine quandary we'd be in, if Father 
 O'Murphy's corpse there were to sit up nnd preach, 
 as old Father Bruno's dead body did, when the 
 priests themselves became so frightened, that they 
 invented the order of Carthusian friars, to be all 
 as miserable as vows could make them. 
 
 Dan. Father O'Murphy promised to take all our 
 sins on himself, but he had plenty of his own, and I 
 would not exchange burdens now. A bad end to 
 him ! If rd a score hke his, I'd be ashamed to bid 
 good morrow to meself ; but whatever his deserts 
 were, he's got 'em now, and welcome. 
 
 In the Rectory drawing-room, Sir Cosmo is 
 stretched on a sofa, supported by Lady Mary, and 
 Dr. Donnington. After remaining long insensible, 
 shows some signs of consciousness. Lady Pierre- 
 point having been sent for, rushes into the room 
 vehemently agitated. " What do I hear ? My son 
 wounded ! Father O'Murphy cruelly murdered ! — " 
 
 Sir Ronald {sternly). Your priest, Lady Pierre- 
 point, has fallen by the bullet prepared, at his insti- 
 gation, for a better man than himself. (Mutters) 
 She has long threatened herself with a fit of real 
 hysterics ! Now for it ! 
 
 Mrs. Morgan. Father O'Murphy's last words, 
 my Lady, were to pronounce a curse on his mur-
 
 46 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 derers, though the murder was all a mistake, and 
 they begged his forgiveness on their knees. 
 
 Sir Cosmo (having struggled and gasped into life 
 again, languidly opens his eyes, and extending a 
 diffident hand to Lady Mary, says) : My first and 
 only love ! Your religion teaches you to pardon. 
 I have of late been a harsh and cruel husband, 
 urged on — no matter how ; but I see a generous 
 forgiveness in your eyes. 
 
 Lady Mary {in a tone of tremulous joy). More 
 than forgiveness, Cosmo — utter forgetfulness ! I 
 only now remember when I was the happiest wife in 
 Ireland ; and I heartily excuse any one who wished 
 us less united. 
 
 Extends her hand to Lady Pierrepoint, who turns 
 angrily away, in all the dignity of being extremely 
 ill-used, and exclaims : " Cosmo ! if you adhere to 
 heretics, you lose all. Those who will be beggars 
 shall be so." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan {advancing). You have more to 
 forgive, Lady Mary, than either Sir Cosmo or your- 
 self have an idea of ! Mine is not a Popish penitence 
 now — eating no roast mutton, and paying money to 
 wipe out old sins that I may commit new ones — but 
 mine is a Protestant penitence, which reforms the 
 heart, and which shall be testified now, by public, 
 not by secret confession. Search the pocket of
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 47 
 
 Father 0' Murphy, in which is a deed, signed by 
 Lady Pierrepoint, leaving every shiUing to the priests 
 unless Sir Cosmo part for ever from you ; but I have 
 a parchment here of older date. "When Father 
 O'Murphy first heard that Sir Cosmo was about to 
 marry a heretic, he made Lady Pierrepoint conceal 
 about Connemara Castle being so entailed, that on her 
 own eldest son coming of age he takes possession of 
 the whole estate, while she is only entitled, like any 
 other widow, to a small jointure. 
 
 Lady Pierrepoint hurries away, looking like a 
 lineal descendant of the Furies, while Mrs. Morgan 
 places documents on the table, saying : " I cannot 
 believe that the Creator of this world is indifferent 
 to the moral conduct of His creatures ; therefore, the 
 vices of Father O'Murphy, and the virtues of Dr. 
 Donnington, have convinced me in what Church 
 divine and human truth are taught. I know them 
 both now by their fruits." 
 
 Captain Compton and Nora are standing in the 
 ruined conservatory, contemplating the broken 
 plants and fractured glass, when Sir Ronald 
 approaches, saying, in an under tone of stern 
 decision : " Tell me, nephew ! Are you ready to 
 comply with the conditions on which I offer you 
 a settlement beyond recal, of Killarney Castle, 
 and all my belongings? May I name my own 
 terms ?"
 
 48 LADY MARY PIERREPOTNT. 
 
 Capt. Compton {glancing towards Nora). No, 
 Uncle Ronald ! Not for a million a minute would 
 I break my own heart and hers. 
 
 Sir Ronald (assuming a tone of fury). Pshaw, 
 Mr. Benedict ! Do not look so like a theatrical 
 bravo ! Jf you have your will, I shall have a 
 will too ! Pray, Miss Donnington, are you resolved 
 to accept my rebellious nephew for better, or perhaps 
 for very much worse ? 
 
 Nora {blushing deeply over cheek and forehead) . 
 We should greatly have preferred your consent, 
 and — and — 
 
 Capt. Compton {smilingly interrupting her). We 
 have no particular preference for what you call 
 beggary, which means in my case eight hundred 
 pounds a-year ; but in this good world of ours, 
 Sir Ronald, people as romantically poor, may be 
 happy on what money cannot purchase— health, 
 cheerfulness, and devoted affection. Could we have 
 pleased you, it would have been an additional interest 
 in life to make your latter years happy ; but if that 
 can be done only by rendering ourselves miserable, 
 then, my dear uncle, what can you expect ? 
 
 Sir Ronald {vehemently, and drumming fiercely 
 on the table). I do expect that you will both listen 
 to the terms I offer, which neither of you have 
 yet honoured me by doing ! After that, make your 
 choice, for this is the last time of asking.
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 49 
 
 Capt. Compton {respectfully). We arc most 
 ready to hear you. Sir Ronald ; but preferring our 
 mutual attachment, and, our Protestant principles to 
 life itself, I feel too certain that any offer must be 
 unavailing. 
 
 Sir Ronald {in a tone of hitter merriment). 
 Nephew ! the treaty of peace offered by your stern 
 old uncle is on these terms, that I shall now publish 
 the banns of matrimony between Tom Compton, 
 gentleman, and Nora Donnington, spinster, and that 
 like any child's story-book, you are married, and 
 live happily ever afterwards. 
 
 Captain Compton, with a shriek of rapture, seizes 
 his uncle by the hand, while Sir Ronald continues 
 saying : " Stay ! you do not yet know half the 
 cruelty of my commands ; therefore, tighten the 
 drums of your ears and listen. You must marry 
 within a month ; you must settle for the summer at 
 Killarney Castle ; you must keep a good table ; you 
 must winter in Sackville Street ; and you must 
 sometimes receive into your own house, with friendly 
 welcome, a cross, irritable old uncle, who loves you 
 both, who has seen the error of all his ways, and 
 who abjuring the yoke of priestly tyranny in Ireland, 
 would desire to see you become, at this election, a 
 distinguished representative of our county." 
 
 Capt. Compton. I am in a stupor of felicity. 
 
 £
 
 50 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 
 
 All you say, Uncle Ronald, is as welcome as Spring 
 after an Iceland winter ! As for my coming into 
 Parliament, you shall be indulged, though in priest- 
 ridden Ireland any Protestant may probably attain 
 his place only like a butterfly in the cabinet of a 
 naturalist, with a pin through his body. You have 
 made two deserving persons happy ; therefore, my 
 dear, kind uncle — 
 
 Sir Ronald (in a storm of laughter). Ah ! that 
 was always his way, Miss Donnington. Give into 
 him entirely, and he claps the hands of approbation 
 at me as the best of men ; but venture on a shadow 
 of contradiction, and he is off like a rocket. Take 
 warning from my sufferings. Miss Nora. Be ready 
 to marry him the veiy day he wishes, or I should 
 not like to be in your place ; but once that is over, 
 we shall make a coalition to rule him with a rod of 
 iron. 
 
 Capt. Compton. It will be a most agreeable 
 martyrdom for me ; but the only rod of iron in 
 Ireland is what was wielded by Father O' Murphy, 
 and which being now broken, we must each, by 
 general consent, have entirely our own way, and at 
 the same time yield everything to our friends. Thus 
 combined for public and domestic happiness, let us 
 make you our chief. Sir Ronald, over this prosperous 
 and happy community. You shall see that we all
 
 LADY MARY PIERREPOINT. 51 
 
 take our share in the business and pleasures of 
 virtuous Ufe as united Irishmen and united Irish- 
 women. 
 
 A month has elapsed, and the village-bells of 
 Killarney are pealing ; the school children are in 
 holiday attire ; every window has its flag, every 
 door is wreathed with garlands of flowers ; horse- 
 men, carts and gigs are all gaily adorned ; and 
 around the festive board Sir Ronald leads off a 
 cheer, three times three, and nine times nine for 
 Captain Compton, M.P., and his beautiful bride, 
 who were married this morning in the old parish 
 church. Tune — "See the Conquering Hero comes." 
 
 E 2
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 PAGE 661. 
 
 From the " Lives of the Haldomes." 
 
 Popery is not simply a religion ; it claims power 
 over all baptized, and a right founded on this usurp- 
 ation, to punish heretics. Those who consider it 
 a part of their religion to use the sword, ought not 
 to complain if the civil power be employed to keep 
 them within proper bounds. 
 
 It is the vaunt of Italian liberals that they 
 belong to secret societies, that they are bound by 
 secret oaths, and that they work by secret terror. 
 They sow distrust in families, excite the servant 
 against his master, the soldier against his officer, 
 and use the sword, which no other rehgion does.
 
 APPENDIX. 53 
 
 Thomas Aquinas, one of the standard theologians 
 in the Church of Rome, says : " It is much more 
 grievous to corrupt faith, which is the source and 
 life of the soul, than to corrupt money, which 
 but tends to the relief of the body. Hence, if 
 coiners and other malefactors are justly put to 
 death by the secular authority, still more may 
 heretics not only be excommunicated, but even 
 justly put to death !"* On that ground, the Inqui- 
 sition is now actually and potentially in full action 
 at Rome, and the Papists must be astonished at 
 the Duke of Tuscany's clemency in not putting 
 the Madai to death ! 
 
 The priests' reign of terror in Ireland is sup- 
 ported by that intimidation which does not limit 
 itself to this life, and freedom of election there 
 is like other Papal delusions, a mere shadow. There 
 are reverend touters in the sister-isle, who carry 
 on a system of nocturnal brigandage by open-air 
 meetings, and nightly visitations in the secret con- 
 fessional, where they say to their white slaves : 
 "Vote as we desire, or your children shall not 
 be baptized — the rites of marriage for them shall 
 
 * See Popish Legends.
 
 54 APPENDIX. 
 
 not be solemnized ; when tliey are lying on their 
 death-beds, they shall be denied the last consolations 
 of rehgion — they shall be cast out from the sanc- 
 tuary, and stand accursed among their fellow- 
 countrymen." 
 
 From the Church of England Homily for Whit 
 
 Sunday. 
 
 If it be possible to be where the true Church 
 is not, then is that at Rome. 
 
 The author, some years ago, had a young friend 
 whose manner was peculiarly quiet, and with whom 
 she frequently took lessons in painting, which brought 
 them often together, and gave her many opportuni- 
 ties of observing the passive gravity of her com- 
 panion's natural disposition, even when surrounded 
 by a kind and cheerful circle at home, of brothers 
 and sisters. This young girl became beguiled at 
 length into a convent near Edinburgh ; and the 
 author, some time afterwards, went there, with two 
 very young relatives of her own, to take a last farewell 
 of her juvenile favourite. Great was the author's asto- 
 nishment to find the newly professed nun's manner as
 
 APPENDIX. 55 
 
 entirely altered as her dress. The silent, quiet girl of 
 former days, now made a most extraordinary ostenta- 
 tion of smiling, laughing, and giggling vivacity, evi- 
 dently put on for the edification of the two very 
 young visitors, with whom she ran along the passages 
 and made a great display of artificial felicity. As 
 a nun on taking the black veil assumes the name of 
 some Popish saint, and for ever parts with her own 
 so that no one within or without the convent shall 
 hereafter be able to discover who she was ; and as, 
 moreover, a black-veiled nun can never possess any- 
 thing, even to the value of a thimble of her own 
 inheritance, should not such individuals be con- 
 sidered dead in law ? It is not the nun who is to 
 inherit her own patrimony, but the monks who are 
 to divide it ; therefore, should not the next heir suc- 
 ceed in preference, and the artificial death which the 
 nun acts over on entering a convent, he considered 
 a real, bond fide, legal death, in which, besides her 
 putting on a shroud, her relations shall put on 
 mourning, and tearfully divide her succession ? 
 
 PAGE 31. 
 
 From the " Cloister Life" 
 
 The year which saw Charles V. descend from his 
 throne, at the age of fifty-six, to prepare for his
 
 56 APPENDIX. 
 
 tomb, likewise saw a newly-elected Pope plunging, 
 at the age of eighty, into the vortex of political strife 
 with all the reckless ardour of a boy. The two men 
 seemed to have changed characters as well as places. 
 Charles, the most ambitious of princes, was about to 
 turn monk ; Caraffa, the most studious and ascetic 
 of monks, bursting from that chrysalis state, shone 
 forth as the most splendid and restless sovereign in 
 Europe. No Gregory or Alexander ever played the 
 old pontifical game of usurpation and nepotism with 
 more arrogance and audacity than Paul IV. 
 
 "When the ambitious Juan de Regla, a brother of 
 the order of St. Jerome, was appointed by Charles V. 
 to be in the Monastery of Yuste with him as 
 confessor, the father, on being introduced into the 
 imperial presence, chose to speak in the mitre-shun- 
 ning cant of his cloth, of his reluctance to accept so 
 weighty a responsibility. " Never fear," said Charles, 
 somewhat maliciously, as if conscious that he was 
 dealing with a hypocrite, "before I left Flanders 
 five doctors were engaged for a whole year in easing 
 my conscience ; so you will have nothing to answer 
 for but what happens here."
 
 APPENDIX. 67 
 
 Joanii de Napoli, the tutelary saint of bridges. 
 His tongue was cut out because he would not tell the 
 secrets of confession and thrown across the Bridge of 
 Prague, where it was found two hundred years after- 
 wards, quite undecayed, and glittering with glory. 
 
 Captain Trotter, in a speech at the Protestant 
 Association, in London, mentions that a young lady 
 of distinguished family in Florence had returned 
 home from a convent where she had been educated 
 for some years, and her brother having observed on 
 a table a letter addressed by her to her confessor, 
 had taken it up without any particular object, and 
 after having read a few hues, his eyes were rivetted on 
 certain words which appeared to him almost diaboli- 
 cal : " Do you suppose that, after having been under 
 your instruction so many years, I have not been able 
 to deceive my mother ?" 
 
 The Jesuits are bound to vagrancy and profitable 
 mendicity — to be " poor professed," or at least 
 professedly poor. It was mentioned in the " Times"
 
 58 APPENDIX. 
 
 lately, that an Irish landlord was surprised one day 
 to meet one of his most respectable tenants at Liver- 
 pool, about to embark for emigration. " Surely," 
 said the landlord, in a remonstrating tone, " the soil 
 might maintain you, as it is two years since you have 
 paid me any rent." " Och, your honour," was the 
 reply, " we are bate oif by the priest, or we'd, do 
 well enough ; but if I have a penny, or a potatoe, 
 no power '11 keep my wife from giving it to his 
 Rivirence." 
 
 Jesuits. Nicolini. 
 
 It is notorious that the most diaboUcal tricks have 
 been resorted to by Jesuits in the case of dying men. 
 The sick chamber has been suddenly filled with 
 flames and sulphureous vapours as a warning to 
 the impenitent sinner, whose better judgment and 
 natural sense of duty withstood their perfidious 
 wiles to obtain his fortune. If he still resisted, the 
 Evil Spirit himself, in the most frightful shape, has 
 appeared to the dying man as if waiting for his 
 soul.
 
 APPENDIX. 59 
 
 When an infuriated mob threatened to throw 
 Monsieur Lejoy into the Danube, he smiled scorn- 
 fully, and calmly answered : " What do I care 
 whether I enter heaven by water or by land !" 
 
 Sir Digby Mackworth mentions a case in Dublin, 
 which occurred to a young man who had quitted 
 the College of Maynooth, and become a member 
 of the Church of England. Two Popish bishops 
 waited on him, with a view to induce him to conform 
 to the Romish faith ; but their endeavours being 
 vain, one of the bishops cursed him in this way : 
 " The curse of a mother's broken heart be upon 
 you ! May God Almighty scald your heart on your 
 dying bed, and command your soul to the lowest 
 pit of hell." The young man remained firm, and 
 said : " You may curse me, my Lord, but I will 
 bless you." — Morning Herald, February 12, 1852. 
 
 At the Escurial some monks were revered for their 
 austerities, and a few for the visions which had
 
 60 APPENDIX. 
 
 brightened or darkened their cells. Strangers were 
 told how Father Paul had scaled the steep of spi- 
 ritual perfections by making a ladder his nightly 
 couch ; and how Father Christopher resigned his 
 meek spirit into the real and visible hands of Our 
 Blessed Lady. — Cloister Life of Charles V. p. 266. 
 
 In the childhood of Mary Stuart, at Paris, she 
 carried a taper in the procession on Candlemas, 
 when a Popish devotee was so dazzled with the 
 beauty of her countenance and the splendoiir of her 
 dress, that she flung herself on her knees before the 
 royal child, exclaiming : " Are you an angel ?" 
 
 Queen ]\Iary said of John Knox : " I fear that 
 man's prayers more than ten thousand soldiers." 
 
 Papal Truthfulness. 
 
 Pope John XXII. took an oath at his election that 
 he never would mount horse or mule, except to go to
 
 APPENDIX. 61 
 
 Rome ; but he evaded his promise to the ItaUans by 
 taking a sea voyage to Avignon, and walked on foot 
 to the palace there, which he never aftei-wards left. 
 
 At Rome, where Christ never was, on the pedestal 
 of a column in St. Peter's, in the chapel of the 
 Pieta, an inscription records, " This is that column 
 against which our Lord Jesus Christ leaned while He 
 preached to the people, &c. From the Temple of 
 Solomon (which did not exist in our Lord's day) to 
 the Temple of the Basilica, here it was placed. It 
 expels demons, and liberates those vexed by unclean 
 spirits, and performs many miracles daily ! By the 
 very Reverend Prince and Lord, the Lord Cardinal 
 Orsini, a.d. 1433." 
 
 Nicolini, in his history of the Jesuits, says : 
 " Ignatius continued his life of penance, begged 
 for his bread, often scourged himself, and spent 
 many hours a day in prayer and meditation. What 
 he meditated upon, God only knows !"
 
 62 APPENDIX. 
 
 Saying of Bishop M'^Ilvaine. 
 
 Wherever God has a true beUever, I have a 
 brother. 
 
 The three sons of Louis le Debonnaire, son of 
 Charlemagne, imagined that their own father had 
 been reigning too long, and accordingly, they seized 
 the person of the Emperor. They compelled him 
 to be shorn and to become a monk, and they 
 then seized the Empress, and compelled her to 
 take the veil and to become a nun, that they might 
 reign in their stead. — History of France. 
 
 It is interesting to observe, in the third chapter 
 of St. Mark's Gospel, that our Divine Saviour, in 
 mentioning His relations, as if He had foreseen the 
 false position to be assigned by subsequent generations 
 to the Virgin Mary, speaks of them in the following 
 order of precedence : " My brother, and sister, and 
 mother!"* 
 
 • See " Kaleidoscope of Anecdotes.'
 
 APPENDIX, 63 
 
 PAGE 37. 
 
 From " The Cloister Life of Charles F." 
 
 The supply of Charles V.'s table in the cloister 
 of Yuste, was a main subject of the correspondence 
 between the major-domo and the Secretary of State. 
 The weekly courier from Valladolid to Lisbon was 
 ordered to change his route, that he might bring 
 every Thursday a provision of eels and other rich 
 fish for Friday's fast ! ! ! He ate so voraciously, 
 that the saying of his attendants was : " From mass 
 to mess." When, in spite of all remonstrances, 
 Charles devoured some raw oysters, his attached 
 attendant, Quixada, despairingly remarked: "Surely 
 kings imagine that their stomachs are not made like 
 other men's !" If the Emperor made a hearty meal 
 without being the worse of it, the major-domo noted 
 the fact with exultation. This office of purveyor 
 was commonly exercised under protest, and Quixada 
 interposed between his master and an eel-pie, as in 
 other days he would have thrown himself between 
 the imperial person and the point of a Moorish 
 lance. 
 
 The things of earth were keenly scanned in the 
 cell of Charles by eyes which professed to be wholly 
 fixed on Heaven ; and one of the Emperor's latest
 
 64 APPENDIX, 
 
 acts was to charge his own son Philip by his love 
 and allegiance, by his hope of salvation, " to take 
 care that the heretics were repressed and chastised 
 with all publicity and vigour, as their faults de- 
 served, without respect of persons, and without 
 regard to any plea in their favour." (p, 261.) 
 
 Such is Popery ! May God keep the eyes of 
 Protestants open to its nature and tendency ! 
 
 LOND ON : 
 
 Printed by Scbulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 "At sixteen years I ah, friends, take warning. 
 Who thinks of sunset in the morning ?" 
 
 A COUNTET CHUECHYARD. 
 
 The author having, these many years, set herself 
 the one only task in life, of doing any little good 
 she can, careless of the consequences to herself, 
 never more consciously sacrificed popularity to use- 
 fulness than now, when she would make an effort, 
 feeble though in her hands it must be, to point out 
 those errors which she has long seen and lamented 
 in the present system of precocious education. For 
 mature and profound scholarship, none can exceed 
 the reverential admiration she feels, and in the circle 
 of her own friends she can boast of many who are an 
 honour to the age, but not one among these was the 
 son of an over-anxious and over-educating parent ; 
 not one prodviced ripe fruit in the early spring, or 
 exhibited a harvest before summer. 
 
 It is an established fact, which the most disputa-
 
 IV PREFACE 
 
 tious cannot dispute, that no man understands the 
 management of a wife so admirably as an old bache- 
 lor ; and it is equally incontestible, that single ladies 
 have a patent for being the best managers of young 
 people ; therefore, these pages are intended to exem- 
 plify the opinions of one vrho has long taken a cor- 
 dial interest in the happiness of young and old, 
 parents and children. 
 
 The author having received her ticket to occupy 
 for hfe a reserved seat, as a pleased spectator, wit- 
 nessing the great drama of life, while its busy scenes 
 are acted by others, has long enjoyed her place 
 with a cheerful sympathy in the happiness of those 
 friends basking in their sunshine of prosperity, as well 
 as with a heartfelt sympathy for all who are in 
 sorrow. The deepest tragedies she has to lament in 
 modern life are now to be found, however, in the 
 school-room, where parents are too often mourning 
 with wonder, as well as with grief, over the prema- 
 ture extinction of all their brightest hopes and 
 proudest anticipations. Many a vacant seat in 
 many a nursery, and many a small tomb in the 
 neighbouring churchyard, could testify against the 
 calamitous assiduity with which a leaden weight of 
 disproportioned learning is laid on diminutive heads, 
 too young to bear it ; while, meantime, the buoyant 
 spirits and glowing affections of childhood have been
 
 PREFACE. V 
 
 extinguislicd beneath a deluge of lessons, and a 
 bushel of miscellaneous acquirements. 
 
 If these few pages could obtain for any over-edu- 
 cated child a single holiday, or even a half-holiday, 
 in which the young mind and heart might expand 
 with the unrestrained freedom natural to happy boy- 
 hood, the author would feel much more than 
 rewarded for many an anxious hour spent in con- 
 sidering whether or not to intrude her thoughts 
 before the public, with a desire, could she in the 
 smallest degree succeed, to stem the present popular 
 tide of headlong education. Providence has given 
 one summer of youth and joy to every human being J 
 but how few are now permitted to enjoy its brightest 
 hours, which were apparently destined for the ex- 
 pansion of native energy and intellect, while the 
 young were practically learning the affections, the 
 duties, and the small acquirements suited to early 
 years. 
 
 The author remembers a liberal subscription being 
 raised many years ago in Edinburgh, to present the 
 late celebrated tragedian, Edmund Kean, with a 
 Highland broad-sword, in commemoration of his so 
 admirably representing " Macbeth." The larger 
 the subscription grew, the larger was the sword 
 ordered to be made ; but no reference appeared 
 among those who acted as a committee to the fact
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 of Kean himself being so diminutive in stature that 
 he could not by possibihty use a two-handed broad- 
 sword, which it would have taken the stoutest and 
 tallest of Highlanders to wield. When the over- 
 grown monster was at last formally presented at a 
 public meeting to the highly-honoured Kean, there 
 was a general titter throughout the assembled 
 crowd, after they had seen so small a man buckled 
 on to so enormous and totally unmanageable a 
 weapon. 
 
 Such is modern education. If the acquirements 
 of any school-prodigy at fourteen could now take a 
 tangible form and substance, there would then be 
 seen a small brain withered away by premature, 
 feverish excitement, accompanied by a monster me- 
 mory, trailing heavily to the ground, and weighed 
 down with an hundred-weight of grammars, diction- 
 aries, facts, dates, nomenclatures, sciences, and arts, 
 but not bearing one twig of native growth — all bran 
 and saw- dust, laboriously collected from old timber, 
 but no leaves and blossoms springing from the life- 
 giving root of a living tree. 
 
 The most important, and the most difficult of all 
 studies to men, or even to boys, surely is their own 
 inward being as well as their own opportunities to 
 serve God and man during life, by a course of ener- 
 getic fearless duty. For this end, the conversation
 
 PREFACE. Vii 
 
 of a wise parent, or of a judicious tutor, has often 
 achieved more to fit a young mind to act and think 
 aright, than could he done by the most laborious of 
 night-and-day task-masters, or by swallowing whole 
 an entire Bodleian library. Education has only a 
 body without a soul, if it bestow merely solid acquire- 
 ments without being brought also into animated 
 existence by large views of duty, deep feelings of 
 religion, warm-hearted sensibilities, and a fervent 
 desire, at whatever personal exertion, at whatever 
 personal sacrifice, to do all the good that can be done 
 in that station of life into which it has pleased God 
 to call each responsible being, that he may be of use 
 in his generation, 
 
 " And departing leave behind him 
 Footmarks on the sands of time." 
 
 APRIL 2, 1853.
 
 PRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " There, in apartments small and damp, 
 
 The candidate for college prizes, 
 
 Sits poring o'er the midnight lamp. 
 
 Goes late to bed, yet early rises. 
 
 " He sacrifices hours of rest. 
 
 To scan precisely metre's attic ; 
 Or agitates his anxious breast. 
 In solving problems mathematic." 
 
 BYEON. 
 
 In the splendidly-furuished drawing-room of a fine 
 ancient castle on the banks of Loch Lomond, Mr. 
 Drury, the old bachelor proprietor, a handsome, 
 grey-haired man of about sixty, is standing with 
 his back to the fire, in conversation with his three 
 married cousins. Lady Jane Charnock, Lady 
 GwintheHne Gascoyne, and Lady Eleanor Van- 
 sittart. 
 
 Mr. Drury. You know, now, all I choose to 
 
 B
 
 2 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 tell! This totally unexpected succession has put 
 me quite out of my way. Fancy an insignificant 
 younger brother, accustomed to economise in my 
 chambers at the Albany on five hundred pounds 
 a year, becoming suddenly, in the afternoon of 
 life, overwhelmed with a shower of gold, so that 
 I might carry about in my pocket one hundred 
 thousand pounds like a loose half-crown ! My 
 object is, in short, to retire — no matter where — 
 perhaps to a lodging at Venice, perhaps to a snug- 
 gery in Switzerland, perhaps to a monastery in 
 Spain ; but first I intend to make a gift of this 
 property, so strangely become mine, to the most 
 promising of my young relatives. I have, therefore, 
 invited you three sisters, being my nearest kins- 
 women, to bring your boys here for a month, and 
 after ascertaining which is the most promising model 
 of perfection, I shall relinquish Forreston Castle to 
 one of you in trust for her son. Your eldest boys 
 being all three about fourteen, my choice shall be 
 entirely decided by the idea of which will most cre- 
 ditably represent me in this wide world hereafter. 
 
 All three Ladies at once. How very gene- 
 rous ! How very judicious ! 
 
 Lady Jane Charnock. I am truly delighted ! 
 My son is a most remarkable boy ; the pride of 
 every school he enters ; head of every class for
 
 PRANK VANSITTART. 3 
 
 every acquirement ; his memory is superb ! Several 
 of the masters say at Dr. Harrington's, that they 
 have nothing more to teach him. He had the 
 medals for German, French, mathematics, classics, 
 and all the ologies. Last half 
 
 Lady Gwintheline Gascoyne {impatiently 
 interrupting}. jVIy boy Simon has immense tes- 
 timonials! He has only gone lately to Dr. 
 Harrington's, where we hope he may convert some 
 of his schoolfellows, having been brought up hitherto 
 among the Jesuits at Stonyhurst, where that little 
 fellow was the model boy for fasting, scourging, and 
 sleeplessness ! I quite long for you to see him. 
 Simon is like an old man already. 
 
 Mr. Drury {in a tone of dry humour). I dare say 
 he is. Quite a pre-Raphaelite boy I suppose ; with 
 his head bent down and arms pinned to his side, you 
 might pack him into a thimble. I am proud of 
 being second cousin to such prodigies. Now tell 
 me. Lady Eleanor, of yours. 
 
 Lady Eleanor, {smiling intelligently.) Why, 
 really ! I have very little to say. My Frank is a 
 boy of the old school, fond of holidays, cricket, and 
 " The Arabian Nights ;" rather averse to lessons 
 and full of frolic. 
 
 Mr. T)k\jk\ {brightening). Indeed! {Adds in 
 
 a tone of reproof) : I fear you are like the father of 
 
 B 2
 
 4 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Sir Thomas Lawrence, Lady Eleanor, who said : 
 
 "My son has such talents that he does not need 
 
 education." 
 
 Lady Jane (in a tone of condolence). It must 
 
 be a great distress to you, Eleanor, that Frank is so 
 
 decided an idler. 
 
 Lady Gwintheline. I can forget for hours 
 
 that your Tom or my Simon are in the room, Jane ; 
 but really Frank's laugh would split the drum of 
 any ordinary ears. He cannot so much as hold the 
 candle to his cousins in Sallust, and is a hundred 
 miles behind my clever boy in Ovid. I often feel 
 for you, Eleanor, about Frank's evident dislike to 
 German grammars and Greek vocabularies. 
 
 Lady Jane. He is always trying to make a 
 laughing-stock of my Tom, about the dear boy 
 devoting his leisure to meteorology, optics, astro- 
 nomy, electricity, and vegetable physiology, and 
 because his play-books are easy introductions to 
 
 geometry and botany 
 
 Mr. Drury. Your son seems to have a bite 
 from every apple on the tree of knowledge ; but 
 does he make a full meal of any ? Those who are 
 incessantly beating the bush, do not always snare 
 the bird ; as for your Frank, Lady Eleanor, his 
 seems to be not the march of intellect, but the march 
 of ignorance.
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 5 
 
 Lady Eleanor (laughing). His two cousins are 
 on the gallop of intellect, and are, as an American 
 author said, " educated on the run." Boys are now 
 looking through the telescope of all Europe for 
 acquirements and accomplishments, hut I do not 
 like the schoolmaster to be always abroad. There 
 should be leisure given to children for the affections, 
 the duties and the pleasures of home ; therefore, my 
 Frank shall have, like the celebrated Wilberforce, 
 " a happy boyhood," with idle time occasionally, in 
 which his heart may expand as well as his head. 
 Frank thoroughly knows how to write, think and 
 act in his own language, and can talk common sense 
 in English ; therefore, now I allow him a top-dressing 
 of masters, to teach whatever it is essential he should 
 know, without cramming his young head as full as 
 the black hole in Calcutta. In preparing Frank for 
 the long journey of life, the flannels and shirts must 
 be packed in before the ruffles and trinkets. Frank's 
 abilities are kept in healthy exercise, without his 
 approaching the frontiers of excess ; and an experi- 
 enced schoolmaster told me lately that the boys 
 most enterprising in the play-ground, are always the 
 most energetic scholars in the long run, and that the 
 boys oftenest down in the black book of transgres- 
 sions are very often those who would be most
 
 5 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 frequently dovni also, if a book were kept to record 
 noble or generous actions. 
 
 Enter Simon Gascoyne, his eyes on the ground, 
 his eyebrows elevated, his hair combed very straight, 
 and walking in a sort of slow, minuet-step. Tom 
 Charnock follows, a sickly, anxious-looking boy, his 
 pale face looking as if cut out in lard, while he 
 advances, reading a foreign book so studiovisly, never 
 once glancing off the page, that he stumbles over a 
 chair in his progress. Frank Vansittart comes 
 last, his healthy, merry face beaming with fun and 
 frolic, while he stealthily slips his own copy of 
 " Sandford and Merton" into the pocket of Charnock 
 and then recovering his gravity, walks forward with 
 solemn step and pursed-up mouth, in imitation of 
 Gascoyne. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Welcome to Forreston Castle, 
 boys ! Frank, you youngster, come forward. I've 
 been hearing a very shocking account of you. I 
 hope it is not true that you are fond of " The 
 Arabian Nights," " Hajii Baba," " The Pilgrims 
 Progress," and other time killing books? Are 
 you not ashamed of svich idle taste ? 
 
 Frank {colouring and laughing). No, Sir! I would 
 be more ashamed of not liking my old friend Haroun 
 Alraschid. Grandmamma says that Gibbon and
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. / 
 
 Charles Fox were both so fond of hixuriating in 
 "The Arabian Nights," that in their very old age 
 they still talked these stories over with delight. My 
 grandmother and I enjoyed the "Forty Thieves" 
 together last Saturday, and had a severe tea together 
 afterwards. 
 
 Lady Eleanor. My mother being blind, I 
 allow Frank to spend part of all his holiday hours 
 with her, and he tells me they discuss, like two aged 
 cronies, old stories and new books, men and anec- 
 dotes, fashions and riddles, temperance societies and 
 charitable coffee-shops, Dorcas clothing clubs and 
 a bazaar, Frank's plans and her plans, politics and 
 religion 
 
 Mr. Drury (laughing). Quite a stunning medley ! 
 But does the boy really waste his time on a blind old 
 lady, when he might be learning German or Italian 
 vocabularies ? 
 
 Frank (with gentle firmness). As long as grand- 
 mamma had eyes. Sir, she used to give me many 
 pleasures, and after reading her my own favourite 
 nonsense-books, I always give her some good, im- 
 proving, old-lady-reading, which we are both the 
 better for. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Charnock ! I guess you never 
 throw yourself away on a blind old grandmother ? 
 
 Tom. Oh no, Sir ! Never ! I have no time I
 
 8 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Lady Jane {delightedly). Indeed he is right! 
 From dawn till dusk, if Tom lost half an hour, he 
 might lose a place in his class, and that never could 
 be made up to him. When his grandmother was 
 unreasonable enough to complain of not seeing Tom, 
 I told her that the life of a boy at his age is a per- 
 fect whirl, a hurricane, a tornado ! He must scarcely 
 stop even to take breath, or to ask himself how he 
 does ! 
 
 Mr. Drury {emphatically). Of course. Old 
 people should take care of themselves, and not be a 
 weight on the young. 
 
 Lady Jane. Precisely, That is what I always 
 tell Tom. Your first duty, I say, is to get on and 
 to become distinguished, an honour to your family 
 and friends. 
 
 Frank. But mamma says we must not neglect 
 our friends, even while we are doing them credit. 
 When we were helpless children, grandmamma took 
 care of us ; therefore now, when it is her turn to be 
 helpless, it is ours to be kind. I like hearing her 
 old-world stories, and her description of the wonder- 
 ful people she knew formerly ; besides which, I am 
 her spectacles every evening to read her a chapter of 
 of the Bible. 
 
 Mr. Drury {in a reproving tone). You return 
 then to the old lady every evening ?
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Frank {carelessly). If I have learned all my 
 lessons. Sir, why not ? Granny is a great tea-ologist 
 and newspaper-ologist, so I tell her all the newest 
 news about the elections, and we discuss the history 
 of our own times. 
 
 Mr. Drury. What business is that of yours ? 
 You should be reading Caesar's Commentaries, 
 Xenophon, Plutarch, Herodotus, and Tacitus. 
 
 Frank {ivith a sly smile). I attend to those gen- 
 tlemen during school hours. Sir ; but I never wish 
 to see their faces when it can possibly be avoided. 
 One must do lessons, and, as mamma says, do them 
 thoroughly while they last, but the sooner my tasks 
 are over the better. 
 
 Mr. Drury {turning up his hands and eyes with a 
 look of virtuous horror). What a young profligate! 
 Now, Charnock, give me your opinion of lessons. 
 
 Tom {looking vp for a moment from his " Terence"). 
 I like them much better than play. Nothing wearies 
 me so much as leisure. 
 
 Lady Jane {enchanted). Tom takes his "Quintus 
 Curtius" to the cricket-ground, and his " Ovid" 
 always to bed with him. He is called at school 
 "Multum in Parvo," and has established a httle 
 store of "Pinnock's Catechisms" in my carriage, 
 that he may never be without an improving book
 
 10 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 when we drive. I dare not speak to him during our 
 airing, he so hates to be interrupted ! 
 
 Mr. Drury. a most valuable boy! And you 
 never disturb him by pointing out for his sympathy 
 and admiration, the rural peasantry at their country 
 occupations, or the animals at play in the meadows ? 
 
 Tom {emphatically). Oh no ! They signify 
 nothing to me. I would always rather read about 
 people than see them ; and when I tire of a book in 
 French or German, it comes out new in Italian. 
 
 Mr. Drury {in a tone of panegyric). You would 
 be as much puzzled. Master Tom, what to do with 
 an hour's leisure as the French valet, who being 
 allowed a holiday, felt so perplexed how to employ 
 it, that he put on leeches to fill up an hour or two. 
 Now, boys, Usten. I have brought here, from the 
 Christmas-box-office, the handsomest writing-desk 
 that hands can make, full of secret drawers impossi- 
 ble to find out, and one contains a five pound note ! 
 I offer this as a prize to whichever presents me in a 
 month with the most sensible essay, entirely his 
 own, on " The Duties and Pleasures of Human 
 Life." 
 
 Charnock. Oh, Sir! do let it be something 
 about the classics! I am not well up in these 
 English subjects, for mamma and I have no time to
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 11 
 
 discuss them together, as Frank and Aunt Eleauor 
 do so constantly. 
 
 Gascoyne (in a sententious voice, with his eyes on 
 the ground). I never wish to know anything inhfe of 
 its pleasures ; and as for its duties, they are all 
 summed up in one word — " Obedience!" 
 
 Frank (earnestly). I shall dip my pen into my 
 heart, and try what can be said. Grandmamma told 
 me once that Fontenelle declared the best receipt 
 for enjoying life is, to have " a good stomach and a 
 bad heart ;" but I shall try and find a better pre- 
 scription. Tom and Simon are already so old and 
 staid, it seems a mockery to wish them a merry 
 Christmas, but I must do my best to make it 
 one. 
 
 Mr. Drury and the three boys are about to take 
 an excursion on Loch Lomond. A small light boat, 
 like an Oxford wherry, lays off the pier, and Frank, 
 in a perfect folly of delight, is alternately throwing 
 stones into the water, and vainly enticing his two 
 companions to join him, while he snatches away 
 their books with good-humoured laughter. 
 
 Frank. Come, Charnock, too hard study is worse 
 for the health than too hard living ! Virgil himself 
 would have looked up from the Georgics at such a 
 scene and described it ! Do give us your own last 
 new idea instead of Homer's.
 
 12 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Charnock. I do not care for new ideas, and find 
 plenty of much better old ones in these books. 
 
 Frank {laughing). Could you find out for me in 
 Virgil how many snowballs are required to light a 
 furnace ? As Monsieur Ude said when he made a 
 force-meat ball : " II faut un genie pour cela !" Now, 
 Mr. Drury, may I pull an oar ? I delight in 
 rowing. 
 
 Charnock. I hate the trouble, and besides it is 
 a total waste of time. 
 
 Frank. You would catch a crab and be pitched 
 overboard at the first stroke, Tom ; but not, pro- 
 bably, drowned, for it is only the fathers of large 
 families who ever are. "When I make a long voyage, 
 the captain and sailors shall all be unmarried men, 
 because whenever you hear of a boat being lost, the 
 communicative newspaper adds : "We regret to say 
 that the captain has left a widow and nine children 
 destitute." The sailors generally average a family of 
 about ten, and there is an invariable widow, for whom 
 we all subscribe. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Gascoyne, are you alive ? 
 
 Charnock (wldspers). He has a vow of silence 
 till sunset. Simon has not slept nor eaten for 
 twenty-four hours, but we must not disturb him. 
 {Suddenly screams out) : Oh ! what shall we do ? 
 That tall man running along the shore has stolen
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 13 
 
 your purse, and picked my pocket of Homer ! "What 
 can we do ? 
 
 Mr. Drury {eagerly looking round). Well done, 
 Frank ! He is after the thief like greased light- 
 ning ! Bravo ! Charnock and Gascoyne, have you 
 no legs ? I am too old and stiff to follow ; but, as 
 old Homer himself says, Frank runs " as if he would 
 leave his very life behind." There, he is within a 
 yard of the rascal ! Now he has him by the skirts 
 of his coat ! No ! the villain will escape ! He has 
 knocked Frank down ! Still the brave boy holds 
 on ! At it again ! Ah ! there are some plough- 
 men come from the field to help. The wretch is 
 secured ! 
 
 Charnock. I'm afraid my prize books will be 
 terribly spoiled, and all the marks lost that I had 
 put in for the examination. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Pshaw ! What makes you carry- 
 about " Homer," dressed like a militia officer in 
 scarlet and gold? You have scarcely English 
 language enough and English spirit, to say, Bo 
 to a goose ; and as for Gascoyne, he does not know 
 chalk from cheese. Charnock, you were screaming 
 like an oyster-woman, and Gascoyne standing in a 
 fix, while Frank was fighting your battles, and now you 
 seem, as Shakspeare says, "poor even in thanks." 
 Did nature not tell you to thank your cousin }
 
 14 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Gascoyne. I am forbid ever to follow any 
 dictate of nature, Sir. "We never do. I must 
 neither love nor hate, neither eat nor drink, nor 
 sleep, as nature inclines. Every dictate of nature is 
 wrong. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Yet who gave you that nature? 
 If we have a cough, are we not allowed to cough, 
 and is a good honest sneeze to be suppressed ? Our 
 duty is, not to sacrifice our nature, but to sanctify 
 it. You are a perfect Memnon, Gascoyne, that never 
 utters. Listen to those birds that speak their 
 Maker's praise in notes of joy, and are you only to 
 be dumb ? Positively, boy, you are a perfect im- 
 postor, looking so much wiser and better than any 
 human boy ever really was. Ah! here comes 
 Frank, running at such a pace that his shadow 
 cannot overtake him ! Well, my brave boy, so you 
 caught the rascal ? 
 
 Frank. Yes, Sir, and now the ploughmen are act- 
 ing as extempore police-officers, to keep him prisoner. 
 
 Mr. Drury. You have caught a black eye, too, 
 I perceive ! 
 
 Frank (carelessly). Yes. My aunts were dis- 
 cussing to-day whether black or blue eyes are the 
 most beautiful ; but now the point may be decided 
 by looking at me. 
 
 Mr. Drury. A black eye, got in a good cause,
 
 FRANK VANSITTAUT. 15 
 
 shall have my vote. Thanks for regaining my 
 purse, Frank ; and as it contains three sovereigns, 
 suppose I divide them equally amongst you boys ? 
 
 Frank {laughing). We shall require a slate and 
 slate-pencil to calculate how much you kindly give 
 to each. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Observe ! This is to be real non- 
 sense-money for any boyish fancies you have. 
 What holiday enjoyment shall you purchase } 
 
 Frank. Charnock will buy a few hours more 
 time in which to study his "Terence" for the ex- 
 amination. 
 
 Charnock. Please, Sir, there are several pages 
 wanting in my old " Lempriere's Dictionary," and 
 a new edition is advertised ; may I — 
 
 Mr. Drury. Admirable, boy ! Get it, by all 
 means, on condition that it is used as a pillow every 
 night to sleep on. And now, Gascoyne, ask your 
 purse what you would like to buy, and tell me. 
 
 Gascoyne seems rousing himself from a state of 
 somnambulism, and answers : I am not allowed to use 
 money myself. Sir, but it would be very acceptable 
 to the begging friars at South wark. 
 
 Mr, Drury. Pest ! The beggars at the Black 
 Dog in Wapping shall have my money first, and 
 return what they do not want. Now, Frank, out 
 with your scheme for getting rid of a sovereign.
 
 16 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Frank {colouring, and laughing evasively). It will 
 be a novelty to hear the clink of gold at the bottom 
 of my purse. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Then impart your plans for spend- 
 ing it to me. ^liy, you seem afraid to tell them ! 
 Do not get red in the face, and stammer in that 
 way, but speak out, boy ! 
 
 Frank. Then, Sir, this is the truth. People 
 who break the law, must of course be punished by 
 the law ; but, in the meantime, that wretched man 
 who robbed you was in frightful want, and who 
 can tell, in as dreadful circumstances, what any one 
 might be driven to ? When those ploughmen had 
 seized him, they were so astonished and shocked. 
 Sir, to discover an old friend of their own, who had 
 always hitherto been industrious and respected ! It 
 was miserable to witness Binfield's shame and 
 grief. It was heart-rending to hear his lamentations 
 over his own fall ; but he had been five months out 
 of work, with a wife and children starving at home. 
 He had tried to drown his wretchedness in drink. 
 
 Mr. Drury {sternly). And you wish to bestow 
 my recovered money on such a reprobate as that ? 
 A drunken rascal ! a robber ! 
 
 Frank {earnestly). Yes, Sir. Let us cover the 
 multitude of his sins ! Let us, if possible, reclaim 
 him. All the time he spoke, I was chasing my only
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 17 
 
 shilling from one end of my pocket to the other. 
 With that sovereign of yours, Sir, his starving wife, 
 who is, they told me, a good, industrious woman, 
 might be provided with bread. He may find, by 
 your means, on coming out of prison, a home once 
 more respectable. We might save a soul alive — 
 
 Mr. Drury {extending his hand warmly to Frank). 
 Boy ! you have a sensible, good-hearted savoir faire 
 for all occasions, that might shame an older head. 
 That thinking mind of yours exhibits the work of a 
 good companionable mother, who may hereafter, to 
 the last hours of age and infirmity, bless God that 
 she has done a mother's part as only a mother can 
 do. If you have not, like some boys I could name, 
 a mere cherry-stone for a heart, let your warm, 
 living, breathing sensibilities be their own reward, 
 and thank your own friendly, judicious mother for 
 cherishing them into action. Now come on board. 
 
 Frank {springing into the boat after Mr. Drury, 
 and grasping an oar). How glorious these mountains 
 look ! Reflected in the water, they seem as real and 
 solid, as if the shadows were realities ! Mamma 
 read me lately Milton's noble description of the 
 fallen angels hurling mountains at each other, and 
 what a stupendiferous idea it was ! Fancy Ben 
 Lomond there, used as a mere foot-ball. 
 
 Mr. Drury. These are very Swiss-looking moun- 
 
 c
 
 18 FRANK TANSITTART. 
 
 tains, indeed ! Observe that noble herd of deer scam- 
 pering up the side of Inch Merrin, while their shadows 
 appear as if running down into the depths of the 
 lake.* That cascade appears, when reflected in the 
 water, to be falling perpendicularly upwards, and 
 these dancing waves seem sprinkled with leaf-gold. 
 How the sun is struggling and wrestling through 
 the golden clouds, while we seem here as if hung in 
 mid air, with that blazing sun above. 
 
 Frank {eagerly). Yes, Sir! and below the water 
 there, it looks like a red-hot poker. One might 
 fancy the sun had been torn to fragments and scat- 
 tered over sea and sky, to boil the lake and broil 
 the hills. Well done, Scotland ! 
 
 Mr. Drury {enthusiastically). This is indeed a 
 Salvator Rosa picture started into life, or a Claude, 
 worth five thousand pounds. 
 
 Frank {grasping the arm of Charnock). Look, 
 Tom ! Look for one moment ! Every time I dip 
 my oar it seems to break a valuable mirror ! 
 
 ToM {impatiently) . Do not interrupt me ! I must, 
 before we return home, finish " Pinnock's Cate- 
 chism on Geometry," and this essay on " Matter 
 and Motion." Also I wish to learn the height of 
 every mountain in Europe. 
 
 Frank. You had much better study the motion 
 
 * See " Scotland and the Scotch,' ' p. 1-93.
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 19 
 
 of our little boat, and examine the height of Ben 
 Lomond. He is a fine old fellow and must be 
 greatly astonished to see you, under his very nose, 
 not admiring his enormous person. Standing on 
 the summit, one would feel like a bewildered mite, 
 contemplating the green mould on a Stilton cheese. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Your ideas are getting really too 
 sublime, j\Iaster Frank. The ascent reminds me of 
 liuman hfe, becoming steeper and more laborious, 
 till the end is lost in mist, with sunshine behind. 
 Will neither of you two boys pay that scenery the 
 compHment of a glance .'' 
 
 Frank {laughing). Gascoyne, I wish your eyes 
 had no lids ! Why are they always in custody ? 
 Look up, and feast them for once. 
 
 Simon {sententiously) . My eyes have other and 
 better occupations than you suggest. Do not in- 
 terrupt my meditations by idle talk. 
 
 Frank {gaily). Tom and Simon, you are both 
 looking for the farthings of knowledge when you 
 might now be picking up the guineas. Instead of 
 Anno-Dominizing there all day, let us look at these 
 grand objects, not only of nature but of creation, 
 and think how " the Heavens declare the glorv of 
 God and the Earth showeth forth His praise." 
 You will soon be as learned, Simon, as an Irish 
 priest that mamma heard preaching once, and he 
 
 c 2
 
 20 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 ended his sermon by saying " the Romans were a 
 famous people, a very famous people, but I cannot 
 exactly tell you what they were famous for." 
 
 Mr. Drury. An ounce of mirth is worth a 
 pound of sorrow sometimes for expanding the facul- 
 ties. The great Sir William Jones had so much 
 leisure, as a boy, that he wrote little plays and 
 verses. The illustrious Webster became the distin- 
 guished scholar he was, though obliged to walk 
 three miles a day through mire and mud to a hedge 
 school, where he soon knew more than his more 
 plodding companions. Sir Joseph Banks was known 
 as a boy only for his love of active amusement, his 
 face glittering with fun, frolic, and nonsense ; and 
 Sir Walter Scott lay basking in the sun, meditating 
 for hours, as a boy. Enjoy yourselves now as all 
 these celebrities did, and do not burn out the candle 
 of your intellects in the first hours of morning. 
 
 Frank {jestingly snatching a book from Charnock). 
 You can have Pinnock any day in your pocket, 
 Tom, but not Loch Lomond. There are things to 
 be learned in this beautiful world besides Greek and 
 algebra, so do give one glance round. 
 
 Tom (peevishly). You have interrupted me when 
 I was counting the islands in the Greek Archipe- 
 lago. 
 
 Frank. Pshaw ! Count the twenty-four islands
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 21 
 
 of Loch Lomond, and admire these many-coloured 
 forests, Hke a harlequin's jacket. Even that world's 
 wonder. Dr. Parr, had leisure, as a boy, to preach 
 funeral orations over dead dogs, cats, and birds. 
 Even Dr. Chalmers was such a frolicsome child, 
 that he had to be imprisoned in the coal-hole ! Do 
 ])e a boy for one day only and by particular desire, 
 Charnock. 
 
 Mr. Drury. There is Inch Calliagh, the tomb 
 of the brave Macgregors ; and that is Glen Fruin, 
 where the Colquhouns and Macgregors massacred 
 each other, until, like the Kilkenny cats, only a tail 
 was left. 
 
 Frank. This is nature's magic lantern displayed 
 for our special benefit ; but you care for nothing, 
 Charnock, except what happened three thousand 
 miles off and three thousand years ago. 
 
 Tom (doggedly). I care to know my lessons and 
 to be at the top of my class, which you will never 
 be, Frank, wasting your time in this way. Howard 
 primus got above you, by knowing what you might 
 have learned yesterday — instead of taking an idle 
 walk with your mother — that the earliest civilizer of 
 Greece was Cadmus. 
 
 Frank. What does that signify? The Greeks 
 were civilized by somebody ; as probably by Cadmus 
 as any one. But since we honour the existing cen-
 
 22 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 tury by our presence, can you tell me, Charnock, 
 who is now Lord Chancellor ? 
 
 Tom. Not I. We are never called up on such 
 subjects, or I would learn them oil in a minute. 
 The pamphlet my tutor has given me to study this 
 evening is written to prove that the Roman wall, at 
 Newcastle, was built by Severus, not, as some people 
 falsely think, by Adrian. 
 
 Frank (in a state of vehement laughter). It would 
 be of more use to read a treatise on whether to 
 break your egg at the large or the small eod, be- 
 cause that might influence your future conduct 
 daily, in a most important decision. I peeped over 
 Gascoyne's shoulder yesterday, when, under his 
 usual vow of silence, he was sleeping over a pam- 
 phlet, and the title was " On the Tippets of the 
 Clergy !" Fancy a real ** live book " on such a 
 subject ! 
 
 Mr. Drury (reprovingly). And pray, Master Do- 
 nothing, what pamphlet are you to study next ? — 
 " On the Origin and Progress of Birch Rods ?" 
 
 Frank. Yes! Also a treatise on the political 
 economy of the moon — an essay to prove that a 
 pound of feathers is as heavy as a pound of lead — 
 and a discussion whether that king is the happiest 
 who dreams every night he is a beggar, or the beggar 
 who dreams every night he is a king. Grandmamma
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 23 
 
 let me read the parliamentary debate of last night to 
 her, and we discussed it afterwards, when she told 
 me all about her meetings formerly with Canning, 
 and how, in his boyish leisure, he established an 
 Attic Society for practising oratory. Unaccustomed 
 as I am to public speaking, it would be delightful to 
 attempt one ! 
 
 Mr. Drury. Some boys have, as Sir James 
 Mackintosh said of himself, " a great genius for 
 learning everything useless," and he seems all his 
 life to have enjoyed building castles in the air ; but 
 he certainly acquired his great oratory by early prac- 
 tice. If Charnock and Gascoyne would snuff out 
 the candle of their studies, to speak and think for 
 themselves sometimes, you could write essays and 
 try debates among yourselves. 
 
 Frank, Well, Gascoyne ! Leave off looking so 
 enormously sagacious now, and let us all agree to 
 walk and speak like ordinary beings ! You are both 
 so micomfortably clever that it would really air your 
 minds to come away into present times from the 
 world that belonged to our forefathers, and to think 
 for a minute about the world we are living in. If 
 either of you make a speech, I shall be afraid to 
 wink for fear of losing a word ! 
 
 Mr. Drury. Now here we are on beautiful 
 Inchtavannock !
 
 24 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Frank. How I wish mamma had been of the 
 party to help us all in being happy and merry on 
 the top. 
 
 Charnock. It is lucky that my mother did not 
 come, or she might have required help in climbing 
 those hills ; but as she is fortunately not here, I 
 shall sit down quietly with my Virgil till you all 
 return. 
 
 Frank {indignantly). How I do pity such tepid 
 feehngs in such a scene ! Charnock, you will look 
 like Ceres, when seated on the sorrowful rock, 
 though without the troop of girls to dance round 
 you. Now, there is a touch of the classics for you, 
 Tom. Never again feel ashamed of being seen in 
 my company. Let us try a race to the summit of 
 these rocks. Let us take a bird's-eye view as far as 
 the eye can reach, and a mile beyond. Where is 
 Gascoyne gone? Absolutely vanished into that 
 cave, while we are drinking in the sunshine here. 
 
 Mr. Drury. That old turkey, almost fainting 
 vdth the heat, has more sense of the beautiful than 
 Gascoyne, who seems settled for the day with his 
 face to that wall. 
 
 Frank (earnestly). Mr. Drury, will you try a 
 race with me to the top, and leave those two 
 elderly gentlemen to their own devices? Once — 
 twice — thrice — off and away 1
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 25 
 
 Mr. Drury {gravely). Stop, Master Frank! 
 You are as active as a pea on the top of a drum. 
 Stop ! I have one thing to say. Let us have a 
 fair start. 
 
 They scramble rapidly to the summit, and Frank 
 having gained it first, takes his hat off, and makes 
 the echoes ring with a loud triumphant, " Hurrah !" 
 
 Mr. Drury {in a petvlant, impatient voice). No- 
 thing seems ever to make you afraid of me, Young 
 Hopeless, and yet I am cross enough sometimes to 
 frighten most people. 
 
 Frank {slily). Children and dogs always know- 
 when they are scolded in earnest. Though you 
 can get up a severe face often, and speak very 
 crossly, yet you look good-natured ; and besides, 
 once upon a time, you must have been a boy your- 
 self — perhaps a mischievous one too. You never 
 robbed birds' nests, I hope. Sir ? 
 
 Mr. Drury. No ; but once last spring, observing 
 some crows building their nests on an old Scotch fir, 
 I merely said to them : " You need not settle there, 
 as I mean that tree to be cut down in autumn." 
 "Well, they all instantly discontinued, and departed. 
 
 Frank. That is exactly like myself. When the 
 hares or squirrels are scampering off in a panic, I 
 always say to them : " Never mind ! It is only me !" 
 "What a beautiful description mamma gave me yes-
 
 26 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 terday of the gazelles in India — their movements 
 so airy, describing a circle in a succession of leaps. 
 They pirouette like Taglioni, feed on roses, delight 
 in perfumes, and die if they have damp feet. Now 
 for a race down the steepest bank, Sir. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Frank, I must have you measured 
 for a cap and bells when we get home again, if we 
 ever do land at Luss ; but the lake has become very 
 stormy and dangerous-looking. 
 
 Frank. The lake would be quite peaceable and 
 quiet, if the wind would only let him alone ; but, like 
 you, Sir, he is in riotous company. However, wind 
 and weather permitting, or not permitting, we can 
 shoot across in Greenwich time by six o'clock — 
 barring accidents. 
 
 Mr. Drury {stepping on hoard). Now then, 
 here we are ; and, Gascoyne, pray do not disturb the 
 fish by talking too much. 
 
 The little wherry flies like an arrow through the 
 water, being vigorously pulled by Frank and Mr. 
 Drury. Gascoyne has fallen sound asleep, when 
 suddenly the boat lurches with a violent motion, 
 and he is precipitated helplessly into the lake. The 
 boat has shot far past, when Frank becomes aware 
 of the accident, and in an instant, before Gascoyne 
 has presence of mind to shout for help, he has 
 sprung over-board, and is swimming rapidly to the
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 27 
 
 rescue of his drowning cousin, who has already 
 sunk. Mr. Drury pulls the oars with vehemence 
 towards the two boys, and Charnock, in au agony 
 of terror, covers his face with his hands, dropping 
 <« Virsil" unobserved into the lake. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Come, Charnock, be alive ! Rouse 
 yourself! Have some action in you. Throw that 
 rope to Frank. Haul in. Ah! he is grasping 
 Gascoyne by the hair! Noble fellow! hold on 
 there! Another minute and you are both saved! 
 Charnock, you helpless idiot, why do you scream 
 like twenty ravens, and never pull up that rope's 
 end. There, drag them in — Gascoyne is lost ! No, 
 Frank has dived again for him, and here they both 
 are! Pull in. Welcome, my fine fellow, and a 
 kind welcome to your wet jacket, drenched in a 
 good cause. You deserve the Humane Society's 
 gold medal. You may say as Nelson did of himself, 
 when apparently a mere idle boy — " I shall yet, 
 perhaps, have a gazette to myself!" 
 
 Frank (laughing). Gascoyne should have tried 
 to swim as he believes St. Patrick did, with his head 
 under his arm. He had a vow not to wash himself 
 for a week, but he and I are both much the better 
 for our dip. 
 
 Charnock. Please, Sir, my " Virgil" has fallen
 
 28 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 overboard. There it is, floating still. I have to 
 repeat seven hundred lines to-morrow. 
 
 Frank (in a rallying tone). Be a booby for once, 
 Charnock ; or be what an old woman once called 
 Sir James Mackintosh, " a spontaneous boy !" It 
 would be a pleasant variety for you to try the bottom 
 of our class. In general I can only see you through 
 a telescope, so pray be neighbourly at the examination 
 and come down beside me. You shall have a certifi- 
 cate of boobyism to take home, or no mortal would 
 believe in your fall. Virgil has gone to search for 
 the lost books of Livy ! Never mind, I'll prompt 
 you — at least I would, if I only knew how. 
 
 The three boys, in walking home with ]\Ir. Drury, 
 are passing the house of their grandmother. Lady 
 Harlech, when Frank makes a pause, saying : 
 
 "I have never for years passed granny's door 
 without dropping in to see her, were it only during a 
 single moment, or for the twinkling of a bed-post, 
 as the old song says. If she's not gone, she is living 
 here still, therefore do let us give her the agreeable 
 surprise of a visit. She will be so pleased and happy. 
 If people are in a hurry, grandmamma never finds
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 29 
 
 fault, as old ladies are apt to do with visitors, for 
 making a short call, though she greatly prefers a 
 long one." 
 
 Charnock {looking stupendously important). 
 Short or long, I have not three minutes to waste — 
 not three seconds. My algebra is not prepared for 
 to-morrow, and Howard primus will rise above me in 
 Ovid, if I do not work harder than a mill-stone for at 
 least three hours this evening, Euclid alone would 
 require all the time I have left. 
 
 Frank {good-humouredly laughing). 
 
 " And still the wonder grew, 
 That one small head could carry all he knew 1" 
 
 Really, Tom, three in a gig are not so crowded 
 as your head. You devour books so ferociously 
 that no room is left in your brain for fresh air 
 and nonsense. 
 
 Charnock (in a tone of superiority) . I hope not. 
 Grandmamma's stories about the politics of her own 
 particularly uninteresting times are nothing to me. 
 How you can devour them, and about a hundred- 
 weight of bread and butter besides, passes my com- 
 prehension. 
 
 Frank. To do both is a delightful duty. I like 
 all sorts of literary frivolities and the very smallest 
 small-talk, rather than cram my brain hke a pigeon-
 
 30 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 pie, as your's is. As for Gascoyne, he is no more 
 addition to our society than a marble bust. 
 
 Charnock. Simon has to do penance to-night, 
 lying on the floor for three hours in the dark, so we 
 shall go home together. 
 
 Frank {impatiently). One might as profitably 
 hammer cold iron as speak to either of you. If a 
 troop of dragoons were practising their post exercise, 
 they would cut both your heads off by mistake for 
 the blocks. 
 
 Frank gently opens the drawing-room door at 
 Lady Harlech's, and telegraphs Mr. Drury not to 
 speak. She is knitting, but occasionally fingers her 
 Bible, for the blind, to decipher a text. Lady Har- 
 lech looks scarcely fifty, her countenance still beau- 
 tiful, and her expression full of cheerful resignation. 
 
 Frank gives an almost inaudible cough, and Lady 
 Harlech starts up with an aspect of delight. 
 
 " My own, dear, best of boys ! Is that you 1 
 This is beyond my hopes ! How did you manage to 
 come ?" 
 
 Frank. "Where there's a will, there's a way," 
 granny. Here is Mr. Drury intruding also, to see 
 somebody that I love. He pretends to be exceed- 
 ingly cross, but his bark is worse than his bite, and I 
 think you will really like each other very well. Now 
 shake hands and be friends.
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 31 
 
 Lady Harlech. Mr. Drury, I am happy to 
 welcome you. I wish I could say, happy to see you. 
 In former times we were acquainted, hut it is not for 
 a lady to rememhcr how long ago. Time flies — 
 
 Mr. Drury. Yes, Madam. But friendship stays, 
 and I hope ours is not worn out. We shall have a 
 strong bond of union if you agree with me in disliking 
 this idle fellow, Frank. He is a sad scamp ! Just 
 what I was myself at his age ; but the old species 
 "boy" is extinct on the earth now, and I am 
 ashamed to be in company with one who has not 
 Demosthenes sticking out of one pocket, and Cicero 
 out of the other. Charnock positively assures me 
 Frank is never above tenth dux at his Latin, and is 
 nowhere at all in German, meteorology, geometry, 
 and geology. 
 
 Lady Harlech {with emotion). Mr. Drury, if 
 places were taken according to the degree of real 
 head and heart, it is not for me to say where my 
 grandsons Tom and Simon would be found. Those 
 three boys were perhaps too much my idols in their 
 childhood. I was not a mere gingerbread and lolly- 
 pop grandmother, but in many a sickness I attended 
 them, while all their holiday amusements as well 
 their infantine possessions of books and toys were 
 from me, yet were it not for this dear Frank, I 
 should forget that I am a grandmother at all ; or,
 
 32 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 at least, remember it only with a pang for disap- 
 pointed hopes, and for a debt of aifection long 
 owing to me, but never to be paid. It estranges 
 me from life, when I reflect what this world becomes 
 to those who have none left in it that love them — to 
 those who have survived all with whom they began 
 life, parents, brothers, sisters, and early friends ; yet 
 while this boy and his mother live, I need not leave 
 oflp loving. {Lays her hand on the head of Frank, 
 sayimj in a tone of deep emotion) : 
 
 " I would uot be a leaf to die 
 Without recording sorrow's sigh.'' 
 
 Frank {much moved, but endeavouring to conceal 
 it) . Now, granny, we have made a rule, you know, 
 never to be dull, and the very sight of you always 
 brightens up everybody's faculties. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Charnock and Gascoyne surely come 
 in their spare hours ? 
 
 Lady Harlech. You might as well imagine 
 that the passengers in an express train at full speed, 
 shall have some spare minutes in which to shake 
 hands in passing along, with spectators standing on 
 the roadside. No, Charnock is brought up on that 
 headlong system, all memory, with no time left for 
 observation, intellect, fancy, or feehng. He has a 
 heart, and gets his lessons by it.
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 33 
 
 Lady Harlech. Dr. Chalmers recommends that 
 those who reach the age of seA-enty, should make 
 their last ten years a Sahbath of rest, and it is a 
 beautiful idea ; yet I have always dreaded a solitary 
 old age. To me, Frank has lately been like the 
 gay pennon that flutters over a sinking bark. I 
 would give my ears for my eyes, that I might only 
 see that dear boy's face once more — 
 
 " His very foot has music in't 
 As he comes up the stairs." 
 
 Frank {deeply moved, but assumes a cheerful tone). 
 You always tell me, grandmamma, that it is an in- 
 ferior state of mind and heart when people prefer to 
 live alone, and I would much rather be one of those 
 merry rooks cawing and gossipping and taking a 
 mutual interest in each other, than the bird of wis- 
 dom, sitting silently selfish and self-satisfied alone. 
 
 Lady Harlech. Many a kind-hearted survivor 
 of past generations, struggles in vain to keep a place 
 in the interests and alfections of those in whose 
 slightest vicissitudes she feels the deepest interest, 
 and whom she would die to serve. Standing in the 
 front ranks of life alone, her home blasted by sorrow 
 and death, she sees the young too busy in the whirl 
 of a thousand acquirements to care for the sym- 
 pathy of old friends and well-wishers, pining to see 
 
 D
 
 34 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 them, and withering away in heart-breaking soli- 
 tude, until " the weary springs of life stand still at 
 last." You see, Mr. Drury, I am become a regular 
 old grumbler ! But my serious opinion is, that the 
 whole nature of mankind has degenerated, is dege- 
 nerating, and will continue to degenerate under the 
 existing overdone system of education. Nothing is 
 popular now that requires thought in young people 
 who are constantly devouring books but never 
 digesting them, and are allowed no time to think. 
 In the theatres, now, people prefer having their 
 eyes feasted with mere processions ; and in religion 
 also, processions are again coming into vogue by 
 means of Romanism, so that neither at churches nor 
 theatres do people enjoy what exercises their minds, 
 moves their feelings, or rouses their sensibility. 
 These are all extinguished under a feather-bed of 
 learning in their childhood, and the precious growth 
 of human charities, of human affections, and of 
 human genius are crushed and blighted for ever. 
 
 Mr. Drury. It is not good gardening to make 
 a young tree before the age of maturity, bear all 
 the fruit it can be forced to produce ; but every 
 young boy now must be an Admirable Crichton. 
 His juvenile mind, stretched over the whole field of 
 knowledge, is not concentrated on any one point. 
 
 Lady Harlech. I have always observed in life
 
 FRANK VANSITTAKT. 35 
 
 that whatever men are most eager to obtain, Uke 
 the boy and the butterfly, they miss ; and those 
 parents who are over-anxious to have prodigies of 
 children, urge their young people forwards in a 
 head-over-heels pursuit of education, a sort of 
 steeple-chase after every possible or impossible 
 accpiirement which gives a stretch to the brain — a 
 sprain, rather, never afterwards to be recovered. 
 
 Mr. Drury. I lately offered one of my friends a 
 penny stamp paid down on the spot, for every young 
 man he could mention, under thirty, who is equal 
 in calibre of mind to his own father, and the number 
 he named, in two hours, did not amount to sixpence. 
 Such a boy as Tom Charnock can have no large 
 views of human duties and of human destinies, no 
 extended sympathy with human nature, no faculties 
 healthily exercised in grand thoughts which result 
 in noble actions, and no supreme excellence in any- 
 thing. 
 
 Lady Harlech. Characters long ago used to be 
 like grand pianos, but now they are like spinnets. 
 Be the music good or bad, the tone is feeble, if it 
 come from an over-educated dunce, like my grand- 
 son Charnock. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Even in the arts you see a marvellous 
 mediocrity. Look at painters ! Yeu find one in 
 every village, one who can execute staring likenesses, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 and in every large town a dozen wlio exhibit hideous 
 resemblances in the exhibitions ; but where are there 
 men under thirty with genius to conceive and perse- 
 verance to execute such grand designs as Raeburn, 
 Landseer, Lawrence, Watson Gordon, Francis Grant, 
 or Wilkie ? 
 
 Lady Harlech. Ah! Wilkie had idle hours in 
 his boyhood, during which his natural genius ex- 
 panded in sketching heads of his companions on a 
 slate, for which they paid him a marble each. He 
 was not reckoned clever, but fond of harmless mis- 
 chief, and of standing with his hands in his pockets 
 watching the other boys. It was in such leisure 
 moments that he gained celebrity, by doing his 
 famous picture of a boy whipping his top. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Poetry, politics, and philanthropy, 
 are all too much trouble for the used-up brain of an 
 early prodigy, who soon becomes incapable of men- 
 tal work, and naturally takes, when grown up, to 
 smoking and other loitering resources for an ex- 
 hausted brain. 
 
 Mr. Drury has taken leave and retired, when 
 Frank hastily returns, and taking Lady Harlech's 
 hand, says, in a tone of affectionate reproval : 
 " Granny, I have found you out !" 
 
 Lady Harlech. What do you mean, dear 
 Frank ?
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 37 
 
 Frank. Adamson told me at the door this mo- 
 ment that to-morrow you are to have the operation 
 performed, which we hope is to give you sight again ; 
 but why did you not tell mc, dear grandmother ? 
 It was not fair. 
 
 Lady Harlech. Why should I distress you 
 with anxiety till the worst is over ? 
 
 Frank {earnestly). Because, my own dear grand- 
 mamma, I expect to be present with you. INIamma 
 says I may, and as you often call me your best com- 
 fort, show that you think me so by letting me come. 
 I shall not be at all alarmed or nervous ; but you 
 must consent, for you know, grandmamma, I am 
 a younger son of the positive family, who made 
 it a rule always to do what they were advised 
 not. 
 
 While Frank speaks thus with affectionate hy- 
 pocrisy in a cheerful voice to his grandmother, she 
 feels a hot tear drop from his eyes on her hand, and 
 kissing it off embraces him, saying : " No ! no ! my 
 dear boy ! Such scenes are not for you ; but 
 throughout all I may suffer to-morrow I shall look 
 forward to my best reward in once more seeing 
 you." 
 
 Frank. I shall be in a frenzy of joy when you 
 do, grandmamma ; but mamma and I are both 
 coming to-morrow, as she quite approves of my
 
 38 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 doing so. I hope, dear grandmamma, that your many 
 dark hours shall be followed by very bright sunshine 
 in future. 
 
 Mr. Drury and Frank are gaily chatting on their 
 way home, when in passing a small rose-covered 
 villa by the road-side a lady hurries out, saying in 
 accents of profound melancholy: " Vansittart ! My 
 boy has been pining all day to see you ! Come in 
 for a single moment, and it will compose his poor 
 fevered mind ! Spare us five minutes, and let me go 
 to tell him of this visit." 
 
 Mrs. Armitage hurries into the house, and Frank 
 turns mournfully to Mr . Drury, saying : " Will you 
 accompany me. Sir, to see the most melancholy sight 
 that this neighbourhood could show. Arthur Armi- 
 tage, poor fellow ! is the only son of his parents. 
 He was of the keenest sensibility, and of the 
 brightest genius imaginable. Arthur knew that his 
 father could ill afford so expensive a school as Dr. 
 Harrington's, and that he looked to being rewarded 
 for many sacrifices by his own exertions to distin- 
 guish himself. IVfr. Armitage boasted everywhere 
 of his son as a prodigy, and no wonder, for he was 
 far above Charnock in real intellectual eminence, 
 triumphantly carrying off medals, honours, and ap- 
 plauses. At last this tension of his brain brought 
 on a sudden collapse. Oh ! never shall I forget the
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 39 
 
 last examination ! Armitage took his place, the 
 most honoured boy in our school ; but suddenly his 
 proud and hapj)y father saw a change in Arthur's 
 countenance, which assumed a look of idiotic vacancy. 
 He, the show-boy of Dr. Harrington's class broke 
 down that day on every subject. The masters were 
 furious, and the parents thunderstruck. Suddenly 
 Arthur rushed like lightning out of the school ; we 
 tried in vain to overtake him, and a week passed 
 before his agonized father saw or heard of him 
 again. Every pond was dragged, but at last I 
 traced him in hiding at the house of an old servant. 
 Since then he has never held up his head, and is 
 apparently dying. 
 
 Mr. Drury {mournfulbj') . Poor fellow ! Char- 
 nock's application is a mere dull, plodding, selfish, 
 head-of-the-class ambition, but in Armitage's case, 
 the straw that broke the overloaded camel's back 
 seems to have been a generous anxiety to gratify his 
 parents. Their affection, or their vanity was most 
 calamitously testified, but I have already known 
 three promising boys in families of rank, carefully 
 trained up into learned idiots. 
 
 " Strain'd to the height, 
 
 In that (listractin<; rivalship for fawe 
 Dazzled and spent, sink down, beyond repair." 
 
 ;Mr. Drury and Frank silently enter the room
 
 40 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 where Arthur is seated in an arm-chair supported 
 by pillows. His beautiful young head is drooping, 
 like a broken lily, and his whole expression is that of 
 hopeless, trance-like vacancy. Frank kindly takes 
 his hand, sitting down silently beside his young 
 companion, but too much overcome with sorrow at 
 first to speak. Mr. Drury says, in a tone of friendly 
 cordiality : " My young friend, I am truly sorry to 
 see you thus. "What is the matter?" 
 
 Arthur {in a rambling, excited tone, which be- 
 comes gradiially more delirious). You are the doctor, 
 I suppose ! Can you mend a broken mind ? Can 
 you cure the Greek and Latin fever ? I have an 
 out-striking of algebra on my forehead, I am not 
 sitting in a right mathematical posture — I — (Looks 
 totally vacant again, and as if he were in a state of 
 somnambulism.) 
 
 Frank grasps the hand of Armitage, saying 
 in a tone of friendly command : " Arthur, listen 
 to me. You and I agreed yesterday, that we 
 are to be a couple of stupid fellows — the only 
 two stupid fellows left in the world, but no mat- 
 ter. We did not make ourselves, and need only 
 do our best. We have many kind friends who would 
 love us, even if we did not know a single word 
 of Homer, or a single problem of Euclid — " 
 
 Arthur (in a low, agitated whisper). But my
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 41 
 
 father and mother were so sadly disappointed. They 
 sacrificed everything that I might do them credit, 
 but I brought them only disgrace ! Look how pale 
 and miserable mamma is now. Yet I can repeat my 
 Virgil perfectly, {becomes vehemently excited,) I re- 
 mained awake last night to practise over five hundred 
 lines from Ovid. Hear me now — 
 
 Frank. Pshaw, Armitage ! Do not spoil our 
 holiday hours with these old fellows. AVait till 
 school-time but I shall never venture to return, if 
 you come Dr. Harrington over me in this way. 
 Here are Waverley's " History of the Rebellion," by 
 Sir Walter Scott, Sir John Malcolm's "Travels in 
 Persia," " The Pilgrim's Progress," and other such 
 books to rest your wearied mind upon. Read these, 
 and next time I come, you shall be examined upon 
 them for first class honours. We shall never be 
 cleverer than Pope the poet, who confesses that 
 from fourteen to twenty he read chiefly for amuse- 
 ment ; and the great Dr. Johnson was scolded often 
 for wasting much of his time in sliding in Christ 
 Church meadow. Now, Arthur, till we meet again, 
 obey Dr. Frank, and do not worry yourself, but be 
 like Kirke White, who says : 
 
 " The lays of mid romance antique I'll scan, 
 Soar on the wings of fancy through the air 
 To realms of light, and pierce the radiance there."
 
 42 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 Arthur's eye for a moment gleams with intelligence, 
 and by an exertion of miwonted strength he suddenly 
 rises, throws himself into the arms of Frank, and 
 bursts into tears, saying : " Oh, that I could be like 
 you, Frank ! but I am ruined in body and mind by 
 the vanity of attempting too much — " 
 
 Frank. No, Arthur! It might be vanity in others 
 who drove you forward at a pace which has broken 
 your wind altogether, but your motive was a most 
 dutiful affection. Let your mind remain at grass 
 for some months, and its tone may perhaps yet be 
 restored. All depends on your own contented sub- 
 mission to the decree of Providence, that neither 
 you nor I shall be, before we are sixteen, a Dr. Parr 
 in Greek, nor a Euclid in mathematics. We must 
 keep each other in countenance, Arthur, and laugh 
 at those who have no time to be happy. Men are 
 not meant to be mere walking libraries, nor boys to 
 swallow the Bodleian whole. Mamma has in view 
 for us next summer, a pleasant, idle excursion over 
 hill and dale, lake and river, when you shall fish and 
 roll on the grass, while Charnock and Gascoyne are 
 stupifying themselves in their old plodding way. 
 Mr. Drury may, perhaps, go with us, and he was 
 the idlest boy of his time, yet you see what he has 
 become ! 
 
 All smile ; but Arthur drops into his arm-chair
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 43 
 
 quite exhausted, though perfectly composed, and his 
 mother, hurriedly dashing the tears from her eyes, 
 sits quietly down to her knitting by his side. 
 
 An examination is about to take place of Dr. Har- 
 rington's school. The day is gorgeously bright, 
 and crowds of boys and their parents are strolling 
 gaily about the park of Forreston Castle, and 
 the neighbouring village, where Frank and some 
 of his companions are hanging festoons of flow-ers 
 over the school-room door, and fluttering flags 
 at every window, saying to those who assist him, 
 in accents of boyish glee : " "NVhat I say is this, 
 a holiday means a holiday ; but Charnock is to 
 have seven masters during all the Midsummer 
 vacation. He is the little Jack Horner of lessons, 
 always in a corner ; but instead of eating his Christ- 
 mas pie, he is devouring a book." 
 
 Mr. Drury. Charnock will die at last as 
 learnedly as Bonhours the grammarian, who ex- 
 pired saying : " Je vais, ou je vas mourir, car 
 I'un et Tautre se disent." He is like Gibbon, who 
 said when going to Oxford, that his stock of eru- 
 dition might have puzzled a professor, while his
 
 44 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 ignorance might have shamed the youngest school- 
 boy. 
 
 Frank. Charnock says that before he is of age 
 his father expects him to learn all ancient and 
 modern languages, all the sciences, all the ologies, 
 all the stars, and all about physical geography. 
 In short, he is to rival superiors, to outstrip equals, 
 and to dazzle inferiors. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Let him learn how to keep his 
 head from striking against a post, which neither 
 Gascoyne nor Charnock are yet able to do. They 
 are both masters of the art of being absurd, and 
 remind me of a family of owlets that fancied them- 
 selves eagles. Neither know anything not learned 
 in a book, and are as ignorant of all else as the 
 gentleman who asked, " What has the sun to do 
 with the dial .?" 
 
 Frank. Mamma says that the great astronomer, 
 Fergusson, a poor shepherd-boy, invented, during 
 his leisure hours, an orrery composed of beads 
 on a string ; but a mind like his could struggle 
 on through every disadvantage. 
 
 Mr. Drury. Charnock asked me yesterday, in 
 his usual hazy-headed way, who Bright and Cobden 
 are? What would he have thought of me, if I 
 had asked him who Pericles and Coriolanus were? 
 Yet to his dry, matter-of-fact, unproductive mind,
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 45 
 
 history is in fact no better than an old almanack, 
 behig a mere dead-letter, without the addition of 
 thoughts and reflections originated in his own 
 mind. 
 
 The examination goes on, and Frank remains 
 about twenty from the top, observing attentively 
 all that passes. Gascoyne, looking like a sleep- 
 walker, with glassy eyes and helpless arms, sits near 
 Charnock, who is at the head of his class, supreme 
 above every boy, and answering every question, on 
 every subject, and in every language, during several 
 hours. He looks heated, feverish, and excited, 
 but his examination ends triumphantly ; after which 
 Frank leads off a bust of applause, during which 
 Gascoyne alone remains mute and immoveable. 
 During this uproar no one observes a distant door 
 open, and the tall drooping figure of Armitage, 
 with a lost and woe-begone expression of countenance, 
 glides noiselessly up the room. He suddenly takes 
 a place above Charnock, sinks exhausted on the 
 seat, and bursts into a low idiotical laugh, saying : 
 " Dr. Harrington has forgotten me ! What would 
 my father have felt if Charnock had got the medal ? 
 Poor mamma too ! But they shall not be dis- 
 appointed. Now Doctor, hear me ! I know it 
 all better than Charnock !"
 
 46 FRANK VANSITTAUT, 
 
 Charnock shrinks apprehensively away, and all 
 in the room look perplexed, till Frank, having 
 hurriedly approached Armitage, lays a hand kindly 
 on his shoulder, saying : " Come down beside me, , 
 Arthur ! All the clever fellows are below. Even 
 Sir Walter Scott used to be reckoned stupid at 
 school, and said he glanced like a meteor from 
 the top to the bottom of his class, therefore let 
 us copy him now. Do not be a dungeon of learning 
 like Charnock and Gascoyne, without any cheerful 
 window to admit light or warmth. Be one of us, 
 and we shall have such fun afterwards." 
 
 Arthur {feverishly). I have no time for fun. 
 Think of mamma having no carriage, that she might 
 send me to school. I cannot sleep at night for 
 anxiety to do her credit. Hear me now, and I 
 shall repeat a whole play of Terence ; not that 
 I understand a word of it, but no matter. (Pauses, 
 and adds dreamily) : I shall grow greater and greater, 
 till I become a Roman Emperor. 
 
 Frank (assuming a cheerful tone). Never mind 
 your mother's carriage, Arthur, for she prefers 
 walking, and I never saw Mrs. Armitage looking 
 better. She is quite wearied of hearing about 
 lessons now. She means to have a society for 
 the suppression of books. She has turned Ovid
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 4/ 
 
 and Virgil out of doors. It is not necessary for 
 every body to set the Thames on fire ; but you remind 
 me of Lord Jeffrey, who is described as having been 
 at school " a little anxious boy, who never lost 
 a place without displaying his sorrow." What 
 does it signify, if your Greek has gone to the 
 moon and forgotten to come back, provided only 
 you once more recover your health of mind and 
 body ? 
 
 Arthur {deliriously). Why do they not examine 
 me } Where is my Horace } I can beat Charnock 
 yet. 
 
 Mr. Drury. You are like Paganini, Arthur, 
 constantly harping on one string. We could all 
 beat Charnock in an examination on common sense, 
 on right feeling, on noble intentions, on judgment, 
 fancy, or observation. He is merely one gigantic 
 overgrown cistern of memory, with no native spring 
 in his mind to supply the reservoir. x\llowed no 
 leisure to ponder over any subject untU the idea be 
 implanted thoroughly, his mind is like a garden, 
 stuck all over with foreign cuttings that have no 
 living root. Even the Bible itself he considers as 
 merely a book to be examined upon, and no one 
 seems ever to have explained to Charnock or Gas- 
 coyne the duties for which they were born. Armi-
 
 48 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 tage ! Let not a single shake of Dr. Harrington's 
 wig drive you to despair. A good tutor is like a 
 skilful jockey, who holds hack the willing horse and 
 saves his speed for a brilliant career at last ; so that 
 the slowest boys, having leisure in which to grow 
 manly and energetic, often astonish their co- 
 temporaries by acquiring a deathless fame at 
 last. 
 
 Frank (turning to Armitage). I keep a list of 
 stvipid boys who became wonderful men at last, as 
 you and I shall do, Arthur. Item : Sir William 
 Jones, a very slow coach, but his mother always 
 said, hopefully, "He may ripen yet!" and so he 
 did, for Sir William became the ninth wonder of the 
 world. Ditto : Lord Mansfield, Sir Joseph Banks, 
 and all the rest. They were like candles, spreading 
 cheerfulness by blazing freely around, and con- 
 suming very slowly themselves ; not squibs, that 
 sputter away all their fire at the outset. 
 
 " But after all our care and paius, how few- 
 Acquire applause, or keep it if they do." 
 
 At Lady Harlech's the whole party are assembled. 
 She is languidly reclining on a sofa, greatly ex- 
 hausted, but her sight restored and her eyes affec-
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 49 
 
 tionately turned towards Frank, whose liand is 
 clasped in her own. His aspect is expressive of 
 deep emotion and of heartfelt pleasure. Gascoyne 
 sits douhled up on a chair in the corner, mute and 
 motionless ; while Charnock swaggers about the 
 room, looking very self-satisfied and covered with 
 medals. 
 
 Frank {with a hilarious laugh). Now, Granny, 
 you will be wishing yourself blind again, since you 
 discover what a very plain, ordinary boy you have 
 been so longing to see. I am thought, however, 
 handsome in the ugly style. But, Granny, seeing 
 you are made as good as new again, what shall I do 
 now for employment 1 I must advertise for a situ- 
 ation as reader and agreeable companion to some- 
 body. 
 
 Mr. Drury {earnestly). Frank Vansittart ! if 
 you want a situation, apply to me, I have one 
 to dispose of, which you are very competent to 
 fill. 
 
 Frank {in a tone of jesting self -depreciation) . In- 
 deed, Sir ! What can that be ? If I am good for 
 any office but a sign-post, you have made a most 
 gratifying discovery. Pray tell me the qualifica- 
 tions ? 
 
 Mr. Drury makes a very serious pause for 
 
 £
 
 50 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 several minutes, then laying his hand solemnly on 
 the head of Frank, he says, in a voice of deep 
 emotion : " I have been young, and am novp old. 
 Once I was all that you are. It seems but yester- 
 day that mine was the same ringing laugh, the same 
 buoyant step, the same eager hope, the same warm 
 affection. Time has already extinguished all except 
 the recollection of what has been. It appears but 
 yesterday since my boyhood ; but life is already on 
 its utmost verge for me, and the dark wing of death 
 hovers over my path. In looking around, Frank, 
 for those finer sympathies of our nature, which 
 might cheer me along the rugged termination of 
 life's long journey, I feel that some cheerfulness 
 might be borrowed from yours — some hopefulness 
 from the hope that such a heart as yours might be 
 rendered happy and grateful. Frank, the situation 
 I offer you is to be my heir. The qualifications 
 are, to have good intentions, kind feelings, and 
 Christian principles. Let your grandmother de- 
 cide whether my choice be a good one." {Lady 
 Harlech smiles, and tearfully holds out her hand to 
 Frank). 
 
 Lady Jane. You cannot be serious, Mr. Drury ! 
 My mother becomes always quite hysterical in her 
 praises of Frank ; but at school, I call him " the
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 51 
 
 professor of stupidity." He is no more comparable 
 to my boy than a hawk to a hand-saw ! Look now 
 at Tom ! always well occupied ! 
 
 Mr. Drury. Ah! yes! Comparing the German 
 and Italian grammars. I dare say the world has 
 not his equal, nor the universe his superior. At 
 school, your boy is like the sun among the stars, 
 eclipsing all competitors ; but give me mind versus 
 memory for my money. Lady Jane, it has become 
 my never-to-be-altered opinion, that boys in the 
 present day are becoming under-grown and over- 
 educated ; therefore, to be honest, I think Tom 
 compared to Frank, is like pewter to silver, or a 
 China orange to Lombard Street. I have this day 
 made a settlement on your son of one hundred 
 pounds per annum, which will keep him amply sup- 
 plied with books. He e\'idently needs nothing else, 
 for nothing for lively recreations, for generous ac- 
 tions, for charities. 
 
 Lady Harlech. You are right, Mr. Drury, 
 for Charnock's intellectual lamp is already almost 
 burned out, and whatever does honour to human 
 nature may be expected of Frank. Gibbon truly 
 observes that every boy has two educations — one 
 from his teachers and the other from himself; 
 but to call Charnock's mere ponderous book-learn- 
 
 E 2
 
 52 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 ing, intellect, is to call an oyster-shell an oyster. 
 Those fast boys drink deeply at the fountain of 
 human knowledge, but they should not dissolve the 
 pearl of good feeling and reflection in the draught. 
 The master of a great school once assured me 
 that the boys most riotously energetic in the play- 
 ground, were always the most vigorous in cha- 
 racter and acquirements afterwards. Let boys be 
 boy s ! 
 
 Mr. Drury. As for Gascoyne, he shall inherit 
 nothing, because no one can reach him with a real 
 benefit. I would not leave my idlest shilling to 
 that superstition which is a fatal conspiracy against 
 the happiness, the virtue, and the intellect of 
 mankind. Even that coldest of creatures, a 
 torpedo, gives out sparks occasionally, but Gas- 
 coyne has not a human throb in his heart. There 
 is positively an iron mask growing over his very 
 face ! 
 
 Lady Harlech. Charnock and Gascoyne are 
 both seven feet high in learning, but dwarfs in 
 heart and understanding ; while we may say to 
 Frank as Burns did to Walter Scott — " You'll be a 
 man yet !" Frank's presence has long been to me 
 like the streak of light thrown by painters across 
 their darkest clouds, and I agree with Landor that
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. 53 
 
 " the best results of human thought spring from a 
 clear head mcditatmg over a burning heart, just as 
 the richest fruits spring from the sides of a vol- 
 cano." 
 
 Mr. Drury. Let every human being enjoy one 
 bright summer of youth, enthusiasm, and sensibility ; 
 and during my own old age, may I look back on the 
 sunshine of happy young faces, with the fresh bloom 
 of boyhood on their feelings and character. In the 
 windows of every cheap shop now, I see strange- 
 looking dresses, ticketed "Newest Style." Now, hi 
 Charnock and Gascoyne, we behold the newest style 
 of boys. Gascoyne, content to mortify the body, 
 makes no use of his mind and conscience, which are 
 purposely extinguished by Jesuit training. Devoted 
 to his Church, rather than to the holy cause for 
 which that Church was instituted, he follows out 
 every vagary of superstition, and is plunged into the 
 Pagan depths of idolatry. 
 
 Lady Harlech. Yes ! and Charnock's heart 
 and soul are smothered beneath a feather-bed of 
 . learning. I wish that in every large family now, the 
 parents would select one of their boys to be brought 
 up in the old style of gradual progress. Suppose 
 him to be at first like Peter Simple, the stupid one 
 of his family, I shall back him to attain a brighter
 
 54 FRANK VANSITTART. 
 
 maturity than the rest, and to win the race of hfe 
 before he is five-aud- twenty. 
 
 Mr. Drury. In all that constitutes the real 
 worth of man, heroic courage, noble aspirations, 
 elevated principles, kind affections, and generous 
 impulses, let me only see such a beginning as that of 
 Frank Vansittart, and my own belief is that every 
 mother and every grandmother of an over-educated 
 prodigy, will scores of times have reason to envy 
 Ladv Eleanor her booby son, even though their own 
 be a miracle of precocious attainment, " a model 
 school-boy."
 
 FRANK VANSITTART. OO 
 
 Inscription placed over the toynb of Arthvr Armitagc, 
 at the request of his friend, Frank Vansittart. 
 
 "Oil! what a noble heart was here undone, 
 
 When science self destroyed lier favoui-ite son ; 
 
 Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, 
 
 She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped the fruits. 
 
 'Twas thine own Genius ga\c the tinal blow. 
 
 And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low ; 
 
 So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, 
 
 No more through rolling clouds to soar again. 
 
 Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart. 
 
 Which winged the shaft that quivered in his heart ; 
 
 Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel. 
 
 He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel ; 
 
 While the same plumage that had warmed his nest. 
 
 Drank the last life-cbop of his bleeding breast."
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 PAGE 140. 
 
 From " Wanderings in Europe," by an American. 
 
 At Rome, if any one dying signified to an atten- 
 dant Cardinal his wish to leave him his estate, the 
 Cardinal need only proceed to the Sistine Chapel and 
 make oath to the bequest, when all other wills were 
 set aside, and the Swiss Guards were ordered to put 
 him in possession. Cardinals, at the dying hour, 
 have authority to command all out of the presence 
 of the dying man. The head of one of the noblest 
 families in Rome, named Franjapanclli, was about to 
 die. His friend the Cardinal (I cannot spell his 
 name) called to " see him off," and administer the 
 holy wafer. He had before solemnly disposed of his 
 immense property among his children, the greater 
 share to his eldest son, who had married an Ameri- 
 can. He died at night. The next morning the
 
 APPENDIX. 0/ 
 
 Swiss Guards put the Cardinal into the family palace, 
 and into all the other possessions, and thrust the 
 family out upon the world penniless. This was 
 just before the revolution. The eldest son became 
 a republican, and died in defence of the city. 
 His widow is pressing her suit in the ecclesiastical 
 courts ; but without hope. The court is made up 
 of cardinals and priests, who are without soul or sym- 
 pathy. Not having families, they know no tender 
 ties of father or husband. They sit in frigid iceberg 
 dignity, in the large marble palaces, and never warm 
 except for power or profligacy. Yet the only tri- 
 bunals of Rome are constituted of such. Bribery is 
 their argument, and corruption the conclusion of 
 their justice. The English Chancery is beatitude to 
 litigation in such a place. 
 
 At the Basilica of St. John Lateran, the oldest 
 Christian church in Rome, founded by Constantine, 
 are numerous relics. The very table upon which the 
 last supper was taken ; the stone upon which the 
 four soldiers cast lots ; the impression of the Sa^dour's 
 feet when he appeared to St. Peter, to warn him of 
 his approaching death ; the well of the woman of 
 Samaria, with some crosses (?) ; the slab iinder which
 
 58 APPENDIX. 
 
 the Saviour stood to measure his height ; and a hole 
 in a board, made by the miraculous fall of a conse- 
 crated wafer from the hand of one who doubted the 
 real presence. I had the audacity, lawyer- fashion, 
 to cross-examine one of the monks as to the identity 
 of the relics. A seraphic smile of pity for my incre- 
 dulity broke over his Italian visage, as he assured 
 me that there was no question as to the authority 
 of those marvels. — Wanderings in Europe by an 
 American, p. 144. 
 
 The popish superstition would keep people in a 
 state of pagan darkness, yet God Himself has said : 
 " My people perish for lack of knowledge." 
 
 Like the woman in Scripture who employed every 
 physician and only grew worse, Ireland has been 
 the subject of constant endeavours to cure her ills, 
 though all in vain — except in the province of Ulster, 
 where prosperity reigns ; and why } Because, like 
 the woman already alluded to, who came to Christ 
 Himself for relief, the whole of that thriving pro- 
 vince is Protestant. The worshippers of Mary are 
 in the hands of a grasping priesthood, who terrify, 
 threaten, and finally beggar them.
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 59 
 
 Ulster, naturally less productive than many other 
 parts of Ireland, with a less luxuriant soil and a 
 colder climate, has long astonished all tourists by 
 the superior prosperity of its aspect, in which respect 
 it is almost Scotch ; and no sooner does a stranger 
 enter it, than he finds an almost total disappearance 
 of beggars, rags, filth, and starvation, the suite that 
 follows the footsteps of Popish priests wherever they 
 are paramount. 
 
 The remark is common among the Irish, that " a 
 priest's money never wears well." That system, 
 which pretends to pvirchase Heaven by hberality and 
 love, which has whole orders bearing such musical 
 names as " Christian Brothers," and " Sisters of 
 Mercy," and boasts of convents as sanctuaries of 
 heavenly charity, astonishes people as much by the 
 wealth of the priesthood as by the naked poverty of 
 the people. — See "Ireland's Miseries," p. 143. 
 
 The Cashel Bench of Magistrates. 
 
 The following have been the gentlemen who, within 
 the last few years, usually attended this bench : R. 
 Long, father shot, himself twice fired at ; W. 
 Murphy, father shot ; S. Cooper, brother shot ; 
 Leonard Keatinge, nephew of Mr. Scully shot ; E.
 
 60 APPENDIX. 
 
 Scully, cousin of Mr. Scully, shot ; Godfrey Taylor, 
 cousin of Mr. Clarke, shot; William Rowe, shot; 
 C. Clark, brother shot; now, Mr. Rowe, shot!! — 
 " Miseries of Ireland," p. 130. 
 
 France praises liberty for herself and sends to kill 
 it at Rome for others. 
 
 A SNUG LENT. 
 
 To the Editor of the " Morning Herald." 
 
 Sir, — For the comfort of all good Catholics, and 
 the encouragement of all Puseyite aspirants after 
 ecclesiastical amalgamation with Holy Roman Mother 
 Church, I send you a bill of fare for the present Lent, 
 carefully extracted from the "Lenten Pastoral" of 
 the Prince Bishop of the present day, in this our 
 English land of the Reformation, 
 
 Your obedient servant. 
 
 Savoury. 
 
 how english papists may fast. 
 
 (See Dispensation for Lent, 18.53, in Wiseman's 
 " Lenten Pastoral," p. 29.) 
 
 Sunday. — Flesh meat, ad libitum.
 
 APPENDIX. 01 
 
 Monday. — Eggs, cheese, dripping, or lard. 
 
 Tuesday. — Flesh meat (once), in any quantity. 
 
 Wednesday (except Ash Wednesday, Ember 
 Wednesday, and Wednesday in Holy week). — Eggs, 
 cheese, dripping, or lard. 
 
 Thursday (except Thursday in Holy week). — 
 Flesh meat (once), in any quantity. 
 
 Friday (except Ember Friday and Good Friday). 
 — Eggs, cheese, dripping, or lard. 
 
 Saturday (except Ember Saturday and Saturday 
 in Holy week). — Flesh meat (once), in any quantity. 
 
 " On the days whereon flesh meat is allowed, fish 
 is not permitted ai the same meal/"
 
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