MKIIIIMllllliiaBift. LIBRARY SAN OiESO .'/ THE PICCADILLY NOVELS. POPULAR STORIES BY THE BEST AUTHORS. Crown 8vo., doth extra, 3s. 6d. each. By MRS. ALEXANDER. Maid, Wife, or Widow ? By WALTER BESANT & JAINIES RICE. Ready-Money Mor- tlboy. My Little C-irL Case of Mr. Lucraft. This Son of Vulcan. With Harp Ss Crown. The GoldenButterfiy. By Celia's Arbour. Monks of Thelema. 'Twas in. Trafalgar's Bay. The Seamy Side. Ten Years' Tenant. Chaplain of the Fleet By WALTER BESANT. AU Sorts and Conditions of Man. The Captains' Room. By ROBERT BUCHANAN. A Child of Nature. God and the Man. Shadow of the Sword Martyrdom of Made- line. Love Me for Ever. By MRS. LOVETT CAIMERON. Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian. By MORTIMER COLLINS. Sweet Anne Page. 1 Transmigration. From Midnight to Midnight. By MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS. Blao'ismith and Scholar. The Village Comedy. You Play Me False. By WILKIE Antonina. Basil. Hide and Seek. The Dead Secret. The Oueen of Hearts. MvM-soellanies. Th e Woman in White The Moonstone. Man and Wife. Poor Miss Finch. COLLINS. Miss or Mrs. ? The New Ma2;dalen. The Frozen Deep. The Law and the Lady. The Two Destinies. The Haunted Hotel. The Fallen Leaves. Jezebel's Daughter. The Black Robe. By BUTTON COOK. Paul Foster's Daughter. By WILLIAM CYPLES. Hearts of Gold. By J. LEITH DERWENT. Our Lady of Tears. By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. Felicia. By MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. Archie Lovell. By R. E. FRANCILLON. Olympia. | Queen Cophetua. One by One. By EDWARD GARRETT, The Capel Girls. By CHARLES GIBBON. Robin Gray. For Lack of Gold. in Love and War. What willWorld say? For the King. In Honour Bound. Queen of the Meadow In Pastures Green. Flower of the Forest. A Heart's Problem. The Braes of Yarrow. The Golden Shaft. By THOMAS HARDY. Under the Greenwood Tree. By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. Garth. I Sebastian Strome. EUice Quentin. ' Prince Saroni's Wife Dust. By SIR ARTHUR HELPS. Ivan de Biron. By MRS. ALFRED HUNT. Thornicroft's Model. | The Leaden Casket. By JEAN INGELOW. Fated to be Free. By HENRY JAMES, Jun. Confidence. By HARRIETT JAY. Queen Of Connaught. ] The Dark Colleen. By HENRY KINGSLEY. Number Seventeen. I Oakshott Castle. CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W. [i. THE PICCADILLY '^OV'El.S—conimiicd. BvE. LYNN LINTON. Patricia Kemball. The Atonement of Learn Dundas. The World Well Lost Under V/hicb Lord ? Wl th a Silken Thread Rebel of the Family. ' My Love !' By HENRY W. LUCY. Gideon Fleyce. By JUSTIN McCarthy. Waterdale Neigh- houis. My Enemy's Daugh- ter. Linley Rochford. A Fair Saxon. Dear Lady Disdain. Miss Misanthrope. Donna Quixote. Comet of a Season. By GEORGE MACDONALD, LL.D. Paul Faher, Surgeon. Thomas Wingfold, Curate. By MRS. MACDONELL. Quaker Cousins. By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. Lost Rose. I The Evil Eye. By FLORENCE MARRYAT. Open ! Sesame ! | Written in Fire. By JEAN MIDDLEMAS.S. Touch and Go. By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. A Life's Atonement. I Coals of Fire. Joseph's Coat. | A Model Father. Val Strange. By MRS. OLIPHANT. Whiteladies. By JAMES PAYN. Lost Sir Massingberd The Best of Husbands Fallen Fortunes. Halves. Walter's Word. What He Cost Her. Less Black than we're Painted. Kit: a By CHARLES RE.ADE. It is Never Too Late to Mend. Hard Cash. Peg Woffington. Chi'istie Johnstone. Grifath Gaunt. The Double Marriage Love Me Little, Love Me Long. Foul Play. Cloister and Hearth. The Course of True Love. The Autobiography of a Thief. Put Yourself in His Place. Terrible Temptation The Wandering Heir. A Simpleton. A Woman-Hater. Eeadiana. By Proxy. High Spirits. Under One Roof. Carlyon's Year. A Confidential Agent From Exile. A Grape froma Thorn For Cash Only. Memory. By E. C. PRICE. Valentina. By MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. Her Mother's Darling. The Prince of Wales's Garden Party. By F. W. ROBINSON. Women are Strange. By JOHN SAUNDERS. Bound to the Wheel. 1 Guy Waterman. One Against the I The Lion in the Path. World. I The Two Dreamers. By T. W. SPEIGHT. The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. By R. A. STERNDALE. The Afghan Knife. By BERTHA THOMAS. Proud Maisie. I The Violin-player. Cressida. By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. Way We Live Now. I Frau Frohmann. American Senator. 1 Marion Fay. Kept in the Dark. By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. Like Ships upon the Sea. By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. Diamond Cut Diamond. By SARAH TYTLER. What She Came Through, The Bride's Pass. By J. S. WINTER. Cavalry Life. Regimental Legends. 2.] CHATTO AND IVINDUS, PICCADILLY, LONDON, IV. All Sorts and Conditions of Men LONDON : TRINTED EY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., KEW-STKEET SQUARE AND PARLIAMENT STREET ' '■^ There sir, I have read t/ie/ny ' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN ^n gmpossitfc §toxvi BY WALTER BESANT A NEW EDITION irnv/ TWELVE ILLUSTRATIO.ys BV FRED. BARXARD CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1883 [A I! rights rcierved\ -^ TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES RICE CT" PEEFACE. The ten years' partnership of myself and my late friend j\Ir. James Eice has been terminated by death. I am persuaded that nothing short of death would have put an end to a part- nership which was conducted throughout with perfect accord, and without the least difference of opinion. The long illness which terminated fatally on April 25th of this year began in January of last year. There were intervals during which he seemed to be recovering and gaining strength ; he was, indeed, well enough in the autumn to try change of air by a visit to Holland ; but he broke down again very shortly after his return : though he did not himself suspect it, he was under sentence of death, and for the last six months of his life his downward course was steady and continuous. Almost the last act of his in oiir partnership was the arrangement, with certain coimti-y papers and elsewhere, for the serial publication of this novel, the subject and writing of which were necessarily left entirely to myself. The many wanderings, therefore, which I undertook last summer in Stepney, Whitechapel, Poplar, St. George's-in-the- East, Limehouse, Bow, Stratford, Shadwell, and all that great and marvellous unknown country which we call East London, were undertaken, for the first time for ten years, alone. They would have been undertaken in great sadness had one foreseen the end. la one of these wanderings I had the happiness to viii PREFACE. discover Eotherhitlie, which I afterwards explored with care- fulness ; ill another, I lit upon a certain Haven of Eest for aged sea captains, among whom I found Captain Sorensen ; in others I found many wonderful things, and conversed with many wonderful people. The ' single-handedness,' so to speak, of this book would have been a mere episode in the history of the Firm, a matter of no concern or interest to the general public, had my friend recovered. But he is dead ; and it therefore devolves upon me to assume the sole responsibility of the work, for good or bad. The same responsibility i?, of course, assumed for the two short stories ' The Captain's Room,' published at Christmas last, and ' They were Married,' pub- lished as the summer number of the 'Illustrated London News.' The last story was, in fact, written after the death of my partner ; but as it had already been announced, it was thought best, under the circumstances, to make no change in the title. I have been told by certain friendly advisers that this Btory is impossible. I have, therefore, stated the fact on the title-page, so that no one may complain of being taken in or deceived. But I have never been able to understand why it is impossible. Walter Eesakt. United UNivERSixtEs' Club, August 19. 1882. CONTENTS. CHArTER Prologue — in Two Paets I. News for IIis Lordship . II. A Very Complete Case III. Only a Dressmaker . IV. Uncle Btji.'ker V, The Cares of "Wealth . VI. A First Step . VII. The Trinity Almshouse . VIII. What he got by it IX. The Day Before the First X. The Great Dayexant Case XI. The First Day . XII. Sunday at the East End XIII. Angela's Experiment XIV, The Tender Passion XV. A Splendid Offer XVI. Harry's Decision . XVII. "What Lord Jocelyn Thought XVIII. The Palace of Delight XIX. Dick the Eadical XX. Down on their Luck XXI. Lady Davenant . XXII. Daniel Fagq . XXIII. The Missing Link XXIV. Lord Jocelyn's Troubles XXV. An Inyitation . XXVI. Lord Davenant's Greatness XXVII. The same Signs . XXVIII. Harry Finds Liberty . XXIX. The Figureheads XXX. The Professor's Proposal PAOB 1 14 24 29 36 45 52 61 69 76 82 88 94 102 110 116 122 127 132 139 143 149 156 162 167 173 180 187 190 201 209 CONTEyTS. CHAPTER XXXI. Captain Coppin XXXII. EuNKER AT Bat XXXIII. Mr. Bunker's Letter . XXXIV. Proofs in Print XXXV. ' Then we'll Keep Company XXXVI. What will be the End ? XXXVII. Truth with Faithfulness XXXVIII. I AM THE Dressmaker XXXIX. Thrice IIappy Boy XL. Sweet Nelly , . , XLI, Boxing Night XLII. Not Josephus, but Another XLIII. Oh, my Prophetic Soul! XLIV. A Fool and his Money . XLV. Lady Datenant's Dinner Pai!TT XLVI. The End of the Case XLVII. The Palace of Delight XLVIII. My Lady Sweet XLIX. ' Uprouse ye then, my Merry, M^jrry Men PAGE 214 222 227 231 237 244 248 254 262 266 273 •278 285 292 296 304 308 314 318 LIST OF ILLUSTEATIOXS. ' " There, Sir, I hate read them " ' . . , •"Very good. That's practical"' . . . . * " It reminded me of Canaan City in July " ' " In the evening we haye Sacred Music " ' . . • " After he'd knocked him down, Harry intited that chap to stand up and hate it out " ' . •The audacity of the little man excited An- gela's CURIOSITY ' 'In THE' full enjoyment of the intoxication pro- duced BY his morning PIPE ' . ' He beckoned her, without a word, to rise ' , . «"I AM — THE — the Dressmaker'" .... * " She loves him herself," Angela was thinking ' . •Mr. Bunker dropped into a chair' « " Do Tou deliberately choose a life of wouk AND ambition — WITH — PERHAPS — POVERIY?'" . Frontis2>iece Tojaccp. 37 85 „ 105 ., H3 ., 160 208 220 261 271 288 319 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. PROLOGUE. Part I. It was the evening of a day in early June. TLe time vras last year, and the place was Cambridge. The sun had been visible in the heavens, a gracious presence, actually a whole week — in itself a thing remarkable ; the hearts of the most soured, even of land- lords and farmers, were coming to believe again in the possibility of finf» weather; the clergy were beginning to think that they might this year hold a real Harvest Thanksgiving instead of a sham ; the trees at the fJacks were in full foliage; the avenues ot Trinity and Clare were splendid : beside them the trim lawns sloped to the margin of the Cam, here most glorious and proudest of English rivers, seeing that he laves the meadows of those ancient and venerable foundations. King's, Trinity, and St. John's, to say nothing of Queen's and Clare and Magdalen; men were lazily floating in canoes, or leaning over the bridges, or strolling about the walks, or lying on the grass ; and among them — but not — oh ! not with them — walked or rested many of the damsels of learned Newnham, chiefly in pairs^ holding sweet converse On mind and art, And labour and the clianging mart, And all the framework of the land ; not neglecting the foundations of the Christian fiiith and other fashionable topics, which ladies nowadays handle with so much learning, originality, dexterity, and power. We have, however, to do with only one pair, who were sitting together on the banks opposite Trinity. These two were talking about a subject far more interesting than any concerning mind, or art, or philosophy, or the chances of the Senate House, or thts s 2 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. future of Newnbam; fi^r they were talking about tliemselves and tbeir own lives, and what tb^y were to do each with that one life which happened, by the mere accident of birth, to belong to her- self. It must be a curious subject for reflection in extreme old age, when everything has happened that is going to happen, in- cluding rheumatism, that, but for this accident, one's life might have been so very different. * Because, Angela,' said the one who wore spectacles and looked older than she was, by reason of much pondering over books and perhaps too little exercise, 'because, my dear, we have but this one life before us, and if we malje mistakes with it, or throw it awaj^, or waste it, or lose our chances, it is such a dreadful pitj'. Oh, to think of the girls who drift and let every chance go by, and get nothing out of their lives at all — except babies' (she spoke of babies witli great contempt). ' Oh ! it seems as if every moment were precious : oh ! it is a sin to waste an hour of it.' She gasped and clasped her hands together with a sigh. She was not acting, not at all; this girl was that hitherto rare thing, a girl of study and of books; she was wholly possessed, like the great scholars of old, with the passion for learning. ' Oh ! greedy person ! ' replied the other with a laugh, * if you read all the books in the University library, and lose the enjoy- ment of sunshine, what shall it profit you, in the long run ? ' This one was a young woman of much finer physique than her friend. She was not short-sighted ; but possessed, in fact, a pair of orbs of very remarltable clearness, steadiness, and brightness. They were not soft eyes, nor languishing eyes, nor sleepy eyes, nor downcast, shrinking eyes; they were wideawake, brown, honest eyes, which looked fearlessly upon all things, fair or foul. A girl does not live at Newnham two years for nothing, mind you; when she leaves that seat of learning, she has changed her mind about the model, the perfect, the ideal woman. More than that, she will change the minds of her sisters and her cousins: and there are going to be a great many Newnhams; and the spread of this revolution will be rapid ; and the shrinking, obedient, docile, man- reverencing, curate-worshipjjng maiden of our youth will shortly vanish and be no more seen. And what will the curate do then, poor thing ? Wherefore let the bishop look to certain necessary changes in the Marriage Service; and let the young men see that their own ideas change with the times, else there will be no sweethearts for them. More could I prophesy, but refrain. This j^oung lady owned, besides those mentioned above, many other points which will always be considered desirable at her age, whatever be the growth of feminine education (wherefore, courage, brothers !). In all these points she contrasted favourably with her companion. For her face was sunny, and fair to look upon ; one of the younger clerical dons — now a scanty band, almost a Remnant — was reported to have said, after gazing upon that face, thab he now understood, which he had never understood before, ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 3 what Solomon meant when he compared his love's temples to a piece of a pomegranate within her locks. No one asked him what he meant, but he was a malliematical man, and so he must have meant something, if it was only trigonometry. As to her ligure, it was what a healthy, naturally dressed, and strong young woman's figure ouglit to he, and not more slender in the waist than was the figure of Venus or Mother Eve ; and her limhs were elastic, so that she seemed when she walked as if she would like to run, jump, and dance, Vv^hich, indeed, she would have greatly preferred, only at Newnham they ' take it out' in lawn-tennis. And whatever might he the course of life marked out by herself, it was quite certain to the intelligent observer that before long Love the invincible — Love that laughs at plots, plans, conspiracies, and designs — would upset them all, and trace out quite anotlier line of life for her, and most probably tlie most commonplate line of all. ' Your life, Constance,' she went on, ' seems to me the most happy and the most fortunate. IIow nobly you have vindicated the intellect of women by your degree ! ' 'No, my dear: ' Constance shook her head sadly. 'No; only partly vindicated our intellect; remember I was but fifth Wrangler, and there were four men — men, Angela — above me. I wanted to be senior.' ' Everybody knows that the fifth is always as good as the first.* Constance, however, shook her head at this daring attempt at con- solation. ' At all events, Constance, you will go on to prove it by your original papers when you publish your researches. You will lecture like Hypatia ; you will have the undergraduates leaving the men and crowding to your theatre. You will become the greatest mathematician in Cambridge; you will be famous for ever. You will do better than man himself, even on man's most exalted level of intellectual strengtli.' The pale cheek of the student flushed. ' Ido not expect to do better than men,' she replied humbly. ' It will be enough if I do as well. Yes, my dear, all my lile, short or long, shall be given to science. I will have no love in it, or marriage, or — or — anything of that kind at all.' 'Nor will I,' said the other, stoutly, yet with apparent effort. * Marriage spoils a woman's career ; we must live our life to its utmost, Constance.' ' We must, Angela. It is the only thing in this world of doubt that is a clear duty. I owe mine to science. You, my dear, to ' She would have said to ' Political Economy,' but a thought checked her. For a singular thing had happened only the day before. _ This friend of hers, this Angela Messenger, who had re- cently illustrated the strengtli of woman's intellect by passing a really brilliant examination in that particular science, astonished b2 4 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. her friends at a little informal meeting in the library by an oration In this speech she went out of her way to pour contempt upon Political Economy, It was a so-called science, she said, not a science Jit all : a collection of theories impossible of proof. It treated of men and women as skittles, it ignored the principal motives of action, it had been put together for the most part by doctrinaires who lived apart, and knew nothing about men and less about women, and it was the favourite study, she cruelly de- clared, of her own sex, because it was the most easily crammed and made the most show. As for herself, she declared that for all the good it had done her, she might just as well have gone through a course of aesthetics or studied the symbols of advanced Ritualism. Therefore, remembering the oration, Constance Woodcote hesitated. To what Cause (with a capital C) should Angsla Messenger devote her life ? ' I will tell you presently,' said Angela, ' how 1 shall begin my life. Where the beginning will lead me, I cannot tell.' Then there was silence for a while. The sun sank lower and the setting rays fell upon the foliage, and every leaf sliowed like a leaf of gold, and the river lay in shadow and became ghostly, and the windows of Trinity library opposite to them glowed, and the New Court of St. John's at tlieir left hand became like unto the palace of Kubla Khan. ' Oh ! ' sighed the young mathematician, * I shall never be satis- fied till Newnham crosses the river. We must have one of these colleges for ourselves. ' We must have King's. Yes, King's will be the best. And oh! how differently we shall live from the so- called students who ai*e now smoking tobacco in each other's rooms, or playing billiards, or even cards — tlie superior sex ! ' ' As for us, we shall presently go back to our rooms, have a cup of tea and a talk, my dear. Then we shall go to bed. As reg.'irds the men, those of your mental level, Constance, do not, I suppose, play billiards; nor do they smoke tobacco. Under- graduates are not all students, remember. Most of them are nothing but mere Pass-men who will become curates.' Two points in this speech seem to call for remark. First, the singular ignorance of mankind, common to all women, which led the girl to believe that a great man of science is superior to the pleasures of the weaker brethren ; for they cannot understand the delights of fooling. The second point is but it may be left to those who read as they run. Then they rose and walked slowly under the grand old trees of Trinity Avenue, facing the setting sun, so that when they came to the end and turned to the left, it seemed as if they plunged into night. And presently they came to the gates of Newnham, the newer Newnham, with its trim garden, and Queen Anne mansion. It grates upon one that the beginnings of a noble and lasting refcnm should be housed in a palace built in the conceited fashion ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 6 of the day. What will they say of it in fifty years, when the lasliion has changed and new styles reign? * Come,' said Angela, * come into my room. Let my last evenin;;; in the dear place be spent with you, Constance.' Angela's own room was daintily furnished and adorned with as many pictures, pretty things, booiis, and hric-a-hrac as the narrow dimensions of a Newnham cell will allow. In a more advanced Newnham there will be two rooms for each student, and these will be larger. The girls sat by the open window : the air was soft and sweet. A bunch of cowslips from the Coton meadows perfumed the room : there was the jug-jug of a nightingale in some tree not far otf; opposite them were the lights of the otlier Newnham. ' The last night !' said Angela, 'lean hardly believe that I go down to-morrow,' Then she was silent again, * My life,' she went on, speaking softly in the twilight, ' begins to-morrow. What am I to do with it ? Your own solution seems 80 easy because you are clever and you have no money, while I, who am — well, dear, not devoured by thirst for learning — have got so much. To begin with, there is the Brewery. "You cannot escape from a big Brewery if it belongs to you. You cannot hide it away. Messenger, Marsden, and Company's Stout, their XXX, their Old and Mild, their Bitter, their Family Ales (that particu- larly at eight-and-six the nine-gallon cask, if paid for on delivery), their drays, their huge horses, their strong men, whose very appearance advertises the beer, and makes the weak-kneed and the narrow-chested rush to Whitechapel — my dear, these things stare one in the face wherever you go, I am that Brewery, as you know, I am iMessenger, Marsden, and Company, myself, the sole partner in what my lawyer sweetly calls the Concern. jNobody else is concerned in it. It is — alas ! — my own Great Concern, a dreadful responsibility.' ' Why ? Your people manage it for you.' ' Yes — oh ! yes — they do. And whether they manage it badly or well I do not know ; whether they make wholesome beer or bad, whether they treat their clerks and workmen generously or meanly, whether the name of the Company is beloved or hated, I do not know. Perhaps the very making of beer at all is a wickedness.' * But — Angela,' the other interrupted ; * it is no business of yours. Naturally, wages are regulated by supply and ' ' No, my dear. That is political economy. I prefer the good old English plan. If I employ a man, and he works faithfully, I should like that man to feel that he grows every day worth to me more than his marketable value,' Constance was silenced. * Then, beside the Brewery,' Angela went on, ' there is an unconscionable sum of money ia the Funds.' 6 ALL SORTS AND QpNDITIONS OF MEN. ' There, at least/ said her friend, ' you need feel no scruple of conscience.' ' But indeed I do ; for how do I know that it is right to keep all this money idle ? A hundred pounds paved and put into the Funds means three pounds a year. It is like a perennial stream tiowing from a hidden reservoir in a hillside. But this stream, in my case, does no good at all. It neither fertilises the soil nor is it drunk by man or beast, nor does it turn mills, nor is it a beauti- ful thing to look upon, nor does its silver current flow by banks of flowers or fall in cascades. It all runs away, and makes another reservoir in another hillside. My dear^ it is a stream of compound interest, which is constantly getting deeper and broader and stronger, and yet is never of the least use, and turns no wheels. Now, what am I to do with this money ? ' 'Endow Newnham ; there, at least, is something practical.' * I will found some scholarships, if you please, later on, when you have made your own work felt. Again, there are my houses in the East End.' ' Sell them.' ' That is only to shift the responsibility. My dear, I have streets of houses. They all lie about Whitechapel way. My grandfather, John Messenger, bought houses, I believe, just as other people buy apples, by the peck, or some larger measure, a reduction being made on taking a quantity. There they are, and mostly inhabited.' ' You have agents, I suppose ? ' said Constance, unsympatjiis- ingly. ' It is their duty to see that the houses are well kept.' * Yes, I have agents. But they cannot absolve me from respon- sibility.' ' Then,' asked Constance, ' what do you mean to do ? ' ' I am a native almost of Whitechapel. My grandfiither, who succeeded to the Brewery, was born there — his father was also a Brewer ; his grandfa,ther is, I believe, prehistoric : he lived there long alter his son, my father, was born. When he moved to Bloomsbury Square he thought he was getting into quite a fashionable quarter ; and he only went to Portman Square because he desired me to go into societ}'. I am so rich that I shall quite certainly be welcomed in society. But, my dear, Whitechapel and its neighbourhood are my proper sphere. Why, my very name ! I reek of beer ; I am all beer ; my blood is beer. Angela Marsden Messenger ! What could more plainly declare ray connection with Messenger, INIarsden, and Company ? I only wonder that he did not call me Marsden-and-Company Messenger.' ' But — Angela . . . ' ' He would, Constance, if he had thought of it. For, you see, I was the heiress from the very beginning, because my father died before my birth. And my grandfather intended me to become the perfect Brewer, if a woman can attain to so high an ideal. There- fore I was educated in the necessary and fitting lines. They ALL SORTS AXD CONDITIONS OF MEN. 1 taugbt me tLe industries of Eugiaud, the arts and manufactures, mathematics, accounts, the great outlets of trade, boolc-keeping-, mechauics— all those things that are practical. How it happened that I was allowed to learn music I do not. know. Then, when 1 grew up, I was sent here by him, because the very air of Cam- bridge, he thought, makes people exact ; and women are so prone to be inexact. I was to read while I was here all the books about Political and Social Economy. I have also learned for business purposes two or tiiree languages, I am now finished. I know all the theories about people, and I don't believe any of them will work. Therefore, my dear, I shall get to know the people before I apply them.' ' Was your grandfather a student of Political Economy ? ' ' Not at all. But be had a respect for justice, and he wanted me to be just. It is so difficult, he used to say, for a woman to be just. For either she flies into a rage and punishes with excess, or she takes pity and forgives. As for himself, he was as hard as nails, and the people knew it.' ' And your project ? ' ' It is very simple. I efface myself. I vanish. I disappear.' ' What ? ' 'If anybody asks where I am, no one will know, except you, my dear ; and you will not tell.' * You will be in ' 'In Whitechapel, or thereabouts. Your Angela will be a dressmaker, and she will live by herself, and become — what her great-grandmother was — one of the people.' ' Y^ou will not like it at all.' ' Perhaps not ; but I am weary of theories, facts, statistics. I want flesh and blood. I want to feel myself a part of this striving, fager, anxious humanity, on whose labours I live in comfort, by whom I have been educated, to whom I owe all, and for whom I have done nothing — no, nothing at all, selfish wretch that I am !' She clasped her hands with a fine gesture of remorse. ' Oh ! woman of science,' she cried ; ' you sit upon the heights, and you can disregard — because it is your right — the sorrows and the joys of the world. But I cannot. 1 belong to the People — wiih a great, big P, my dear — I cannot bear to go on living by tlieir toil and giving nothing in return. What a dreadful thing is a She-Dives ! ' ' I confess,' said Constance, coldly, 'that I have always regarded wealth as a means for leading the higher life — the life of study and research — unencumbered by the sordid aims and mean joys of the vulgar herd.' ' It is possible and right for you to live apart, my dear. It is impossible, because it would be wrong, for me.' 'But — alone .P Y''ou will venture into the dreadful region alone ? ' 8 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 'Quite alone, Constance.' ' And — and — your reputation, Angela ? ' Angela laughed merrily. *As for .my reputation, my dear, it may take care of itself. Those of my friends who think I am not to be trusted may trans- fer their affection to more worthy objects. The first thing in the emancipation of the sex, Constance, is equal education. The next is ' ' What ? ' for Angela paused. She drew forth from her pocket a small bright instrument of steel, which glittered in the twilight. Not a revolver, dear readers. ' The next,' she said, brandishing the weapon before Constance's eyes, ' is— the LATCH-KEY.' PROLOGUE. Part II. The time was eleven in the forenoon ; the season was the month of roses ; the place was a room on the first floor at the Park-end of Piccadilly — a noisy room, because the windows were open, and there was a great thunder and rattle of cabs, omnibuses, and all kinds of vehicles. When this noise became, as it sometimes did, intolerable, the occupant of the room shut his double windows, and immediately there was a great calm, with a melodious roll of distant wheels, like the buzzing of bees about the marigolds on a summer afternoon. With the double window a man may calmly sit down amid even the roar of Cheapside, or the never-ending cascade of noise at Charing Cross. The room was furnished with taste ; the books on the shelves were well bound, as if the owner took a proper pride in them, as indeed was the case. There were two or three good pictures; there was a girl's head in marble; there were cards and invitations lying on the mantelshelf and in a rack beside the clock. Every- body could tell at the first look of the room that it was a bachelor's den. Also because nothing was new, and because there were none of the peacockeries, whims and fancies, absurdities, fads and fashions, gimcrackeries — the presence of which does always and infallibly proclaim the chamber of a young man — this room mani- festly belonged to a bachelor who was old in the profession. la fact, the owner of the chambers, of which this was the breakfast, morning, and dinner room, whenever he dined at home, was seated in an armchair beside a breakfast table, looking straight before him, with a face filled with anxiety. An honest, ugly, pleasing^ ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 9 rugged, attractive face, whose features were carved orte day when Dame Nature was beuevoleutly disposed, but liad a bluut chisel. * I always told him,' he muttered, ' that he should learu the whole of his family history as soon as he was three-and-twenty years of age. One must keep such promises. Yet it wxinld have been better that he sliould never know. But then it uvght have been found out, and that would have been far worse. Yet, how could it have been found out ? No ; that is ridiculous.' He mused in silence. In his fingers he held a cigar which he had lit, but allowed to go out again. The morning paper was lying on the table, unopened. ' How will the boy take it ? ' he asked ; ' will he take it cry- ing ? Or will he take it laughing ? ' He smiled, picturing to himself the ' boy's ' astonishment. Looking at the man more closely, one became aware that he was really a very pleasant-looking person. He was about five- and-forty years of age, and he wore a full beard and moustache, after the manner of his contemporaries, with whom a beard is still considered a manly ornament to the face. The beard was brown, but it had begun to show, as wine merchants say of port, the 'appearance of age.' In some light, there was more grey than brown. His dark-brown hair, however, retained it« original thickness of thatch, and was as yet untouched by any streak of grey. Seeing that he belonged to one of the oldest and best of English families, one might have expected something of that deli- cacy of feature which some of us associate with birth. But, as has already been said, his face was rudely chiselled, his complexion was ruddy, and he looked as robust as a ploughboy ; yet he had the air of an English gentleman, and that ought to satisfy any- body. And he was the younger son of a Duke, being by courtesy Lord Jocelyn Le Breton. "While he was thus meditating, there was a quick step on the stair, and the subject of his thoughts entered the room. This interesting young man was a much more aristocratic person to look upon than his senior. He paraded, so to speak, at every point, the thoroughbred air. His thin and delicate nose, his clear eye, his high though narrow forehead, his well-cut lip, his firm chin, his pale cheek, his oval face, the slim figure, the thin, long fingers, the spring of his walk, the poise of his head — what more could one expect even from the descendant of All the Howards ? But this morning the pallor of his cheek was flushed as if with some disquieting news. ' Good morning, Harry,' said Lord .Tocelyn, quietly. Harry returned the greeting. Then he threw upon the table a small packet of papers. ' There, sir, I have read them. ; thank you for lettinof me see them.'_ ^ ' Sit down, boy, and let us talk ; will you have a cigar ? No P 10 ALL soars and conbitions of men: A cigarette, then ? No ? You are probably a little upset by thia — new — unexpected revelation ? ' * A little upset ! ' repeated tbe young' man, with a short laugh. ' To be sure — to be sure — one could expect nothing else ; now sit down, and let us talk over the matter calmly.' The young man sat down, but he did uot present the appear- ance of one inclined to talk over the matter calmly, ' In novels,' said Lord JocelyU; ' it is always the good fortune of young gentlemen brought up in ignorance of their parentage to turn out, when they do discover their origin, the heirs to an illus- trious name ; I have always admired that in novels. In your case, my poor Harry, the reverse is the case ; the distinction ought to console you.' ' Why was I not told before ? ' 'Because the boyish brain is more open to prejudice than that of the adult: because, among your companions, you certainly would have felt at a disadvantage had you known yourself to be the son of a ' ' You always told me,' said Harry, ' that my father was in the army ? ' ' What do you call a Sergeant in a line regiment, then ? ' ' Oh ! of course, but among gentlemen — I mean — among the set with whom I was brought up, to be in the army means to have a commission.' ' Yes ; that was my pardonable deception, I thought that you would respect yourself more if you felt that your father, like the fathers of your friends, belonged to the upper class. Now, my dear boy, you will respect yourself just as much, although you know that he was but a Sergeant, and a brave fellow who fell at my side in the Indian Mutiny,' * And my mother ? ' 'I did not know her; she was dead before I found you out, and took you from your Uncle Bunker.' 'Uncle Bunker!' Harry laughed, with a little bitterness. ' U..cle Bunker ! Fancy asking one's Uncle Bunker to dine at the club ! What is he by trade ? ' ' He is something near a big Brewery, a Brewery Boom, as the Americans say. What he actually is, I do not quite know. He lives, if I remember rightly, at a place, an immense distance from here, called Stepney.' ' Bo you know anything more about my father's family ? ' 'No! the Sergeant was a tall, handsome, well set-up man; but I know nothing about his connections. His name, if that is any help to you, was, was — in fact ' — here Lord Jocelyn assumed iin air of ingratiating sweetness — 'was — Goslett — Goslett; not a bad name, I think, pronounced witli perhaps a leaning to an accent on the last syllable. Don't you agree with me, Harry P ' ' Oh ! yes, it will do. Better than Bunker, and not so good ajs Le Breton. As for my Christian name, now ? ' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 11 'There I ventured on one small variation.' 'Am I not, then, even Harry ? ' 'Yes, yes, yes, j'ou are — now; formerly you were Harry with- out the aitch. It is the custom of the neighhourhood in which you were horn.' 'I see ! If I go back among my own people, I shall be, then, once more 'Arry ? ' * Yes \ and shout on penny steamers, and brandish pint bottles of stout, and sing along the streets, in simple abandonment to Arcadian joy; and trample on flowers; and break pretty things for wantonness; and exercise a rude but effective wit, known among the ancients as Fescennine, upon passing ladies ; and get drunk o' nights; and walk the streets with a pipe in your mouth. That is what you would be, if you went back, my dear child.' Harry laughed. 'After all,' he said, ' this is a very dilHcult position. I can no longer go about pretending anything; I must tell people.' * Is that absolutely necessary ? ' * Quite necessary. It will be a deuce of a business, explaining.' ' Shall we tell it to one person, and let him be the town crier?' 'That, I suppose, "would be the best plan; meantime, I could retire, while I made some plans for the future.' 'Perhaps, if you really must tell the truth, it would be well to go out of town for a bit.' 'As for myself,' Harry continued, 'I suppose I shall get over the wrench after a bit. Just for the moment I feel knocked out of time.' ' Keep the secret, then ; let it be one between you and me, only, Harry ; let no one know.' But he shook his head. ' Everybody must know. Those who refuse to keep up the acquaintance of a private soldier's son — well, then, a non-com- missioned ofBcer's son — will probably let me know their decision, some way or other. Those who do not ' be paused. ' Nonsense, boy ; who cares nowadays what a man is by birth ? Is not this great city full of people who go anywhere, and are no- body's sons ? Look here, and here ' — he tossed half-a-dozen cards of invitation across the table — 'can you tell me who these people were twenty years ago — or these — or these ? ' ' No : I do not care in the least who they were. I care only that they shall know who I am ; I will not, for my part, pretend to be what I am not.' 'I believe j^ou are right, boy. Let the world laugh if they please, and have done with it.' Harry began to walk up and down the room ; he certainly did not look the kind of man to give in ; to try hiding things away. Quite the contrary. And he laughed — he took it laughing. ' I suppose it will sound comic at first,' he said, ' until people get used to it. Do you know what he turns out to be? That 12 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. kind of thing: after all, we think too much about -what people say — what does it matter what they say or how they say it ? If they like to laugh, tliey can. Who shall be the town crier? ' ' I was thinking,' said Lord Jocelyn, slowly, ' of calling to-day upon Lady Wimbledon.' The young man laughed, with a little heightening of his colour. ' Of course —a very good person, an excellent person, and to- morrow it will be all over London. There are one or two things,' he went on after a moment, ' that I do not understand from the papers which you put into my hands last night.' ' What are those things ? ' Lord Jocelyn for a moment looked uneasy. 'Well — perhaps it is impertinent to ask. But — when Mr, Bunker, the respectable Uncle Bunker, traded me away, what did he get for me ? ' 'Every bargain has two sides,' said Lord Jocelyn. 'You know what I got, you want to know what the honourable Bunker got. Harry, on that point I must refer you to the gentleman himself.' ' Very good. Then I come to the next difficulty — a staggerer. What did you do it for ? One moment, sir — ' for Lord Jocelyn ceemed about to reply. ' One moment. You were rich, you were well born, you were young. What on earth made you pick a boy out of the gutter and bring him up like a gentleman .P ' ' You are twenty-tluee, Harry, and yet you ask for motives. IMy dear boy, have you not learned the golden rule ? In all human actions look for the basest motive, and attribute that. If you see any reason for stopping short of quite the lowest spurs to action, such as revenge, hatred, malice, and envy, suppose the next lowest, and you will be quite safe. That next lowest is — son altes^c, ma vamtth' 'Oh!' replied Ilarr^^, 'yet I fail to see how a child of the lowest classes could supply any satisfaction for even the next lowest of human motives.' ' It was partly in this way. Mind, I do not for one moment pre- tend to answer the whole of your question. Men's motives, thank heaven, are so mixed up, that no one can be quite a saint, while no one is altogether a sinner. Nature is a leveller, which is a comfort to us who are born in levelling times. In those days I was by way of being a kind of Iladical. Not a Radical such as those who de- light mankind in these happier days. But I had Liberal leanings, and thought I had ideas. When I was a boy of twelve or so, there were the '48 theories floating about the air ; some of them got into my brain and stuck there. Men used to believe that a great time was coming — perhaps I heard a whisper of it; perhaps I was endowed with a gi'eater faculty for credulity than my neighbours, and believed in humanity. However, I do not seek to explain. It may have occurred to me — I do not saj it did — but T have a ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 13 kind of recollection as if it did — one dtay after I bad seen you, then in tlie custody of the respectable Bunker, that it would be an instructive and a humorous thing to take a boy of the multitude and bring him up in all the culture, the tastes, the ideas of our- selves — you and me, for instance, Harry. This idea uiny have seized upon me, so that the more I thonglit of it, the better pleased 1 was with it. I may have pictured such a boy so taught, so brought up, with such tastes, returning to his own people. Disgust, I may have said, will make him a prophet ; and such a prophet as the world has never yet seen. He would be like a follower of the Old Man of the Mountain. He would never cease to dream of the paradise he had seen : he would never cease to tell of it ; he would be always leading his friends upward to the same levels on which he had once stood.' * Humph ! ' said Harry. ' Yes, I know,' Lord Jocelyn went on. ' I ought to have fore- told that the education I prepared for you would have unfitted you for the role of prophet. I am not disappointed in you, Harr}' — quite the reverse. I now see that what has happened has been only what I should have expected. By some remarkable accident, you possess an appearance such as is generally believed to belong to persous of long-continued gentle descent. By a still more re- markable accident, all your tastes prove to be those of the cul- tured classes; the blood of the Gosletts and the Bunkers has, in yourself, assumed the most azure hue.' * That is very odd,' said Harry. * It is a very remarkable thing, indeed,' continued Lord Jocelyn gravely. *I have never ceased to wonder at this phenomenon. However, I was unable to send you to a public school on account of the necessity, as I thought, of concealing your parentage. But I gave you instruction of the best, and found for you companions — as you know, among the ' ' Yes,' said Harry, * My companions were gentlemen, I sup- pose ; I learned from them.' 'Perhaps. Still, the earthenware pot cannot become a brass pot, whatever he may pretend. You were good metal from the beginning. ' You are now, Harry,' he went on, ' three-and- twenty. You are master of three foreign languages ; you have travelled on the Conti- nent and in America; you are a good rider, a good shot, a good fencer, a good dancer. You can paint a little, fiddle a little, dance a great deal, act pretty well, speak pretty well ; you can, I dare say, make love as becomes a gentleman ; you can write very fair verses; you are good-looking ; you have the air nohle ; you are not a prig ; you are not an aesthete ; you possess your share of common sense.' 'One thing you have omitted which, at the present juncture, may be more useful than any of these things.' 'What is that?' * You were good enough to give me a lathe, and to have me U ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. instructed in the m3'steries of turaing. I am a practical cabinet- mflker, if need bo.' ' But why should this be of use to you 't ' 'Because, Lord Jocelyn ' — Harry ran and leaned over the table •with a sweet smile of determination on his face — 'because I nra going back to my own people for a while, and it may be that the trade of cabinet-making may prove a very backbone of strength to me among them ' ' Harry — you would not — -indeed, you could not go back to Bunker ? ' Lord Jocelyn asked this question with every outward appearance of genuine alarm. *I certainly would. My very kind guardian and patron, would you stand in my way ? I want to see those people from where I am sprung: I want to learn how they differ from you and your kin. I must compare myself with them — I must prove the brotherhood of humanity.' * You will go ? Yes — I see you will — it is in your eyes. Go then, Harry. But return to me soon. The slender fortune of a younger son shall be shared with you so long as I live, and given to you when I die. Do not stay among them. There are, indeed — at least, I -suppose so, — all sorts and conditions of men. But to me, and to men brought up like you and me, I do not understand how there can be any but one sort and one condition. Comeback soon, boy. Believe me — no — do not believe me — prove it your- self; in the social pyramid, the greatest happiness, Harry, lies near the top.' CHAPTER L NEWS FOB HIS lOEDSHIP. ' I nAVE news for j'our lordship,' said IMrs. Borm alack, at the breakfast table, ' something that will cheer you up a bit. We are to have an addition to our family,' His lordship nodded his head, meaning that he would receive her news without more delay than was necessary, but that at present his mind was whollv occupied with a contest between one of his teeth and a crust. Th 3 tooth was an outlying one, all its lovely companions having withered and gone, and it was unde- fended ; the crust was unyielding. For the moment no one could tell what might be the result. Her ladyship replied for him. Lady Davcuant was a small woman, if you go by inches ; her exalted rank gave her, however, a dignity designed for very mucli larger persons: yet she carried it with case. She was by no means young, and hel hair was thin as well as grey; her face, whicli was oval and delicately curved, might formerly have been beautiful ; ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 15 the eyes were Lrifrbt and eager, and constantly in motion, as ia often the case with restless and nervous persons; her lips were thill and as full of independent action as her eyes; she had tliin hands, so small that they might have belonged to a child of eiglit ; and she might boast, when inclined for vaunting, the narrowest and most sloping shoulders that ever were seen, so sloping that people unaccustomed to her were wont to tremble lest the whole of her dress should suddenly slide straight down those shoulders, as down a slope of ice ; and strange ladies, impelled by this appre- hension, had been known to ask her in a friendly whisper if she could thoroughly depend upon the pins at her throat. As Mrs. Bormalack often said, speaking of her noble boarders among her friends, those shoulders of her ladyship were Quite a Feature. Next to the pride of having at her table sucli guests — who, how- ever, did not give in to the good old Enclish custom of paying double prices for having a title — was the distinction of pointing to those unique shoulders and of talking about them. Her ladyship had a shrill, reedy voice, and spoke loudly. It was remarked by the most superficial observer, moreover, that she possessed a very strong American accent. * At our first boarding-house,' she said, replying indirectly to tbe landlady's remark, ' at our first boarding-house, which was in Wellclose Square, next to the Board Schools, there was a man who once acfuaUy slapped his loidsLip on the back. And then he laughed ! To be sure, he was only a Dane, but the disrespect was just the same.' ' My dear,' said his lordship, who now spolce, having compro- mised matters with the crust, ' the ignominy of being slapped on the back by a powerful sea captain is hardly to be weighed in comparison with the physical pain it causes.' * We are qiiite sure, however, Mrs. Bormalack,' the lady went on, ' that you will admit none under your roof but those prepared to respect rank ; we want no levellers or mischievous Eadicals for our companions.' 'It is to be a young lady,' said Mrs. Bormalack. ' Young ladies, at all events, do not slap gentlemen on the back, whether they are noblemen or not,' said his lordsliip, kindly. ' We shall be happy to welcome her, ma'am.' This ornament of the Upper House was a big, fat man, witli a face like a full moon. His features were not distinctly aristocratic ; his cheeks were flabby and his nose broad; also he had a double chin. His long hair was a soft, creamy white, the kind of white which in old age follows a manhood of red hair. He sat in an arm-chair at the end of the table, with his elbows on the arms, as if he desired to get as much rest out of the chair as possible. His eyes were very soft and dreamy; his expression was that of a man who has been accustomed to live in the quieter parts of the world* He, too, spoke with a marked American accent and with slowness, as if measuring his words and appreciating himself their import- 16 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ance. The dignity of liis manner was not wholly due to his fiosition, but in great measure to his former profession. For his ordship had not always rejoiced in his present dignity, nor, in fact, had he been brought up to it. Persons intending to become peers of Great Britain do not, as a rule, first spend more than forty years as schoolmasters in their native town. And just as clergymen, and especially young clergymen, love to talk loud, because it makes people remember that they are in the presence of those whose wisdom demands attention, so old schoolmasters speak slowly because their words — even the lightest, which are usually prett}' heav}^ — have got to be listened to, under penalties. As soon, however, as he began to * enjoy the title,' the ex- schoolmaster addressed himself with some care to the cultivation of a manner which he thought due to his position. It was certainly pompous ; it was intended to be affable ; it was naturally, because he was a man of a most kind disposition and an excellent heart, courteous and considerate. 'I am rejoiced, Mrs. Bormalack,' he went on grandly, and with a bow, 'that we are to be cheered in our domestic circle by the addition of a young lady. It is an additional proof, if any were needed, of the caro with which you consider the happiness of your guests.' The Professor, who owed for five weeks, murmured that no one felt it more than himself. * Sometimes, ma'am, 1 own that even with the delightful society of yourself (' oh, my lord, your lordship is too kind,' said Mrs. Bormalack) ' and of the accom- plished Professor,' — here he bowed to the Professor, who nodded and spread out his hands professionally, 'and of the learned Mr. Daniel Fagg,' — here he bowed to Mr. Fagg, who took no notice at all, because he was thinking of his triangles and was gazing straight beforb him — ' and of Mr. Josephus Coppin,' — here he bowed to Josephus Coppin, who humbly inclined his head without a smile, 'aiid of Mr. Maliphant,' — here he bowed to Mr. Maliphant, who with a breakfast-knife was trying to make a knobly crust assume the shape of a human head, in fact, the head of Mr. Gladstone, 'and of Mr. Harry Goslett, who is not with us so much as we could desire of so sprightly a young man ; and surrounded as we are by all the gaiety and dissipation and splendour of London, I sometimes suspect that we are not always so cheerful as we might be.' ' Give me,' said his wife, folding her little hands and looking round her with a warlike expression, as if inviting contradiction, ' give me Canaan City, New Hampshire, for gaiety.' Nobody combated this position, nor did anybody reply at all, unless the pantomime of the Professor was intended for a reply by gesture, like the learned Tliaumast. For, with precision and abstracted air, he rolled up a little ball of bread, about as big as a marble, placed it in the palm of his left hand, closed his fingers upon it, and then opened them, showing that the ball had Tanished. Then he executed the slightest possible shrug of his ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 17 ehoulderp, spread out his hands, and nodded to Lis lord.^hip, sayinfT, with a sweet smile, — 'Pretty thing, isn't it?' 'I hope, sir, that she will be pretty,' said his lordship, think- ing of the young lady. ' To look at a pretty face is as good as a day of sunshine,' 'She is a beautiful girl,' Mrs. Bormalack replied with enthu- siasm, ' and I am sure she must be as good as she is pretty; because she paid three months in advance. With a piano, too, which she will play herself. She is a dretsmalier by trade, and slie wants to set herself up in a genteel way. And she's got a little money, she says;' a sweet smile crossed her face as she thought that most of this little money would probably come into her own pocket, * A dressmaker !' cried her ladyship. ' Do tell ! I was in that line myself before I married. That was long before we began to enjoy the title. You don't know, ma'am' — here she dropped lier voice — 'you don't know how remarkably fond his lordship is of a pretty face ; choice with them, too. Not every face pleases him. Oh! you wouldn't believe how particular. Which f-hows his aristocratic descent; because we all know what his ancestors were.' ' To be sure,' said the landlady, nodding significantly, ' We all know what they were, Eovers to a man — I mean a lord. And as for the young lady, she will be here this evening, in time for tea. Shrimps and Sally Lunn, my lord. And her name is Miss Kennedy. Respectable, if poor ; and illustrious ancestors is more than we can all of us have, nor yet deserve.' Here the I'rofessor rose, havinjr finished his breakfast. One might have noticed that he had extremely long and delicate fingers, and that they seemed always in movement ; also that he had a way of looking at you as if he meant you to look straiyht and steady into his eyes, and not to go rolling your eyes about in the frivolous, irresponsible way affected by 'some people. Pie walked slowly to the window; then, as if seized with an irre- sistible impulse to express his feelings in pantomime, or else it may be, to try an experiment, returned to the table, and asked for the loan of his lordship's pocket-handkerchief, which was a large red silk one, well fitted for the purpose. How he conveyed a saucer unseen from the table into that handkerchief, and how that saucer got into the nobleman's coat-tail pocket, were thirgs known only to himself. Yet familiarity breeds contempt, and though everybody looked on, nobody expressed delight or astonish- ment, for this exhibition of magic and spells went on every day, and whenever the Professor was among them. He moved aboiit accompanied, so to speak, by a legion of invisible attendants and servants, who conveyed, hid, brought back, uncovered, discovered, recovered, lost, found, rapped, groaned, cried, whistled, sang, moved chairs and tables, and, in fact, behaved as only a troop of o IS ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. wsll-drilled elves can behave. He was a young man of twenty- five, and he had a great gift of silence. By trade he was a Pro- fessor of legerdemain. Other Professors there are who hold up the light of this science, and hand it down to posterity undiinmed; but none with such an ardent love for their work as Professor Climo. For he practised all day long, except when he was reading the feats of the illustrious conjurers, sorcerers, necro- mancers, and wizards of old time, or inventing new combinations, traps for tlie credulous, and contrivances to make that which was not seen like unto thfft which was. The East End of London is not the richest field for such performers ; but he was young, and he lived in hope — very often, when there were no engagements, upon it. At such times he became a simple lodger, instead of a boarder, at Mrs. Bormalack's, and went without any meals. The situation of this boarding-house, poetically described by his lordship as in the midst of the gaiety of London, was in the far East, in that region of London which is less known to English- men than if it were situated in the wildest part of Colorado, or among the pine forests of British Columbia, It stood, in fact, upon Stepney Green, a small strip of Eden which has been visited by few, indeed, of those who do not live in its immediate vi- cinity. Yet, it is a romantic spot. Two millions of people, or thereabouts, live in the East End of Loudon. That seems a good-sized population for an utterly unknown town. They have no institutions of their own to speak of, no public buildings of any importance, no municipality, no gentry, no carriages, no soldiers, no picture-galleries, no theatres, no opera — tlioy have nothing. It is the fashion to believe that they are all paupers, which is a foolish and mischievous belief, as we shall presenth' see. Probably there is no such spectacle in the whole world as that of this immense, neglected, forgotten great city of East London. It is even neglected by its own c-irizens, who have never yet perceived their abandoned condition. They are Londoners, it is true, but they have no part or share of London ; its wealth, its splendours, its honours exist not for them. Thev see nothing of any splendours; even the Lord Mayor's show goeth westward : the city lies between them and the greatness of England. They are beyond the wards, and cannot become aldermen ; the rich London merchants go north and south and west ; but they go not east. Nobody goes east, no one wants to see the place ; no one is curious about the way of life in the east. Books on London pass it over ; it has little or no history ; great men are not buried in its churchyards, which are not even ancient, and crowded by citizens as obscure as those who now breathe the upper airs about them. If anything happens in the east, people at the other end have to stop and think before they can remember where tlie place may be. The house was old, built of red bricks with a 'shell ' decoration o-ver the door. It contained room for about eight boarders, who ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 19 had one sitting-room in common. This was the brealcfast-roora, a meal at which all were present; the dining-room — but nobody except his lordship and his wife dined at home ; the tea-room — but tea was too early for most of the boarders ; and the supper- room. After supper tobacco was tolerated. The boarders were generally men, and mostly elderly men of staid and quiet manners, with whom the evening pipe was the conclusion and solace of the day. It was not like the perpetual incense of a tap-room, and yet the smell of tobacco was never absent from the room, lingering about the folds of the dingy curtain, which served for both summer and winter, clinging to the horsehair sofa, to the leather of the chairs, and to the rusty table-cloth. The furniture was old and mean. The wall-paper had ouoe been crimson, but was now only dark ; the ceiling had for many years wanted whitewashing badly ; the door and windows wanted painting; the windows always wanted cleaning; the rope of one of the blinds was broken ; and the blind itself, not nearly so white as it might have been, was pinned half-Avay up. Everything was shabby ; everything wanted polishing, washing, brightening up. A couple of arm-chairs stood, when meals were not going on, one on either side of the fii'eplace — one being reserved for his lord- ship, and the other for his wife ; they were, like the sofa, of horse- hair, and slippery. There was a long table covered by a faded red cloth ; the carpet was a Brussels, once of a warm crimson, now worn threadbare ; the hearthrug was worn into holes ; one or two of the chairs had broken out and showed glimpses of stuffing. The side- board was of old-fashioned build, and a shiny black by reason of its age; there were two or three hanging shelves filled with books, tlie property of his lordship, who loved reading ; the mantel-shelf was decorated by a small collection of pipes ; and above it hung a portrait of the late Samuel Bormalack, formerly a Collector in the great Brewing House of Messenger, Marsden, and CompanJ^ His widow, who carried on the house, was a comfortable — a serenely comfortable woman, who regarded the world from the optimist's point of view. Perfect health and a tolerably prosperous business, where the returns are regular though the profits are small, make the possessor agree with Pope and Candide that everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds. Im- possible not to be contented, happy, and religious, when your wishes are narrowed to a tidy dinner, a comfortable supper with a little something hot, boarders who pay up regular, do not grumble, and go to bed sober ; and a steady hope that j^ou will not ' get something,' by which of course is meant that you may not fall ill of any disagreeable or painful disease. To 'get something' is one of the pretty euphemisms of our daily speech. She had had one or two unlucky accidents, such as the case of Captain Saff"rey, who stayed two months, and drank enough beer to float a three-decker, and then sailed away, promising to pay, and would have done so — for he was au honest man — but had the c2 20 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. misfortune to fall overboard while in liquor. But her present boarders seemed most respectable, and she was at ease. Of course, the persons of greatest consideration among them were the noble pair who enjoyed the title. Rank is respected, if you please, even at the East End of London, and perhaps more there than in fashionable quarters, because it is so rare. King John, it is true, had once a palace at Stepney ; but that is a long time to look back upon, and even the oldest inhabitant can now not remember to have been kicked by the choleric monarch. Then the Marquis of Worcester had once a great house here, what time the sainted Charles was ripening things for a row Royal. That house is gone too, and I do not know where it used to stand. From the time of this East End Marquis to the arrival of Lord and Lady Davenaut, last year, there have been no resident members of the English aristocracy, and no member of the foreign nobility, with the exception of a certain dusky Marquis of Choufleur, from Hayti, who is reported on good authority to have once lived in these parts for six months, thinking he was in the politest and most fashionable suburb of London. He is further said to have can-ied on with Satanic wildness in Limehouse and the West India Dock Road of an evening. A Japanese, too, certainly once went to an hotel in America Square, which is not quite the East End, and said he was a Prince in his own country. He stayed a week, and drank champagne all day loni^. Then he decamped without paying the bill ; and when the landlord went to the Embassy to complain, he thought it was the Ambassador himself, until he discovered that all Japanese are exactly alike. Wherefore he desisted from any farther attempt to identify the missing Prince for want of the missing link, namely, some distinctive feature. The illustrious pair had now been in the House for six weeks. Previously they had spent some time in Wellclose Square, which is no doubt well known to fashionable readers, and lies contiguous to St. George's Street. Here happened that accident of the back- slapping so feelingly alluded to by her ladyship. They were come from America to take up an old family title which had been in abeyance for two or three generations. Thej' appeared to be poor, but able to find the modest weekly sum asked by Mrs. Bormalack ; and in order to secure her conlidence and goodwill, they paid every week in advance. They drank nothing but water, but, to make up, his lordship ate a great deal, especially at breakfast, and they asked for strange things, unknown to English households. In other respects they gave no kind of trouble, were easily satisfied, never grumbled, and were affable. For their rank they certainly dressed shabbily, but high social station is sometimes found coupled with eccentricity. Doubtless Lord Davenant had his reasons for going about in a coat wliite at the seams and shiny at the back, which, being made of sympathetic stuff, and from long habit, had assumed the exact shape of his noble back and shoulders, with a beautiful model of his illustrious elbows. For similarly good and ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF 31 EN. 21 Bufficieut reasons Lady Davenant wore that old black gown and those mended gloves and ; but it is cruel to enumerate the shortcomings of her attire. Perhaps on account of his public character, the Professor would, rank in the House after his lordship. Nothing confers greatness more quickly than an unabashed appearance upon a platform. Mr. Maliphant, however, who had travelled and could relate tales of adventure, might dispute precedence with him. He was now a carver of figure-heads for ships. It is an old and honourable trade, but in these latter days it has decayed. He had a small yard at Limehouse, where he worlced all by himself, turning out heads in the rough, so that they might be transformed into the beauteous goddess Venus, or a Saucy Poll, or a bearded Neptune, as the owners might prefer. He was now an old man, with a crumpled and million- lined face, but active still aud talkative. His memory played him tricks, and he took little interest in new things. He had a habit, too, which disconcerted people unaccustomed to him, of thinking one part of a reminiscence to himself and saying the rest aloud, so that one got only the torso or mangled trunk of the story, or the head, or the feet, with or without the tail, which is the point. The learned Daniel Fagg, rapt always in contemplation, was among them but not of them. He was lately arrived from Aus- tralia, bringiag with him a Discovery which took away the breath, of those who heard it, and filled all the scholars and learned, men of Europe with envy and hatred, so that they combined and formed. a general conspiracy to keep him down, and to prevent the publi- cation of his great book, lest the world should point the finger of scorn at them, and. laugh at the blindness of its great ones. Daniel himself said so, and an oppressed man generally knows his oppressor. He went away every morning after breakfast, and re- turned for tea. He was believed to occupy the day in spreading a knowledge of his Discovery, the nature of which was unknown at the boarding-house, among clergymen and other scholars. In the evening he sat over a Hebrew Bible and a dictionary, and spoke to no one. A harmless man, but soured and disappointed with tbe cold reception of his Great Discovery. Another boarder was the unfortunate Josephus Coppin, who was a clerk in the great brewing-house of Messenger, Marsden, and Company. He had been there for forty years, being now lifty-five years of age, grey, and sad of face, because, for a certain well-known reason, he was not advanced, but remained for ever among the juniors at a salary of thirty shillings a week. Other men of his own standing were Chief Brewers, Collectors, and Chief Account- ants. He was almost where he had started. The young men came and mounted the ladder of promotion, passing him one after the other ; he alone remained upon the rung which he had reached one day, now thirty years bygone, when a certain thing happened, the consequences of which were to keep him down, to ruin his prospects, to humiliate and degrade him, to sadden and embitter 22 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. his whole life. Lastly, there was a young man, the only young man among them, one Harry Goslett by name, -who had quite re- cently joined the boarding-house. He was a nephew of Mr. Coppin, and was supposed to be looking for a place of business. But he was an uncertnin boarder. He paid for his dinner, but never dined at home ; he had brought with him a lathe, which he set up in a little garden-house, and here he worked by himself, but in a fitful, lazy way, as if it mattered nothing whether he worked or not. He seemed to prefer strolling about the place, looking around him as if he had never seen things before, and he was wont to speak of familiar objects as if they were strange and rare. These eccentricities were regarded as due to his having been to America. A handsome young man and cheerful, which made it a greater pity that he was so idle. On this morning the first to start for the day's business was Daniel Fagg. He put his Hebrew Bible on the bookshelf, took out a memorandum-book and the stump of a pencil, made an entry, and then counted out his money, which amounted to eight-and- sixpence, with a sigh. He was a little man, about sixty years of age, and his thin hair was sandy in colour. His face was thin, and he looked hungry and under-fed. I believe, in fact, that he seldom had money enough for dinner, and so went without. Notliing was remarkable in his face, except a pair of very large and thick eyebrows, also of sandy hue, which is unusual, and produces a very curious effect. With these he was wont to frown tremen- dously as he went along, frightening the little children into fits ; whenhewas not frowning, he looked dejected. It must have been an unhappy condition of things which made the poor man thus alternate between wrath and depression. There were, however, moments — those when he got hold of anew listener — in which he would light up with enthusiasm as he detailed the history of his Discovery. Then the thin, drawn cheek would fill out, and his quivering lips would become firm, and his dejected eyes would brighten with the old pride of discovery, and he would laugh once more, and rub his hands with prida, when he described the honest sympathy of the people in the Australian township, where he first announced the great Revelation he was to make to the world, and received their enthusiastic cheers and shouts of encouragement. Harry Goslett was his last listener, and, as the enthusiast thought, his latest convert. As Daniel passed out of the dining-room, and was looking for his hat among a collection of hats as bad as was ever seen out of Canadian backwoods, Harry Goslett himself came downstairs, his bands in his pockets, as slowly and lazily as if there was no such thing as work to do or time to keep. He laughed and nodded to the discoverer. *Oho! Dan'],' he said; 'how are the triangles ? and are you really going back to the Lion's Den P ' * Yes, Mr. Goslett, I am going back there 1 I am not afraid of ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 23 them ; I am going to see the Head of the Egyptian Department. He says he will give me a hearing ; they all said they would, and they have. But they won't listen ; it's no use to hear unless you listen. What a dreadful thing is jealousy among the learned, Mr. Goslett ! ' * It is indeed, my Prophet; have they suhscrihed to the book ? ' * No ! they won't subscribe. Is it likely that they will help to bring out a work which proves them all wrong ? Come, sir, even at your age you can't think so well of poor humanity.' ' Daniel — ' the young man laid his hands impressively upon the little man's shoulders — ' you showed me yesterday a list of forty-five subscribers to your book, at twelve shillings and sixpence apiece. Where is that siihscription-moncy ? ' The poor man blushed, and hung his head. * A man must live,' he said at length, trying to frown fiercely. ' Yes, but unpleasant notice is sometimes taken of the way in which people live, my dear friend. This is not a free country ; not by any means free. If I were you, I would take the tri- angles back to Australia, and print the book there, among your friends.' * No ! ' The little man stamped on the ground, and rammed his head into his hat with determination. 'No, Mr. Goslett, and no again. It shall be printed here. I will hml it at the head of the so-called scholars here, in London — in their stronghold, close to the British Museum. Besides ' — here he relaxed, and turned a pitiful face of sorrow and shame upon his adviser — ' besides, can I forget the day when 1 left Australia ? They all came aboard to say good-bye. The papers had paragraphs about it. They shouted one after the other, and nobblers went around surprising, and they slapped me on the back and said, " Go, Dan'l," or " Go, Fagg," or " Go, Mr. Fagg," according to their intimacy and the depth of their friendship — " Go where honour and glory and a great fortune, with a pension on the Queen's Civil List, are waiting for you." On the voyage I even dreamed of a title ; I thought Sir Daniel Fagg, Knight or Baronet, or the Right Reverend Lord Fagg, would sound well to go back to Australia with. Honour ? Glory ? For- tune ? where are they? Eight-and- sixpence in my pocket; and the Head of the Greek Department calls me a fool, because I won't acknowledge that truth — yes, TRUTH — is error. Laughs at the triangles, Mr. Goslett ! ' Pie laughed bitterly and went out, slamming the door behind him. Then Harry entered the breakfast-room, nodding pleasantly to everybody ; and without any apology for lateness, as if breakfast could be kept about all the moridug to suit his convenience, sat down and began to eat. Jonathan Coppin got up, sighed and went away to his brewery. The Professor looked at the last comer with a meditative air, as if he would like to make him disappear, and could do it too, but was uncertain how Harry would take it. Mrs. 24 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Bormalack hurried away oti domestic business. Mr. Maliphant lauglied and rubbed his hands together, and then laughed again as if he were thinking of something really comic, and said, ' Yes, t knew the Sergeant very well, a well set-up man he was, and Caro- line Coppin was a pretty girl.' At this point his face clouded and his eyes expressed doubt. ' There was,' he added, ' something I wanted to ask you, young man, something ' — here he tapped his forehead — ' something about your father or your mother, or both ; but I have forgotten — never mind. Another time — another time.' He ran away with boyish activity and a schoolboy's laugh, being arrived at that time of life when one becomes light of heart once more, knowing by experience that nothing matters very much. I'here were none left in the room but the couple who enjoyed the title. His lordship sat in his arm-chair, apparently enjoying it, in meditation and repose ; this, one perceives, is quite the best way of enjoying an hereditary title, if you come to it late in life. His wife had, meanwhile, got out a little shabby portfolio in black leather, and was turning over tlie papers with impatience ; now and then she looked up to see whether this late young man had iinished his breakfast. She fidgeted, arranged, and worried with her papers, so that anyone, whose skull was not six inches thick, might have seen that she wanted to be alone with her hus- band. It was also quite clear to those who thought about things, and watched this little lady, that there may be meaning in certain proverbial expressions touching grey mares. Presently Harry Goslett finished his cofiFee, and, paying no attention to her little ladyship's signals of distress, began to open up conversation on general subjects with the noble lord. She could bear it no longer. Here were the precious mo- ments wasted and thrown away, every one of which should be bringing them nearer to the recognition of their rights. 'Young man,' she cried, jumping up in her chair; 'if you've fot nothing to do but to loll and lop around, all forenoon, guess we hev, and this is the room in which we do our work,' * I beg your pardon, Lady Uavenant ' * Young man— Git ' She pointed to the door. CHAPTER n. A VEEY COMPLETE CASE. His lordship, left alone with his wife, manifested certain signs of uneasiness. She laid the portfolio on the table, turned over the papers, sorted some of them, picked out some for reference, fetched the ink, and placed the penholder in position. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIUNS OF MEN. 26 ' Now, my dear,' slio suid, * iio time to lose. Let us set to work iu earnest.' His lordship sighed. He was sittinf? with his fat hands upon his knees, contented with the repose of the moment. 'Clara Martha,' he grumbled, 'cannot I have one hour of rest ? ' ' Not one, till you get your rights.' She hovered over him like a little falcon, fierce and persistent. ' Not one.. What ? You a British peer? You, who ought to be sitting with a coronet on your head — you to shrink from the trouble of writing out your Case? And such a Case !' He only moaned. Certainly he was a very lethargic person. ' You are not the Carpenter, jovw fatlier. Nor even the Wheelwright, your grandfather, who came down of his own accord. You would rise, you would soar — you have the spirit of your ancestors.' He feebly flapped with his elbows, as if he really would like to take a turn in the air, but made no verbal response. 'Cousin Nathaniel,' she went on, 'gave us six months at six dollars a week. That's none too generous of Nathaniel, seeing we have no children, and he will be the heir to the title. I guess Aurelia Tucker set liim against the thing. Six months, and three of them gone already, and nothing done. What would Aurelia say if we went home again, beaten?' The little woman gasped, and would have shrugged, her shoulders, but they were such a long way down — shoulders so sloping could not be shrugged. Her remonstrances moved the heavy man, who drew his chair to the table with great deliberation. ' We are here,' she continued — always the exhorter and the strengthener of faith — 'not to claim a title but to assume it. We shall present our Case to Parliament, or the Queen, or the House of Lords, or the Court of Chancery, or whosoever is the right person, and we shall say, " I am Lord Davenant." That is all.' ' Clara Martha,' said her husband, ' I wish that were all we had to do. And, on the whole, I would as soon be back in Canaan City, New Hampshire, and the trouble over. The memo- randa are all here,' he said. ' Can't we get someone else to draw up the Case?' ' Certainly not. You must do it. Why, you used to think nothing of writing out a Fourth of July speech.' He shook his head. ' And you know that you have often said, yourself, that there wasn't a book written that could teach you anything up to Quadratic Equations. And self-raised, too !' ' It isn't that, Clara Martha. It isn't that. Listen ! ' he sank his voice to a whisper. It^s the doubt. That's the point. Every time I face that doubt it's like a bucket of cold water down my back.' 26 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. She shivered. Yes ; there was always the doubt. 'Come, my dear/ she said presently; 'we must get the Case drawn up, so that anyone may read it.. That is the first thing — never think of any doubt.' He tooli up one of the loose papers, which was covered with writing. 'Timothy Clitheroe Davenant,' he read with a weary sigh, * died at Canaan City, New Hampshire, in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety-four. By trade he was a "Wheelwright. His marriage is recorded in the church register of July 1, 1773. His headstone still stands in the old churchyard, and says that he was born in England in the year one thousand seven hundred and thirty-two — it does not say where he was born — and that he was sixty-two years of age at the day of his d&ath. Also, that long time he bore- ' ' Yes, yes, but you needn't put that in. Go on with your Case. The next point is your own father. Courage, my dear ; it is a very strong Case.' ' The Case is very strong.' His lordship plucked up courage, and took up another pnper. ' This is my father's record. All is clear : Born in Canaan City on October 10, 1774, the year of Indepen- dence, the eldest son of the aforesaid Timothy Clitheroe Davenant, AVheelwright, and Dinah his wife — here is a copy of the register. Married on May 13, 1810, which was late in life, because he didn't somehow get on so fast as some, to Susanna Pegley, of the same parish. Described as a Carpenter — but a poor workman, Clara Martha, and fond of chopping yarns, in which he was equalled by none. He died in the year 1830, his tombstone still standing, like his father's before him. It says that his end was peace. Wal — he always wanted it. Give him peace, with a chair in the verandah, and a penknife and a little bit of pine, and he asked for no more. Only that, and his wife wouldn't let him have it. His end was peace.' ' You all want peace,' said his wife. 'The Davenants always did think that they only had to sit still and the plums would drop in their mouths. As for you, I believe you'd be content to sit and sit in Canaan City till Queen Victoria found you out and sent you the coronet herself. But you've got a wife as well as your father.' ' I hev,' he said, with another sigh. ' Perhaps we were wrong to come over — I think I was happier in the schoolroom, when the boj's were gone hum. It was very quiet, there, for a sleep in the afternoon by the stove. And in summer the trees looked harn- 8ome iu the sunlight.' She shook her head impatiently. ' Come,' she cried. ' Where are the " Recollections " of your grandfather ? ' He found another paper, and read it slowly, t ' My grandfather died before I was born. My father, how- ALL SORTS AND COJSniTIONS OF MEN. 27 eyer, said that be used to throw out hints about bi3 illustrious family, and that if he chose to po back to England some people ■svould be very much surprised. But^he never explained himself. Also he would sometimes speak of a great English estate, and once he said that the freedom of a Wheelwright v/as better than the gilded chains of a British aristocrat — that was at a Fourth of July Meetiu'.' ' Men talk wild at meetin's,' said his wife. ' Still, there may have been a meaniu' behind it. Go on, Timothy — I mean, my lord.' 'As for my father, it pleased him, when he could put up his feet and crack with his Irieuds, to brag of his great connections in England. But he never knew rightly who they were, and he was too peaceful and restful a creature to take steps to find out.' * Waitin' for King George,' observed his wife. ' Just what you would be doin', but for me.' 'That's all the " Recollections." Here comes my own decla- ration : '"I, Timothy Clitheroe Davenant, make affidavit on oath, if necessary — but I am not quite clear as to the righteousness of swearing — that I am the son of the late Timothy Clitheroe Dave- nant, sometime carpenter of the City of Canaan, New Hampshire, U.S.A., and Susanna his wife, both now deceased ; that I was born in the year of grace one thousand eight hundred and fifteen, and that I have been for forty years a teacher in my native town." That is all clean and above-board, Clara Martha; no weak point so far, father to sou, marriage certificates regularly found, and baptism registers. No one can ask more. " Further, I, the above-named Timothy, do claim to be the lawful aiul legitimate heir to the ancient barony of Davenant, supposed to be extinct in the year 1783 by the death of the last lord, without male issue." Legally worded, I think,' he added with a little proud smile. ' Yes ; it reads right. Now for the connection.' ' Oh ! the connection.' His lordship's face clouded over. His consort, however, awaited the explanation, for the thousandth time, in confidence. "Where the masculine mind found doubt and uncertainty, the quick woman's intellect, ready to believe and tenacious of faith, had jumped to certainty. ' The connection is this.' He took up another paper, and read: ' ''The last Lord Davenant had one son only, a boy named Timothy Clitheroe. All the eldest sons of the House were named Timothy Clitheroe, just as all the Ashleys are named Anthony. When the boy arrived at years of maturity he was sent on the Grand Tour, which he made with a tutor. On returning to Eng- land, it is believed that he had some difference with his father, the nature of which has never been ascertained. He then em- barked upon a ship sailing for the American Colonies. Nothing 28 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN more was ever hearel about liiui,no news came to liis father or his friends, and he was supposed to be dead." ' ' Even the ship was never heard of,' added her ladyship, as if this was a fact which would greatly help in lengthening the life of the young man. 'That, too, was never heard of again. If she had not been thrown away, we might have learned what became of the Honour- able Timothy Clitheroe Davenant,' There was some confusion of ideas here, which the ex-schoolmaster was not slow to perceive. ' I mean,' he tried to explain, ' that if she got safe to Boston, the young man would have landed there, and all would be com- paratively clear. Whereas, if she was cast away, we must now suppose that he was saved and got ashore somehow,' 'Like Saint Paul,' she cried triumphantly, 'on a piece of wreck. What St. Paul did, he could do, I should hope.' ' Because,' her hus-baud continued, ' there is one fact which proves that he did get ashore, that he concluded to stay there, that he descended so far into the social scale as to become a wheel- wright ; and that he lived and died in the town of Canaan, New Hampshire.' 'Go on, my dear. Make it clear. Put it strong. This is the most interesting point of all.' ' And this young man, who was supposed to be cast away in the year one thousand seven hundred and fifty-four, aged twenty- two, was exactly the same age as my grandfather, Timothy Clitheroe Davenant, who hoi-e the same name, which is proved by the headstone and the church books.' 'Could there,' asked his wife, springing to her feet, 'could there have been two Englishmen ? ' ' Of the same illustrious and historic surname, both in America ? ' replied her husband, roused into a flabby enthusiasm. 'Of the same beautiful Christian name ? — two Timothys ?' ' Born both in the same year ? ' The little woman with the bright eyes and the sloping shoulders threw her arms about her husband's neck. ' You sliall have your rights, my dear,' she said ; ' I will live to gee you sitting in the House of Lords with the hereditary states- men of England. If there is justice in the land of England, you shall have your rights. There is justice, I am sure, and equal law for poor and rich, and encouragements for the virtuous. Yes, my dear, the virtuous. Whatever your faults may be, your virtues are many, and it can't but do the House of Lords good to see a little virtue among them. Not that I hold with Aurelia Tucker that the English House of Lords are wallowers in sin ; whereas, Irene Pascoe once met a Knight on a missionary platform and found he'd got religion. But virtue you can never have too much of. Courage, my lord ; forget the Carpenter, and think only of the Nobleman, your grandfather, who condescended to become a Wheelwright.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 29 He obediently took up the pen and began. When he aeemed fairly absorbed in the task of copying out and stating the Case, she left him. As soon as the door was closed, lie heaved a gentle sigh, pushed back his chair, put up his feet upon another chair, covered his head with his rcponont. * I do not uiind,' he said, ' anybody else finding out the weak point, because then I can tacide him. Wliat vexes nie, Mr. Croslett, is to find out that wealc point myself. Because then, there is nobody to argue it out with, and it is like cold water running down the back, and it keeps a man awake.' 'As for your admission ' said Harry, laughing. < Well, sir, what is it ? ' * Why, of course, you have to admit, unless you can prove it, that this Timothy Clitheroe Davenant, wheelwright, was the Honourable Timothy Clitheroe Davenant, only son of Lord Davenant,' His lordship was silent for a while. 'Do you think, sir, that the Queen will see this weak point ? ' * I am quite sure that her advisers will.' * And do you think — hush, Mr. Goslett, let us whisper. Do you think that the Queen will refuse to give us the title because of this weak point ? Hush ! she may be outside.' He meant his wife, not Her Majesty. 'A Committee of the House of I^ords most undoubtedly may refuse to consider your claim proved.' His lordship nodded his head in consideration of this possi- bility. Then he laughed gently, and rubbed his hands. 'It would be rough at first. That is so, for certain, sure. There would be sleepless nights. And Aurelia Tucker would laugh. Clara Martha would ' he shuddered. ' Wal, if we hev to go home without our title, I should be resigned. When a man is sixty years of age, sir, and, though born to greatness, not brought up accordin' to his birth, he can't always feel like settin' in a row with a crown upon his head ; and though I wouldn't own up before Clara Martha, I doubt whether the British Peers would consider my company quite an honour to the Upper House. Though a plain citizen of the United States, sir, is as good as any Lord that lives.' 'Better,' said Harry. ' He is much better.' ' He is, Mr. Goslett, he is. In the land where the Bird of Freedom ' ' Hush, my Lord. You forget that you are a British Peer. No spread-eagle for you.' Lord Davenant sighed. ' It is difficult,' he said, 'and I suppose there's no more loyal citizens than us of Canaan City.' 'Well, how are we to connect this Wheelwright Timothy with the Honourable Timothy who was supposed to be drowned ? ' ' There is his age, and there is his name. You've got those, IMr. Goslett. And then, as we agreed before, we will agree to that little admission.' ' But if everybody does not agree ? ' 88 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' There is also the fact tliat we were always supposed to be heirs to something in the old country,' 'I am afraid that is not enough. There is this great difficult)', Why should a young Englishman, the heir to a title and a great property, settle down in America and practise a handicraft ? ' * Wal, sir, I can't rightly say. My grandfather carried that secret with him. And if you'll oblige me, sir, you'll tell her ladyship that we are agreed upon that little admission which makes the connection complete. It will he time enough to unde- ceive her when the trouble begins. As for Aurelia Tucker, why ' here he smiled sweetly. ' If I know Clara Martha aright, she is quite able to tackle Aurelia by herself.' This was the way in which the conduct of the Great Davenaut Case fell into the hands of a mere working man. CHAPTER XI. THE FIRST DAT. Angela's genteel place of business, destined as it was to greatness, came into the world with little pomp and no pretence. On the day Appointed, the workgiils came at nine, and found a brass plate on the door and a wire blind in the windows, bearing the aEUouncement that this was the ' Dressmakers' Association.' This information pave them no curiosity, and produced no excite- ment in their minds. To them it seemed nothing but another artifice to attract the attention of a public very hard to move. They were quite used to these crafty announcements ; they were cynically incredulous of low prices ; they knew the real truth as to fabrics of freshness unlasting and stuffs which would never wear out: and as regards forced sales, fabulous prices, and in- credible bargains, they merely lifted the eyelid of the scoffer and went into tiie workroom. Whatever was written or printed on bills in the window, no difference was ever made to them. Nor did the rise and fall of markets alter their wages one penny. This lack of interest in the success of their work is certainly a drawback to this metier, as to many others. Would it not be well if workmen of all kinds were directly interested in the enterprise for which they hire out their labour ? If you have the curiosity to listen to the talk of workgirls in the evenings when they walk home, or as they journey homewards slowly in the crawling omnibus, you will be struck by a very remarkable phenomenon. It is not that they talk without stopping, because that is common to youthful woman in every rank. It is that in the evening they are always exasperated. They snap their lips, they breathe quick, they flash their eyes, they clench their fingers, and their talk is a narrative of indigna- ALL SORTS AND CONnlTWAS OF xUKN. 89 tion full of ' sczee ' ' sezi,' and * sezslie ' — mostly the last, because •what f peril, and is now, to one who loves his fellow man, full of interest. The great Boulevard of the East was thronged with the class of men who keep the Sabbath it hrdy laziness with tobacco. Some of them lounge, some talk, soaie listen, all have pipes in their mouths. Here was a circle gathered round a man who was waving his arms and shouting. He was an Apostle jf Temperance ; behind him stood a few of his private friends to aci as a claque. The listeners seemed amused but net convinced. 'They will pro- bably,' said Harry, 'enjoy their dinner beer quite as much as if they had not heard this sermon.' Another circle was gathered round a man in a cart, who had a flaming red flag to support him. He belonged, the flag told the world, to the Tower Hamlets Magna Charta Association. What he said was listened to with Ihe same languid curiosity and tepid amusement. Angela stopped 96 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. a moment to hear what lie had to say. Tie was detailing, with immense energy, the particulars of some awful act of injustice committed upon a friend unknown, who got six months. The Law of England is always trampling upon some innocent victim, ac- cording to this sympathiser with virtue. Tlie working men have heard it all hefore, and they continue to smoke their pipes, Iheir blood not quickened by a single beat. The ear of the people is accustomed to vehemence ; the case must be put strongly before it will listen at allj and listening, as most bawlers discover, is not conviction. Next to the Magna Charta brethren a cheap-jack had placed his cart. lie drove a roaring trade in two-penn'orths, which, out of compliment to a day which should be devoted to good works, consisted each of a bottle of sarsaparilla, which he called ' sassaple,' and a box of pills. Next to him the costers stood beside their carts loaded with cheap ices, ginger-beer, and lemonade — to show that there was no deception, a great glass jar stood upon each cart with actual undeniable slices of lemon floating in water and a lump of ice upon the top ; there were also piles of plums, plums without end, early August apples, and windfall peai's ; also sweet things it foot-long lumps sticky and gruesome to look upon ; Brazil nuts, always a favourite article of commerce in certain circles, though not often met with at the tables of the luxurious; late oranges, more plums, many more plums, plums in enormous quantities ; and periwinkles, which last all the year round, with whelks and vinegar, and the toothsome shrimp. Then there came another circle, and in the midst stood a young man, with long fair hair and large blue eyes. He was preaching the Gospel, as he understood it ; his face was the face of an enthusiast ; a little solitude, a little meditatinn among the mountains, would have made this man a seer of visions and a dreamer of dreams, lie was not ridiculous, thougli his grammar was defective and his pronunciation had the cockney twang, and his aspirates were wanting ; nothing is ridicu- lous that is in earnest. On the right of the street they passed the head-quarters of the Salvation Armj' ; the brave warriors were now in full blast, and the lighting, 'knee-drill,' singing, and storming of the enemy's fort were at their highest and most enjoy- able point ; Angela looked in and found an immense hall crammed with people who came to fight, or to look on, to scoff, or gaze. Higher up, on the left, stands a rival in red-hot religion, the Hall of the .lubiloe Singers, where another vast crowd was worshipping, exhorting, and singing. 'There seems,' said Angela, 'to be too much exhorting; can they not sit down somewhere in quiet for praise and prayer ? ' ' We working people,' replied her companion, ' like everything loud and strong. If we are persuaded to take a side, we want to be always fighting on that side.' Streams of people passed them, lounging or walking with a steady purpose. The former were the indifferent and the callous, ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 97 tue hardened and the stupid, men to whom preacliers and orators appealed in vain ; to whom I'eter the Hermit might have bawled himself hoarse, and Bernard would have thrown all his eloquence away ; they smoked short pipes, with their hands in their pockets, and looked good-tempered ; with them were boys, also smokinpf short pipes, with their hands in their pockets. Those who walked were young men dressed in long frock-coats of a shiny and lustrous black, who carried Bibles and Prayer Books with some ostentatious. They were on their way to church ; with them were their sisters, for the most part well-dressed, quiet giils^ to whom the noise and the crowds were a part of life, a thing not to be avoided, hardly felt as a trouble. ' I am always getting a new sensation,' said Angela. ' What is the last ? ' *I have just realised that there are thousands and thousands of people who never, all their lives, get to a place where they can be quiet. Always noise always crowds, always buying and selling.' * Here at least,' said Harry, ' there is no noise.' They were at the wicket gate of the Trinity Almshouse. * "What do you think, Miss Kennedy ? ' 'It is a haven of rest,' she replied, thinking of a certain picture. 'Let us, too, seek peace awhile.' It was just eleven o'clock, and the beadsmen were going to their chapel. They entered the square, and joined the old men in their weekly service. Angela discovered to her disappointment, that the splendid flight of steps leading to the magnificent portal was a dummy, because the real entrance to the chapel was a lowly doir beneath the stone steps, suited, Mr. Bunker would have said, to the humble condition of the moneyless. It is a plain chapel, with a small organ in the corner, a tiny altar, and over the altar the ten commandments in a black wood frame — rules of life for those whose life is well-nigh done — and a pulpit, which serves for reading the service as well as delivering the sermon. The congregation consisted of about thirty of the almsmen, with about half as many old ladies ; and Angela wondered why these old ladies were all dressed in black, and all wore crape. Perhaps they desired by the use of this material to symbolise mourning for the loss of opportunities for making money ; or for the days of beauty and courtship, or for children dead and gone, or to mark the humility wViich becomes an Inmate, or to do honour to the day which is still revered by many Englishwomen as a day of humiliation and rebuke, or in the belief that crape confers dignity. We know not, we know nothing ; the love which women bear for crape is a mystery; man can but speculate idly on their ways. We are like the philosopher picking up pebbles by the sea- side. Among the old people sat Nelly Sorensen, a flower of youth and loveliness, in her simple black dress, and her light hair breaking out beneath her bonnet. The Catholics believe that no church 13 complete without a bone of some dead saint or beatified H 98 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF 3IEN. person. Angela made up her mind, on fhe spot, that no act of public worsliip is complete without the assistance of youth as well as of age. The men were all dressed alilve in blue coats and brass buttons, the uniform of the place ; they seemed all, with the exception of one who was battered by time, and was fain to sit while the rest stood, to be of the same age, and that might be anything between a hearty sixty-five and a vigorous eightj'. After the manner of sailors, they were all exact in the performance of their share ia public worship, following the prayers in the book and the lessons in the Bible, When the time came for listening they straightened themselves out in an attitude comfortable for listening. The Scotch elder assumes, during the sermon, the air of a hostile critic ; the face of the British rustic becomes vacant ; the eyes of the ordinary listener in church show that his thoughts are far away ; but the expression of a sailor's face, while he is performing the duty — pari of the day's duty — of listening to the sermon, shows respectful attention, although he may have heard it all before. Angela did not listen much to the sermon: she was thinking of the old men for whom that sermon was prepared. There was a fresh colour upon their faces, as if it was not so very long since their cheeks had been fanned by the strong sea breeze ; their eyes were clear, they possessed the bearing which comes of the habit of command, and they carried themselves as if they were not ashamed of their poverty. Now Bunker, Angela reflected, would have been very much ashamed, and would have hung his head in shame. But then Bunker was one of the nimble-footed hunters after money, while these ignoble persons had contented them- selves with the simple and slavish record of duty done. The service over, they were joined by Captain Sorensen and his daughter, and for half an hour walked in the quiet court be- hind the church in peaceful converse. Angela walked with the old man, and Nelly with the young man. It matters little what they talked about, but it was something good, because when the Captain went home to his dinner, he kissed his daughter, and said that it seemed to him that it was the best day's work he ever did when he let her go to Miss Kennedy. In the evening, Angela made another journey of exploration with the same escort. They passed down Stepney Green, and plunged among the labyrinth of streets lying between the Mile End E-oad and the Thames. It is as unlovely a collection of houses as may be found anywhere, always excepting Iloxton, which may fairly be considered the Queen of Unloveliness. The houses in this part are small, and they are almost all of one pattern. There is no green thing to be seen ; no one plants trees, there seem to be no gardens ; no flowers are in the windows ; there is no brightness of paint or of clean windows ; there is nothing of joy, nothing to gladden the eye. ' Think/ said Harry, almost in a whisper, as if in homage to ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 99 the Powers of Dirt and Dreariness, ' think wliat this people could be made if we could only carry out your sclienie of the Palace of Delipht.' 'We could make thom discontented, at least,' said Angela. 'Discontent must come before reform.' ' We should leave them to reform themselves,' said Ilarrj. 'The mistake of philanthropists is to think that they can do for people what can oijy be done by the people. As you said this morning, there is too much exhorting.' Presently they struck out of a street rather more dreary than its neighbours, and found themselves in a broad road with a great chni-ch. ' This is Limehouse Church,' said Harry. ' All round you are sailors. There is East India Dock Ptoad. Here is West India Dock Pioad. There is the Foreign Sailors' Home : and we will go no further, if you please, because the streets are all full, yuu per- ceive, of the foreign sailors and the English sailors and tlie sailors' friends.' Angela had seen enough of the sailors. They turned back. Harry led her through another labyrinth into another broad street, also crowded with sailors. 'This is Shadwell,' said her guide; ''and if there is anything in Shadwell to interest you, I do not know what it is. ISurvey Shadwell ! ' Angela looked up the street and down the street ; there was nothing for the eye in search of the beautiful or the picturesque to rest upon. But a great bawling of rough voices came from a large tent stuck up, oddly, beside the road. A white canvas sheet with black letters proclaimed this as the place of worship of the 'Happy Gypsies.' They were holding their Sunday Function. ' More exhorting ! ' said Angela. 'Now, this,' he said, as they walked along, ' is a more interest- ing place. It used to be called Eatclitie Highway, and had the reputation of being the wickedest place in London. I dare say it was all brag, and that really it was not much worse than its neighbours.' It is a distinctly squalid street, that now called St. George's-in- the-East. But it has its points; it is picturesque, like a good many dirty places; the people are good-tempered, though they do not wash their faces even on Sundays. They have quite left off knocking down, picking pockets, kicking, and robbing the harmless stranger; they are advancing slowly towards civilisation. ' Come this way,' said Harry. He passed through a narrow passage, and led the way into a place at the sight of which Angela was fain to cry out in surprise. In it was nothing less than a fair and gracious garden planted with flowers, and these in the soft August sunshine showed sweet and lovely. The beds were well kept ; the walks were of asphalte; there were seats set about, and on them old women and old men u2 100 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. sat basliinj< in the evening sun. The young men and maidena walked along the paths — an Arcadian scene. ' This little strip of Eden,' said Harry, ' was cut out of the old churchyard.' The rest of the churchyard was divided from the garden by a railing, and round the wall were the tombstones of the departed obscure. From the church itself was heard the rolling of the organ and the soft singing of a hymn. * This,' said Angela, ' is better than exhortation. A garden for meditation and the church for prayer. I like this place better than the Whiteohapel Road.' ' I will show you a more quiet place still,' said her guide. They walked a little way farther down the main street, then he turned into a narrow street on the north, and Angela found her- self in a square of clean houses round an enclosure of gruss. Within the enclosure was a chapel, and tombs were dotted on the grass. They went into the chapel, a plain edifice of the Georgian kind with round windows, and the evening sun shone through the window in the west. The high pews were occupied by a congre- gation of forty or fifty, all men. They all had light brown hair, and as they turned round to look at the new-comers, Angela saw that they all had blue eyes. The preacher, who wore a black gown and bands, was similarly provided as to hair and eyes, ile preached in a foreign tongue, and as it is difficult to be edified by a sermon not in one's native speech, they shortly went out again. They were followed by the verger, who seemed not indisposed to break the monotony of the service by a few minutes' walk. He talked English imperfectly, but he told them that it was the Church of the Swedes. Angela asked if they were all sailors. He said, with some seeming contempt for sailors, that only a few of them were sailors. She then said that she supposed that they were people engaged in trade. He shook his head agwin, and informed her with a mysterious air that many of the Swedish nobility lived in that neighbourhood. After this they came away, for fear of greater surprises. They followed St. George's-in-the-East to the end of the street. Then they turned to the ri^^ht, and passed through a straight and quite ignoble road leading north. It is a street greatlv afTected by Germans, German names are over every shop and on every brass plate. They come hither, these honest Germans, because to get good work in London is better than goingf after it to New York or Philadelphia, and nearer home. In the second generation their uMuies will be Anglicised, and their children will have become rich London merchants, ana very likely Cabinet ministers. They have their churches, too, the Reformed and the Lutheran, with nothing to choose between them on tiia ecore of uglines-t. * Let us get home,' said Angela ; 'I have seen enough.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 101 * It is the joblessness of the life,' she cxphiiiiod, ' the ignorant, contented joblessness, which weighs upon one. And there is so much of it. Surely there is no other city in the world which is so utterly without joy as this East London,' ' No,' said Harry, ' there is not in the whole world a city so devoid of pleasant things. They do not know liow to be happy. Tiiey are like your worlc-glrls when you told them to dance.' ' Look I ' she cried, ' what is that ? ' There was a hoarse roar of many voices from a court leading' out of the main road; the roar became, louder; ILirry drew the girl aside as a mob of men and boys and women rushed headlong- out of the place. It was not a light apparently, yet there was beating with sticks and kicking. For those who were beaten did not strike back in return. After a little, the beaters and kickers desisted, and returned to their court as to a stronghold whose rights they had vindicated. Those who had been beaten were a band of about a dozen men and women. The women's shawls were hanging in tatters, and they had lost their bonnets. The men were without hats, and tJieir coats were grievously torn. There was a thing among them which had been a banner, but the pole was broken, and the flag was dragged in the dirt and smirched. One of them who seemed to be the leader — he wore a uniform coat something like a volunteer's coat — stepped to the front and called upon them all to form. Then with a loud voice he led oif a hymn, in which all joined as they marched down the street. He was hatloss, and his cheek was bleeding from an open wound. Yet he looked undaunted, and his hymn was a song of triumph. A well-set-up young fellow, with thick black hair and a black beard, but pale cheeks. His forehead was sq^uare and firm; his eyes were blaclc and lierce. * Good heavens ! ' cried Harry. ' It is my cousin Tom, Captain in the Salvation Army. And that, I suppose, is a regiment. Wei], if standing still to be kicked means a victory, they have scored one to-night.' The pavement was even more crowded than in the morning. The political agitators bawled more fiercely than in the forenoon to their circle of apathetic listeners; the preachers exhorted the unwilling more fervently to embrace the Faith. Cheap-jack was dispensing more volubly his two penn'orths of 'sassaple.' The workmen lounged along with their pipes in their mouths, more lazily than in the morning. The only diflerence was that the shop-boys were now added to the crowd, every lad with a ' two- penny smoke ' between his lips ; and that the throng was increased by those who were going home from church. * Let us, too, go home,' said Angela ; ' there is too much humanity here : we shall lose ourselves among the crowd.' 102 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. CHAPTER XIII. V. Angela's experiment. * No, Constfince/ Angela wrote, ' I cannot believe that your lectures will lie a failure, or that your life's work is destined to be anything short of a brilliant success — an "epoch-making" episode in the history of Woman's Rise. If your lectures have not yet attracted reading men, it must be because they are not yet known. It is unworthy of faith in your own high mission to suppose that personal appearance or beauty has anything to do with popularity in matters of mind. "Who asks — who can ask ? — whether a woman of genius is lovely or not ? And to take lower ground : every woman owns the singular attractiveness of your own face, which has always seemed to me, apart from personal friendship, the face of pure intellect. I do not give up my belief that the men will soon begin to run after your lectures as they did after those of Hypatia, and that you will become in the University as great a teacher of Mathematics as Sir Isaac Newton himself. Meantime, it must be, I own, irksome to lecture on Vulgar Fractions, and the First Book of Euclid, and unsatisfactory to find, after you have made a Research and arrived at what seemed a splendid result, that some man has been before you. Patience, Constance ! ' At this point the reader, who was of course Constance Wood- cote, paused and smiled bitterly. She was angry because she had advertised a course of lectures on some desperately high mathe- matical subject and no one came to hear them. Had she been, she reflected, a pink and white girl with no forehead and soft eyes, everybody would have rushed to hear her. As it was, Angela, no doubt, meant well, but she was always disposed to give men credit for qualities which they did not possess. As if you could over persuade a man to regard a woman from a purely intellectual point of view! After all, she thought, civilisation was only just begun : we live in a world of darkness: tlie reign of woman is as yet afar off. She continued her reading with impatience. Some- how her friend seemed to have drifted away : their lines were diverging : already' the old enthusiasms had given place to the new, and Angela thought less of the great cause which she had once promised to further with her mighty resources. ' As regards the Scholarship which I promised you, I must ask you to wait a little, because my hands are full — so full of im- portant things that even a new scholarship at Newnham seems a small thing. I cannot tell you in a letter what my projects are, and how I am trying to do something new with my great wealth. This, at least, I may tell you, partly because I am intoxicated T/ith my own schemes, and therefore, I must tell everybody I ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 103 epe.ak to ; aud partly because you are perfectly certain not to sympathise with me, and therefore you -will not trouble to argue the point with me. I have found out, to begin with, a great truth. It is that would-be philanthropists and benefactors and improvers of things have all along been working on a false assump- tion. They have taught and believed that the people look up to the " better class " — a phrase invented by the well-to-do in order to show how riches and virtue go together — for guidance and advice. My dear, it is the greatest mistake; they do not look up to us at all; they do not want to copy our ways; they are per- fectl}^ satisiied with their own ways ; they will naturally take as much money as we choose to give them, and as many presents ; and they consider the exhortations, teachings, preachings, admoni- tions, words of guidance, and advice as uncomfortable but un- avoidable accompaniments of this gift. Eut we ourselves are neither respected nor copied. Nor do they want our culture.' 'Angela,' said the mathematician, 'is really very prolix.' ' This being so, I am endeavouring to make such people as 1 can get at discontented as a first step. Without discontent, nothing can be done. I work upon them by showing, practically, and by way of example, better things. This I can do because I am hei"e as simply one of themselves — a workwoman among other workwomen. I do not work so much as the others in our newly- formed Association because I am supposed to run the machine, and to go to the West End for work. Miss Messenger is one of our customers. So much am I one of them, that I take my wages on Saturday, and am to have the same share, and no more, in the business as my dressmakers. I confess to you that in the founda- tion of my Dressmakers' Association I have violated most distinctly every precept of political and social economy, I have given them a house rent-free tor a year; I have fitted it up with all that they want ; I have started them with orders from myself ; I have resolved to keep them going until they are able to run alone; I give wages, in money and in food, higher than the market value. I know what you will say. It is all quite true, scientifically. But outside the range of science there is humanity. And only think what a great field my method opens for the employment of the unfortunate rich — the unhappy, iiseless, heavily-burdened rich. They will all follow my example, and help the people to help themselves. ' My girls were at first and for the most part uninteresting, until I came to know them individually ; everyone, when you know her, and can sympathise with her, becomes interesting. Some are, however, more interesting than others ; there are two or three, for instance, in whom I feel a special interest. One of them, whom I love for her gentleness and for her loyalty to me, is the daughter of an old ship captain now in an almshouse.. She is singularly beautiful, with an air of fragility which one hopes is not real; she is endowed by nature with a "keenly sensitive dis- position, and has had the advantage, rare in these parts, of a 104 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. father who learned to be a gentleman before he came to the almshouse. The other is a religious fanatic, a sectarian of the most positive kind. She knows what is truth more certainly than any Professor of Truth we ever encountered; she is my manager and is good at business. I think she has come to regard me with less contempt, from a business point of view, than she did at first, because in the conduct of the show-room and the trying- on room she has all her own way. ' My evenings are mostly spent witb the girls in the garden and " drawing-room." Yes, we have a drawing-room over the workroom. At first we had tea at five and struck work at seven; now we strike at half-past six and take tea with lawn-tennia. I assure you my dressmakers are as fond of lawn-tennis as the students of Newnham. When it is too dark to play, we go upstairs and have music and dancing.' Here followed a word which had been erased. The mathematical lecturer held the letter to the light and fancied the word was * Harry.' This could hardly be ; it must be Hetty, or Kitty, or Lotty, or some such feminine abbreviation. There could be no Harry. She looked again. Strange ! It certainly was Harry. She shook her head suspiciously, and went on with the letter. *' ' The girls' friends and sisters have begun to come, and we are learning all kinds of dances. Fortunately my dear old captain from the almshouse can play the fiddle, and likes nothing better than to play for us. We place him in the corner beside the piano, and be plays as long as we please, being the best of all old captains. \Ve are not well off for men, having at present to rely principally on a superior young cabinet-maker, who can also play the fiddle on occasions. He dances very well, and perhaps he will fall in love with the captain's daughter. * What I have attempted is, in short, nothing less than the introduction of a love of what we call culture. Other things will follow, but at present I am contented with an experiment on a very humble scale. If I were to go among the people in my name, most of them would try to borrow or steal from me : as I am only a poor dressmaker, only those who have business with me try to take me in. I do not go on a platform and lecture the people : nor do I open a school to teach them ; nor do I print and circulate tracts. I simply say, " My dears, I am going to dance and sing, and have a little music, and play lawn-tennis; come with me and we will dance together." And they come. And they behave well. I think it is a strange thing that young women of the lower class always prefer to behave well when they can, while young men of their own station take so much pleasure in noise and riot. AVe have no difiiculty in our drawing-room, wliere the girls behave perfectly and enjoy themselves in a sur- prising manner. I find, alreay, a great improvement in the girls. They have acquired new interests in life : they are happier: con- sequently, they chatter like birds in spring and sunshine ; and N ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 105 whereas, since I came into these regions, it has been a constant pain to listen to the querulous and angry talk of workgirls in omnibuses and in streets, I rejoice that we have changed all this, and while they are with nie my girls can talk without angry snapping of the lips, and without the " sezi " and " sezee " and "sezshee" of the omnibus. This is surely a great gain for them. * Next, I observe that they are developing a certain amount of pride in their own superiority : they are lifted above their neigh- bours, if only by the nightly drawing-room. I fear they will become unpopular from hauteur : but there is no gain without some loss. It' only one felt justified in doubling the number of the girls ! But the Stepney ladies have hitherto shown no enthusiasm in the cause of the Association. The feeling in these pails is, you see, commercial rather than co-operative. ' The dinner is to me the most satisfactory as well as the most unscientiiic part of the business. I belieye I have no right to give them a dinner at all: it is against the custom in dressmakers' shops, where girls bring their own dinners, poor things : it costs quite a shilling a head every day to find the dinner, and Rebekah, my forewoman, tells me that no profits can stand against such a drain : but I must go on with the dinner even if it swallows up all the profits. ' On Sundays the drawing-room is kept open all day long for those who like to come. Some do, because it is quiet. In the evening we have sacred music. One of the young men plays the violin ' — the reader turned back and referred to a previous passage — yes ; she had already mentioned a cabinet-maker in connection ■with a fiddle — no doubt it must be the same — ' and we have duets, but I fear the girls do not care much, yet, for classical music ' Here the reader crumpled up the letter in impatience. • ' And this,' she groaned, * is the result of two years at Newn- ham ! After her course of political economy, aft'^r all those lectures, after actually distinguishing herself and taking a place, this is the end ! To play the piano for a lot of work-girls : with a cabinet-maker: and an old sailor: and to be a dressmaker ! She actuall}' enjoys being a dressmaker! Tliat is, alas! the very worst feature in the case : she evidently likes it : she has no wish to return to civilisation : she has forgotten her science : she is setting a most mischievous example : and she has forgotten her distinct promise to give us a mathematical scholarship. 'Oh! Angela!' She had imagined that the heiress would endow Newnham with great gifts, and she was disappointed. She had imagined this so very strongly that she felt personally aggrieved and injured : what did she care about Stepney wo'rk-girls .? What have mathematics to do with poor people in an ugly and poor part of town .P Angela's letter did not convey the whole truth, because she 106 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. herself was ignorant of the discussions, gossip, rumours, and reports which were flying about in the neighbourhood of Stepney Green concerning her venture. There were some, for instance, who demonstrated that such an institution must fail for roasona which they learnedly expounded : among these wa? Mr. Bunker, There were some who were ready to prove, from the highest authorities, the wickedness of trying to do without a proprietor, master, or boss; there were some who saw in this revolutionary movement the beginning of those troubles which will afflict man- kind towards the coming of the end ; there were others, among whom was also Mr. Bunker, who asked by what right this young woman had come among them to interfere, where she had got her money, and what were her antecedents? To Bunker's certain knowledge, and no one had better sources of information, hundreds had been spent by Miss Kennedy in starting the Association ; while, whether it was true that Miss Messenger supported the place or not, there could never be enough work to get back all that money, pay all the wages, and the rent, and tlie dinners : and hot dinners every day ! There was even talk of getting up a memorial praying Miss Messenger not to interfere with the trade of the place, and pointing out that there were many most respect- able dressmakers' shops where the work could be quite as well done as by Miss Kennedy's girls, no doubt cheaper, and the profit would go to the rightful claimant of it, not to be divided among the workwomen. As for the privileges bestowed upon the girls, there was in certain circles but one opinion — they were ridiculous. Recreation time, free dinner of meat and vegetables, short hours, reading aloud, and a club-room or drawing-room for the evening : what more could their betters have ? For it is a fixed article of belief, one of the Twenty-Nine Articles in certain strata of society, that people 'below them' have no right to the enjoyment of anything. They do not moan to be cruel, but they have always associated poverty with dirt, discomfort, disagreeable companions, and the absence of pleasantness ; for a poor person to be happy is either to them an impossibility, or it is a flying in the face of Providence. But then, these people know nothing of the joys which can be had without money. Now, when the world discovers and realises how many these are and how great they are, the reign of the almighty dollar is at an end. Whatever the Stepney folk thought, and however diverse their judgment, they were all extremely curious : and after the place had been open for a few weeks and began to get known, all the ladies from Whitechapel Church to Bow Church began with one consent to call. They were received by a young person of grave face and grave manner, who showed them all they wanted to see, answered all their questions, and allowed thera to visit the work-rooms and the show-rooms, the dining-room and the drawing-room ; they also saw most beautiful dresses which were being made for Miss Messenger j those who ALL SO 111 S AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 107 went there in the morning might see with their own eyes dress- maker girls actually playing- lawn-tennis, if in the afternoon they might see an old gentleman reading aloud while the girls worked ; they might also observe that there were flowers in the rooms ; it was perfectly certain that there was a piano upstairs, because it had been seen by many, and the person in the show-room mado no secret at all that there was dancing in the evening, with songs, and reading of books, and other diversions. The contemplation of these things mostly sent the visitors away in sorrow. They did not dance or sing or play, tJiey never wanted to dance or sing-, lawn-tennis was not played by their daughters, they did not have bright-covered books to read ; what did it mean, giving these things to dressmaker girls ? Some of them not only resolved not to send their custom to the Associa- tion, but directed tracts to the house. They came, however, after a time, and had their dresses made there, for a reason which will appear in the sequel. But at the outset they held aloof. Far diiferent was the reception given to the institution by the people for whose benefit it was designed. When they had quite got over their natural suspicion of a strange thing, when the girls were found to bring home their pay regularly on a Saturday, when the dinner proved a real thing and the hours continued to be merciful, when the girls reported continuously kind treatment, when tlie evenings spent in the drawing-room were found to be delightful, and when other doubts and whisperings about Miss Kennedy's motives, intentions, and secret character gradually died away, the Association became popular, and all the needle-girls of the place would fain have joined Miss Kennedy. The thing which did the most to create the popularity was the permission for the girls to bring some of their friends and people on the Saturday evening. They 'received' on Saturday evening: they were at home : they entertained their guests on that night: and, though the entertainment cost nothing but the lights, it soon became an honour and a pleasure to receive an invitation. Most of those who came at first were other girls ; they were shy and stood about all arms : then they learned their steps : then they danced : then the weariness wore out of their eyes and the roses came back to their cheeks : they forgot the naggings of the work- room, and felt for the first time the joy of their youth. Some of them were inclined at first to be rough and bold, but the atmo- sphere calmed them ; they either came no more, or if they came they were quiet ; some of them affected a superior and contemp- tuous air, not uncommon with ' young persons ' when they are jealous or envious, but this is a mood easily cured ; some of them were frivolous, but these were also easily subdued. For always with them was Miss Kennedy herself, a Juno, their queen, whose manner was so kind, whose smile was so sweet, whose voice was 80 soft, whose greeting was so warm, and yet — yet . . . who 108 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. could not be resisted, even by the boldest or the most frivolous. The first step was not to be afraid of Miss Kennedy: at no sub- sequent stage of their acquaintance did any cease to respect her. As for Kebekah, she would not come on Saturday evening, as it was part of her Sabbath ; but Nelly proved of the greatest use in maintaining the decorum and in promoting the spirit of the evenings, which wanted, it is true, a leader. Sometimes the girls' mothers would come, especially those who had not too many babies ; they sat with folded hands and wondering eyes, while their daughters danced, while Miss Kennedy sang, or Mr. Goslett played his fiddle. Angela went among them, talking in her sympathetic way, and won their con- fidence, so that they presently responded and told her all their troubles and woe. Or sometimes the fathers would be brought, but very seldom came twice. Now and then a brother would appear, but it was many weeks before the brothers began to come regularly; when they did, it became apparent that there was something in the place more attractive than brotherly duty or the love of dancing. Of course, sweethearts were bound to come whether they liked it or not. There were, at first, many little hitches, di-sagreeable incidents, rebellious exhibitions of temper, bad behaviour, mistakes, social sins, and other things of which the chronicler must be mute, because the general result is all that we desire to record. And this was satisfactory. For the first time the girls learned that there were joys in life, joys even within their reach, with a little help, poor as they were ; joys which cost them nothing. Among them were girls of the very humblest, who had the greatest difficulty in presenting a decent appearance, who lived in crowded lodgings or in poor houses with their numerous brothers and sisters : pale-faced girls : heavy-hearted girls: joyless maidens, loveless maidens: girls who from long hours of work, and from want of open air and good food, stooped their shoulders and dragged their limbs — when Angela saw them first, she wished that she was a man to use strong language against their employers. How she violated all principles of social economy, giving clothes, secretly lending money, visiting mothers, paying rent, and all without any regard to supply and demand, marketable value, price current, worth of labour, wages rate, averages, percentages, interest, capital, commercial rules, theory of trade, encouragement of over-population, would be too dis- graceful to narrate ; indeed, she blushed when she tliought of the beautiful and heart-warming srience in which she had so greatly distinguished herself, and on which she trampled daily. Yet if, on the one side, there stood cold science, and, on the other, a suffering girl, it is ridiculous to acknowledge that the girl always won the day. Among 'the girls was one who interested Angela greatly, not because she was pretty, for she was not pretty at all, but plain to look upon, and lame, but because she bore a very hard lot with ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 109 patience and courage very beautiful to see. She Lad a sister who was crippled and had a wealc back, so that she could not sit up long, nor earn much. She had a mother who was growing old and weak of sight, so that she could not earn much: she had a young brother who lived like the sparrows, that is to say, he ran -wild in the streets and stole his daily bread, and was rapidly rising to the dignity and rank of an habitual criminal. lie seldom, however, came home, except to borrow or beg for money. She had a father, whose name was never mentioned, so that he was certainly an undesirable father, a bad bargain of a father, a father impossible, viewed in connection with the Fifth Command- ment. This was the girl who burst into tears when she saw the roast beef for the first time. Iler tears were caused by a number of reasons: first, because she was hungry and her condition was low ; secondly, because roasted beef to a hungry girl is a thing too beautiful ; thirdly, because while she was feasting, her sister and her mother were starving. The crippled sister presently came to the house and remained in it all day. What special arrangements were made with Rebekah, the Spirit of Commerce, as regards her pay I know not : but she came, did a little work, sat or lay down in the drawing-room most of the time ; and presently, under Miss Kennedy's instruction, began to practise on the piano. A workgirl, actually a workgirl, if you please, play- ing scales, with a one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four, just as if she was a lady living in the Mile End Road or the daughter of a clerk in the brewery ! Yes : the girls who had formerly worked in unhealthy rooms till half-past eight now worked in well-ventilated rooms till half- past six: they had time to rest and run about: they had good food : they had cheerful talk : they were encouraged : Captain Sorensen came to read to them : in the evening they had a delightful room to sit in, where they could read and talk, or dance, or listen. While they read the books which Miss Kennedy laid on the table for them, she would play and sing. First, she chose simple songs and simple pieces; and as their taste for music grew, so her music improved ; and every day found the drawing- room more attractive, and the girls more loth to go home. She watched her experiment with the keenest interest; the girls were certainly growing more refined in manner and in thought. Even Rebekah was softening daily ; she looked on at the dance without a shudder, even when the handsome young workman clasped Nelly Sorensen by the waist and whirled her round the room ; and she owned that there was music in the world, outside her little chapel, far sweeter than anything they had within it. As for Nell^y, she simply worshipped. Whatever Miss Kennedy did was right and beautiful and perfect in her eyes ; nor, in her ignorance of the world, did she ponder any more over that first difficulty of hers, why a lady, and such a lad hady, come in Stepney Green to be a dressmaker. 110 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN, CHAPTER XIV. THE TENDER PASSION. It is always a dangerous tbinf^ for two young- persons of opposite sexes to live together under the same roof, even when the lady is plain and at first sight unattractive, and when the young man is stupid. For they get to know one another. Now, so great is the beauty of human nature, even in its second-rate or third-rate pro- ductions, that love generally follows when one of the two, by confession or unconscious self-betrayal, stands revealed to the other. It is not the actual man cr woman, you see, who is loved — it is the ideal, the possible, the model or type from which the specimen is copied, and which it distinctly resembles. Lut think of the danger when the house in which these young people find themselves is not a large country house, where many are gathered together of like pursuits, but an obscure boarding-house in a Society-forgotten suburb, where these two had only each other to talk to. Add to this that they are both interested in an experi- moit of the greatest delicacy, in which the least false step would be fatal. Add, farther, the fact that each is astonished at the other : the one to find in a dressmaker the refinement and all the accomplishments of a lady ; the other to find in a cabinet-maker the distinguishing marks of a gentleman ; the same way of looking at things and talking about them ; the same bearing and the same courtesy. The danger was even made greater by what seemed a pre- ventive, namely, by the way in which at the beginning Angela so very firmly put down her foot on the subject of ' keeping company ' : there was to be no attempt at love-making ; on that understanding the two could, and did, go about together as much as they pleased. What followed naturally was that more and more they began to consider, each the other, as a problem of an interesting character. Angela observed that the young workman, whom she had at first considered of a frivolous disposition, seemed to be growing more serious in his views of things, and even when he laughed there was method in his folly. No men are so solemn, she reflected, as the dull of comprehension ; perhaps the extremely serious cha- racter of the place in which they lived was making him dull, too. It is difficult, certainly, for anyone to go on laughing at Stepney ; the children, who begin by laughing, like children everywhere, have to give up the practice before they are eight years of age, because the streets are so insufi'erably dull ; the grown-up people never laugh at all ; when immigrants arrive from livelier quarters, say Manchester or Sheffield, after a certain time of residence — the period varies with the mercurial temperament of tke patient — the^ ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Ill laugh no more. 'Surely,' thoiiglit Aiifreln, 'ho is eettlin.ij down; he Avill soon lind work ; he w'Ji become like other men of his class ; and tlien, no doubt, ho will fall in love with Nelly. Nothing could be more suitable. By saying to herself, over and over again, that this arrange- ment should take place, she had got to persuade herself that it certainly would. ' Nelly possessed,' she said, ' the refinement of manner and nature, without which the young man would be wretched ; she was afl'ectionate and sensible ; it would certainly do very well.' And she was hardly conscious, while she arranged this in her oavu head, of a certain uneasy feeling in her mind, which in smaller creatures might have been called jealousy. So far, there had been little to warrant the belief that things were advancing in the direction she desired. He was not much more attentive to Nelly than to any other of her girls : worse still, as she reflected with trepidation, there were many symptoms by which he showed a preference for quite another person. As for Harry, it was useless for him to conceal I'rom himself any longer the fact tliat he was by this time head-over-ears in love. The situation offered greater temptations than his strength could withstand. He succumbed — whatever the end might be he was in love. If one comes to think of it, this was rather a remarkable result of a descent into the Lower Regions. One expects to meet in the Home of Dull Ugliness things repellent, coarse, enjoying the free- dom of Nature, unrestrained, unconventional. Harry found, on the contrary, the sweetness of Eden, a fair garden of delights, in which sat a peerless lady, the Queen of Beauty, a very Venus. All his life, that is, since he had begun to think about love at all, he had stoutly held and strenuously' maintained that it was lese-majcste, high treason, to love, for a man to throw away — he used to say ' throw away ' — upon a maiden of low degree the passion which should be offered to a lady — a demoiselle. Tlie position was cer- tainly altered, inasmuch as he was no longer of gentle birth. Therefore, he argued, he would no longer pretend to the hand of a lady. At first he used to make Resolutions, as bravely as a Board of Directors : he would arise and flee to the desert— any place would be a desert without her : he would get out of temptation : he would go back to Piccadilly, and there forget her. Yet he remained : yet every day he sought her again ; every day his condition became more hopeless : every day he continued to walk with her, play duets with her, sing with her, dance with her, argue with her, learn from her, teach her, watch over her, and felt the suiishine of her presence, and at meeting and parting touched her fingers. She was so well educated, he said, strengthening his faith : she was so kindly and considerate : her manners were so perfect : she was so beautiful and graceful : she knew so well how to command, that he was constrained to own that no lady of his acquaintance 112 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. was, or could be, her superior. To call her a dressmaker was to ennoble and sanctify the whole craft. She should be to that art what Cecilia is to music — its patron saint: she should be to him- self — j-et, what would be the end ? He smiled grimly, thinking that there was no need to speculate on the end, when as yet there had been no beginning. He could not make a beginning. If he ventured on some shy .and modest tentative in the direction of — call it an understanding — she froze. She was always on the watch : she seemed to say, ' Thus far you may presume, but no farther.' What did it mean ? Was she really resolved never to receive his advances ? Did she dislike him ? That could hardly be. Was she watching him? Was she afraid to trust him ? That might be. Or was she already engaged to some other fellow — some superior fellow — perhaps with a shop — gracious heavens ! — of his own ? That might be, though it made him cold to think it pos- sible. Or did she have some past history, some unhappy compli- cation of the affections, which made her as cold as Dian ? That, too, might be. The ordinary young man, thrown into the society of half-a- dozen working girls, would have beguu to flirt and talk nonsense with all of them together, or with one after the other. Harry was not that kind of young man. There is always, by the blessing of kind heaven, left unto us a remnant of those who hold womi,n sacred, and continually praisa, worship, and reverence the name of love. He was one of those young men. To flirt with a milliner did not seem a delightful thing to him, at any time. And in this case there was another reason why he should not behave in the m.inner customary to the would-be Don Juan: it was simply /ht of Miss Kennedy's approbation could bring him comfort. He was an artisan, he worked by the piece, that was nothing. The galling thing was to realise that he must now behave to certain classes with a semblance of respect, because now he had his ' betters.' The day before, he was a gentleman who had no 'betters.' He was enriched by this addition to his possessions, and yet he was not grateful. CHAPTER XVni. THE PALACE OF DELIGHT. Theke lies on the west and south-west of Stepney Green a tri- angular district, consisting of an irregular four-sided fipure — what FAiclid beautifully calls a trapezium — formed by the Whitechapel Tiond, the Commercial Road, Stepney Green and High Street, or Jamaica Street, or Jubilee Street, whichever you please to call your frontier. This favoured spot exhibits in perfection all the leading features which characterise the great Joyless City. It is, in fact, the heart of the East End. Its streets are mean and without individuality or beauty ; at no season and under no con- ditions can they ever be picturesque ; one can tell, without inquiring, that the lives led in those houses are all after the same model, and that the inhabitants have no pleasures. Everything that goes to make a city, except the means of amusement, is to be found here. There are churches and chapels — do not the blackened ruins of Whitechapel Church stand here? There are superior ' seminaries' and 'academies,' names which linger here to show where the yearning after the genteel survives ; there is a Board School, thsre is the great London Hospital, there are almshouses, there are even squares in it — Sidney Square and Bedford Square, to wit — but there are no gardens, avenues, theatres, art galleries, libraries, or any kind of amusement whatever. The leading thoroughfare of this quarter is named Oxford Street, which runs nearly all the way from the New Road to Stepney Church. It begins well with some breadth, a church and a few trees on one side, and almshouses with a few trees on the other. This promise is not kept; it immediately narrows and becomes like the streets which branch out of it, a double row of little two-storied houses, all alike. Apparently they are all fur- nished alike ; in each ground-floor front there are the red curtains and the white blind of respectability, with the little table bearing Bomething, either a basket of artificial flowers, or a big Bible, or a vase, or a case of stuff"ed birds from foreign parts to mark the ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 133 gentility of the family. A little farther on, the houses begin to have small balconies on the first floor, and are even more genteel. The streets which run oil" north and south are like unto it but meaner. Now, the really sad thing about this district is that the residents are not the starving class, or the vicious class, or the drinking class ; they are a well-to-do and thriving people, yet they desire no happiness, they do not feel the lack of joy, they live in meanness and are contented therewith. So that it is emphatically a representative quarter, and a type of the East End generally, which is for the most part respectable and wholly dull, and per- fectly contented never to know what pleasant strolling and resting- places, what delightful interests, what varied occupation, what sweet diversions there are in life. As for the people, they follow a great variety of trades. There are ' travelling drapers ' in abundance ; it is, in fact, the chosen quartier of that romantic following ; there are a good many steve- dores, which betrays the neighbourhood of docks ; there are some who follow the mysterious calling of herbalist, and I believe you could here still buy the materials for those now forgotten deli- cacies, saloop and tansy pudding. You can, at least, purchase medicines for any disease under the sun if you know the right herbalist to go to. One of them is a medium as well ; and if you call on him, you may be entertained by the artless prattle of the ' sperruts,' of whom he knows one or two. They call themselves all sorts of names — such as Peter, Paul, Shakespeare, Napoleon, and Byron — but in reality there are only two of them, and they are bad actors. Then there are cork-cutters, * wine merchants' engineers ' — it seems rather a grand thing for a wine merchant, above all other men, to want an engineer; novelists do not want engineers — sealing-wax manufacturers, workers in shellac and zinc^ sign-painters, heraldic painters, coopers, makers of combs, iron- hoops, and sun-blinds, pewterers, feather-makers — they only pre- tend to make feathers ; what they really do is to buy them, or to pluck the birds, and then arrange the feathers and trim them ; but they do not really make them — ship-modellers, a small but haughty race ; mat-dealers, who never pass a prison without using bad language, for reasons which many who have enjoyed the comforts of a prison will doubtless understand. There are also a large quantity of people who call themselves teachers of music. This maybe taken as mere pride and ostentatious pretence, because no one wants to learn music in this country, no one ever plays any music, no one has a desire to hear any. If any one called and asked for terms of tuition, he would be courteously invited to go away, or the professor would be engaged, or he would be out ot town. In the same way, a late learned professor of Arabic in the University of Cambridge was reported always to have important business in the country if an Arab came to visit the colleges. But what a lift above the stevedores, pewterers, and feather pretenders to be a professor of music I 134 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Angela would plant her Ptilace in this region, the most fitting place, because the most dreary ; because here there exists nothing, absolutely nothing, for the imagination to feed upon. It is, in fact, though this is not generally known, the purgatory prepared for those who have given themselves up too much to the enjoy- ment of roses and rapture while living at the West End. How beautiful are all the designs of Nature ! Could there be, any- where in the world, a more fitting place for such a purgatory than such a city ? Besides, once one understands the thing, one ia further enabled to explain wh}^ these giim and sombre streets remain without improvement. To beautify them would seem, in the eyes of pious and religious people, almost a flying in the face of Providence. And j-et, not really so ; for it may be argued that there are other places equally fitted for the punishment of these purgatorial souls — for instacce, Hoxton, Bethnal Green, Battersea, and the Isle of Dogs. Angela resolved, therefore, that on this spot the Palace of Joy should stand. There should be, for all who chose to accept it, a general and standing invitation to accept happiness and create new forms of delight. She would awaken in dull and lethargic brains a new sense, the sense of pleasure ; she would give them a craving for things of which as yet they knew nothing. She would place within their reach, at no cost whatever, absolutely free for all, the same enjoyments as are purchased by the rich. A beautiful dream. They should cultivate a noble discontent ; they should gradually learn to be critical ; they should import into their own homes the spirit of discontent ; they should cease to look on life as a daily uprising and a down-sitting, a daily mechanical toil, a daily rest. To cultivate the sense of pleasure is to civilise. With the majority of mankind the sense is undeveloped, and is chiefly confined to eating and drinking. To teach the people how the capacity of delight may be widened, how it may be taught to throw out branches in all manner of unsuspected directions, was Angela's ambition. A very beautiful dream. She owned so many houses in this district that it was quite easy to find a place suitable for her purpose. She discovered upon the map of her property a whole four-square block of small houses, all her own, bounded north, south, east, and west by streets of other small houses, similar and similarly situated. This eite was about five minutes west of Stepney Green, and in the district already described. The houses were occupied by weekly tenants, who would find no difficulty in getting quarters as eligible elsewhere. Some of them were in bad repair ; and what with maintenance of roofs and chimneys, bad debts, midnight Sittings, and other causes, there was little or no income derived from these houses. Mr. Messenger, indeed, who was a hard man, but not unjust, only kept them to save them from tlie small owner, like Mr. Bunker, whose necessities and greed made him a rack- lent landlord. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 135 Having fixed upon her site, Angela next proceeded to have interviews — but not on the spot, where slie might be recognised — with lawyers and architects, and to unfold partially her design. The area on which the houses stood formed a pretty large plot of ground, ample for her purpose, provided that the most was made of the space and nothing wasted. But a great deal was required ; therefore she would have no lordly staircases covering half the ground, nor great ante-rooms, nor handsome lobbies. Everything, she carefully explained, was to be constructed for use and not for show. She wanted, to begin with, three large halls : one of them was to be a dancing-room, but it might also be a children's play- room for wet weather : one was to be used for a permanent exhi- bition of native talent, in painting, drawing, wood and ivory carving, sculpture, leather work and the like, everything being for sale at low prices ; the last was to be a library, reading and writing-room. There was also to be a theatre, which would serve as a concert and music-room, and was to have an organ in it. In addition to these there were to be a great number of class- rooms for the various arts, accomplishments, and graces that were to be taught by competent professors and lecturers. There were to be other rooms where tired people might find rest, quiet, and talk — the women with tea and work, the men with tobacco. And there were to be billiard-rooms, a tennis-court, a racquet-court, a fives-court, and a card-room. In fact, there was to be space found for almost every kind of recreation. She did not explain to her architect how she proposed to use this magnificent place of entertainment; it was enough that he should design it and carry out her ideas : and she stipulated that no curious inquirers on the spot should be told for what purpose the building was destined, nor who was the builder. One cannot get designs for a palace in a week : it was already late in the autumn, after Barry had taken up his appointment, and was busy among the legs of stools, that tl)e houses began to be pulled down and the remnants carted away. Angela pressed on the work : but it seemed a long and tedioua delay before the foundations were laid and the walls began slowly to rise. There should have been a great Function when the foun-iation- stone was laid, with a procession of the clergy in white surplices and college caps, perhaps a bishop, Miss Messenger herself, with her friends, a lord or two, the olBcers of the nearest Masonic Lodge, a few Foresters, Odd Fellows, Ancient Buffaloes, Druids and Shepherds, a flag, the charity children, a dozen policemen, and Venetian masts, with a prayer, a hymn, a speech, and a breakfast — nothing short or this should have satisfied the founder. Yet she let the opportunity slip, and nothing was done at all ; the great building, destined to change the character of the Gloomy City into a City of Sunshine, was begun with no pomp or outward demonstration. Gangs of workmen cleared away the ignoble bricks; the little tenements vanished; a broad space bristling 136 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. with little garden walls gaped wliere they had stood ; then the walls vanished ; and nothing at all was left but holes Vv'here cellars had been ; then they raised a hoarding round the whole, and began to dig out the foundation. After the hoarding was put up, nothing more, for a long time was visible. Angela used to prowl round it in the morning, when her girls were all at work, but fearful lest the architect niiglit come and recognise her. As she saw her Palace begin to grow into existence, ahe became anxious about its success. The first beatific vision, the rapture of imagination, was over, and would come no more ; she had now to face the hard fact of an unsympathetic people who perhaps would not desire any pleasure — or if any, then the pleasure of a ' spree ' with plenty of beer. How could the thing be worked if the people themselves would not work it ? How many could she reckon upon as her friends r Perhaps two or three at most. Oh ! the Herculean task, for one woman, with two or three disciples, to revolutionise the City of East London !' With this upon her mind, her conversations with the intel- ligent young cabinet-maker became more than usually grave and earnest. He was himself more serious than of old, because he now occupied so responsible a position in the Brewery. Their rela- tions remained unchanged. They walked together, they talked, and they devised things for the drawing-room, and especially for Saturday evenings. ' I think,' he said, one evening when they were alone, except for Nelly, in the drawing-room, •' I think that we should never think or talk of working men in the lump, any more than we think of rich men in a lump. All sorts and conditions of men are pretty much alike, and what moves one moves all. We are all tempted in the some way ; we can all be led in the same way.' ' Yes, but I do not see how that fact helps.' They were talking, as Angela loved to do, of the scheme of the P.nlace. 'If the Palace were built, we should offer the people of Stepney, without prejudice to Whitechapel, Mile End, Bow, or even Cable Street, a great many things which at present they cannot get and do not desire. Yet they have always proved extremely attractive. We offer the society of the young for the young, with dancing, singing, music, acting, entertainments — everything except, which is an enormous exception, feasting: we offer them all for nothing; we tell them, in fact, to do everything for themselves : to be the actors, singers, dancers, and musicians.' * And they cannot do anything.' ' A few can ; the rest will come in. Y''ou forget, Miss Kennedy, the honour and glory of acting, singing, and performing in public. Can there be a greater reward than the applause of one's friends ? ' 'It could never be so nice,' said Nelly, 'to dance in a great hall among a lot of people as to dance up here, all by ourselves,' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF 31 EN. 137 The Palace was not, in these days, very greatly in the young man's mind. lie was occupied with other things : his own work and position ; the wisdom of liis choice ; the prospects of the future. For surely, if he had exchanged the old life and got nothing in return but work at a lathe all day at tenpence an hour, the change was a bad one. Nothing more had been said to him by Miss Kennedy about the great things he was to do, with her, for her, among his people. Was he, then, supposed to find out for himself these great things ? And he made no more way with his wooing. That was stopped, apparently, altogether. Always kind to him ; always well pleased to see him ; always receiving him with the same sweet and gracious smile; always frank and open with him ; but nothing more. Of late he had observed that her mind was greatly occupied ; Blie was brooding over something; be feared that it mighl be something to do with the Associated Dressmakers' financial position. She did not communicate her anxieties to him,_ but always, when they were alone, wanted to go back to their vision of the Palace. Harry possessed a ready sympathy ; he fell easily and at once into the direction suggested by another's words. Therefore, when Angela tallied about the Palace, he too took up the thread of invention, and made believe with her as if it were a thing possible, a thing of brick and mortar. ' 1 see,' he w^ent on this evening, warming to the work, ' I see the opening day, long announced, of the Palace. The halls are furnished and lit up ; the dancing-room is ready ; the theatre is completed, and the electric lights are lit; the concert-rooms are ready with their music-stands and their seats. The doors are open. Then a wonderful thing happens.' ' What is that ? ' asked Angela. ' Nobody comes.' 'Oh!' ' The vast chambers echo with the footsteps of yourself. Miss Kennedy, and of Nelly, who makes no more noise than a demure kitten. Captain Sorensen and I make as much trampling as we can, to produce the effect of a crowd. But it hardly seems to succeed. Then come the girls, and we try to get up a dance ; but, as Nelly says, it is not quite the same as your drawing-room. Presently two men, with pipes in their mouths, come in and look about them. I explain that the stage is ready for them, if they like to act ; or the concert-room, if they will sing ; or the dan- cing-room, should they wish to shake a leg. They stare and they go away. Then we shut up the doors and go away and cry.' ' Oh, Mr. Goslett, have you no other comfort for me ? ' ' Plenty of comfort. While we are all crying, somebody has a happy thought. I think it is Nelly.' She blushed a pretty rosy red. ' I am sure I could never BUggest anything.' * Nelly suggests that we shall offer prizes, a quantity of prizes, 138 ALL SOIITS AXD COXDITIOXS OF MEN. for competition in eTei'ytliinill, which is generally allowed to be the wickedest street in New York City.' He paused a little, laughed cheerfully', rubbed his dry old hands together, smoked his pipe in silence, and then concluded his story, having filled up the middle in his own mind, without speech. ' And so he took to the coasting trade off the Andes.' Harry caught the eye of the Professor, and beckoned him to come outside. 'Now,' he said, taking his arm, 'what the devil is the matter with all of you ? ' The Professor smiled feebly under the gns lamp in the street, and instantly relapsed into his anxious expression. ' I suppose,' he said — ' that is, I guess, because they haven't told me — that it's the same with them as with me.' ' And that is ? ' The Professor slapped his empty pockets. ' Want of cash,' he said. ' I'm used to it in the autumn, just before the engagements begin. Bless you ! It's nothing to me. Though, when you've had no dinner for a week, you do begin to feel as if you could murder and roast a cat, if no one was looking. I've even begun to wish that the Eighth Commandment was sus- pended during the autumn.' 'Do you mean, man, that you are all hungry ? ' 'All except old Maliphant, and he doesn't count. Jo.-ephus had some dinner yesterday, but he says he can't atlord supper and dinner too at the rate his heels wear out. Yes, I don't suppose there's been a dinner a-piece among us for the last week.' ' Good Heavens ! ' Harry hurried oif to find the landlady. She was in the kitchen sitting before the fire, Uiough it was a warm eight. She looked up when her lodger entered, and Harrv observed that she, too, wore an air of dejection. 'Well, Mrs. Bormalack?' She groaned and wiped away a tear. 'My heart bleeds for them, Mr. GosJett,' she said. 'I can't bear to set eyes on them : I can't face them. Because to do what I should like to do for them, would be nothing short of ruin. And how to send them away I cannot tell.' He nodded his head encouraginglv. ' You are a young man, Mr. Goslett, and you don't consider— find you are thinking day and night of that sweet young thing, Miss Kenned3^ And she of you. Oh ! you needn't blush : a handsome young fellow like you is a prize for any woman, how- ever good-looking. Besides, I've got eyes.' ' Still, that does not help us much to the point, Mrs. Borma- lack, which is, what can we do for them ? ' J. 146 ALL SORTS jLYD CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' Oh, dear me ! the poor things don't board and lodge any more, Mr. Goslett. They've had no board to-day. Ifl did -what I should like to do — but I can't. There's the rent and rates and all. And how I can keep them in the house, unless they pay their rent, I can't tell. I've never been so miserable since Captain Saftrey went away, owing for three months.' ' Not enough to eat ? ' * Lady Davenant came to me this morning, and paid the rent for this week, but 7iot the board: said that her nephew Nathaniel hadn't sent the six dollars, and they could only have breakfast, and must find some cheap place for dinner somewhere else. In the middle of the day they went out. Her ladyship put quite a chirpy face upon it :' said they wore going into the city to get dinner, but his lordship groaned. Dinner! They came home at two, and his groans have been heartrending all the afternoon. I never heard such groaning.' ' Poor old man ! ' ' And there's the Professor, too. It's low water with him. No one wants conjuring till winter comes. But he's quite used to go without his dinner. You needn't mind him ! ' •' Eels,' said Harry, ' are used to being skinned. Yet they wriggle a bit.' He produced a few coins and proffered a certain request to the landlady. Then he returned to his fellow-lodgers. Presently there was heard in the direction of the kitchen a cheerfal hissing, followed by a perfectly divine fragrance. Daniel closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. The Professor smiled. His' lord ship rolled in his chair and groaned. Presently Mrs. Bormalack appeared, and the cloth was laid. His lordship showed signs of an increasing agitation. The fragrance increased. He leaned forward clutching the arm of his chair, looking to his wife as if for help and guidance at this most dillicult crisis. He was frightfully hungry : all his dinner had been a biscuit and a half, his wife having taken the other half. What is a biscuit and a half to one accustomed to the flesh-pots of Canaan City ? ' Clara Martha,' he groaned, trying to whisper, but failing ia Lis agitation, ' I must have some of that beefsteak or I shall ' Here he relapsed into silence again. It was not from a desire to watch the sufferings of the unlucky Peer, or in order to laugh at them, that Harry hesitated to invite him. Now, however, he hesitated no longer. ' I am giving a little supper to-night, Lady Davenant, to — to — celebrate my birthday. May I hope that you and his lordship "will join us?' Her ladyship most affably accepted. Well : they were fed ; they made up for the meagreness of the midday meal by such a supper as should be chronicled, so large, 60 generous was it. Such a supper, said the Professor, as should carry a man along for a week, were it not for the foolish habit of ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' 147 getting liungry twice at least in tlie four-and-twenty hours. After supper they all became cheerful, and presently went to bed as happy as if there were no to-morrow, and the next day's dinner was assured. When they were gone, Harry began to smoke his evening pipe. Then he became aware of the presence of the two who were left — his cousin Josephus and old Mr. Maliphant. The former was sitting in gloomy silence, and the latter was making as if he would say something, but thought better of it, and smiled instead. ' Josephus,' said Harry, ' what the devil makes you so gloomy ? You can't be hungry still ? ' ' No,' he replied. 'It isn't that : a junior clerk fifty-five years old has no right to get hungry.' ' What is it, then ? ' ' They talk of changes in the office, that is all. Some of the juniors will be promoted ; not me, of course j and some will have to go. After forty years in the Brewery, I shall have to go. That's all.' ' Seems rough, doesn't it ? Can't you borrow a handful of malt, and set up a little Brewery for youi'self .P ' ' It is only starvation. After all, it doesn't matter — nobody cares what happens to a junior clerk. There are plenty more. And the workhouse is said to be well managed. Perhaps they will let me keep their accounts.' ' When do you think — the — the reduction will be made r ' ' Next mouth, they say.' ' Come, cheer up, old man,' said his cousin. 'Why, if they do turn you out — which would be a burning shame — you can find something better.' ' No,' replied Josephus, sadly, ' I know my place. I am a junior clerk. They can be got to do my work at seven bob a week. Ah ! in thousands.' ' Well, but can't you do anything else ? ' ' Nothing else.' 'In all these years, man, have you learned nothing at all?' 'Nothing at all.' Is there, thought Harry, gazing upon his luckless cousin, a condition more miserable than that of the cheap clerk ? In early life he learns to spell, to read, to write, and perhaps to keep books, but this only if he is ambitious. Here his education ends : he has no desire to learn anything more : he falls into whatever place he can get, and then he begins a life in which there is no hope of pre- ferment and no endeavour after better things. There are, in every civilised country, thousands and thousands of these helpless and hopeless creatures : they mostly suffer in silence, being at the best ill-fed and ill-paid : but they sometimes utter a feeble moan, when one of them can be found with vitality enough, about their pay and prospects ; ijo one has yet told them the honest truth, that Li! 148 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. they are already paid as mucli as they deserve : that their miserable accomplishments cannot for a moment be compared with the skill of an artisan : that they are self-condemned because they make no effort. They have not even the energy to make a Union : they have not the sense of self-protection : they are content, if they are not hunpry, if they have tobacco to smoke and beer to drink. ' I[ow long is it since you — did — whatever it was you did, that kept you down ?' asked the younger man, at length. ' I did nothing. It was an accident. Unless,' added Josephus with a smile, — ' unless it was the Devih But devils don't care to meddle with junior clerks.' '■ What was the accident, then? ' 'It was one day in June; I remember the day, quite well. I was alone in my oilice, the same office as I am in still. The others, younger than myself, and I was then twenty-one, were gone off on business. The safe stood close to my desk. There was a bundle of papers in it sealed up, and marked "Mr. Messenger, Private," which had been there a goodish while, so that I suppose they were not important: some of the books were there as well, and Mr. Messenger himself had sent down, only an hour before . . . before ... it happened, a packet of notes to be paid into the bank. The money had been brought in by our country collectors — fourteen thousand pounds, in country bank-notes. Now remember, I was sitting at the desk and the safe was locked, and the keys were in the desk, and no one was in the office except me. And I will swear that the notes were in the safe. I told Mr. Messenger that I would take my oath to it, and I would still.' Josephus gn'w almost animated as he approached the important point in his histoi'v, 'Well?' * Things being so — remember, no one but me in the office, and the keys ' ' I remember. Get along.' ' I was sent for.' ' By Mr. Messenger ? ' 'Mr. Messenger didn't sent for junior clerks. He used to send for the Heads of Departments, who sent for the chief clerks who ordered the juniors. That was the way in those days. No, I was sent for to the chief clerk's office and jriven a packet of letters for copying. That took three minutes. When I came back the office was still empty, the safe was locked and the keys in my desk.' ' Well ? ' ' Well — but the safe was empty ! ' ' What ! all the money gone ? ' * All gone, every farthing — with Mr. Messenger's private papers.* ' What a strange thing ! ' 'No one saw anybody going into the office or coming out. Nothing else was taken,' ' Come — with 14,000/. in his hand, no reasonable thief would ask for more,' ALL SORTS AND CONBIIIONS OF MEN. 149 'And what is more extraordinary still, not one of those notes has ever since been presented for payment.' * Anel then, I suppose, there was a row,' Josophus assented. ' First, I was to be sacked at once ; then I was to be watched and searched ; next, I was to be kept on until the notes were presented and the thief cau^^ht. I have been kept on; the notes have not been presented ; and I've had the same pay, neither more nor less, all the time. That's all the story. Now there's to be an end of that. I'm to be sent away.' Mr. Maliphant had not been listening to the story at all, being pleasantly occupied with his own reminiscences. At this point one of them made him laugli and rub his hands. 'When Mr. Messenger's father married Susannah Coppin, I have heard ' Here he stopped. 'Hallo!' cried Harry. 'Go on, Venerable. Why, we are cousins or nephews, or something, of Miss Messenger. Josephus, my boy, cheer up!' Mr. Maliphant's memory now jumped over two generations, and lie went on. ' Caroline Coppin married a sergeant in the army, and a hand- some lad — I forget his name. But Mary Coppin married Bunker. The Coppins were a good old Whitechapel stock, as good as the Messengers. As for Bunker, he was an upstart, he was ; and came from Barking, as I always understood.' Then he was once more silent. CHAPTER XXI. lADY DAVENANT. It was a frequent custom with Lady Davenaut to sit with the girla in the work-room in the morning. She liked to have a place wliere she could talk ; she took an ex-professional interest in their occupa- tion ; she had the eye of an artist for their interpretation of the fashion. Moreover, it pleased her to be in the company of Miss Kennedy, who was essentially a woman's woman. Men who are so unhappy as to have married a man's woman will understand perfectly what I mean. On the morning after Harry's most providential birthday, therefore, when she appeared, no one was in the least disturbed. But to-day she did not greet the girls with her accustomed stately inclination of the head, which implied that, although now a Peeress, she had been brought up to their pro- fession and in a Republican School of Thought, and did not set herself up above her neighbours. Yet respect to rank sliould be conceded; and was expected. In general, too, she was talkative, leO ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. and enlivened the tedium of work with many an anecdote illus- trating Canaan City and its ways, or showing the lethargic manners of the Davenants, both her husband and his father, to say nothing of the grandfather, contented with the lowly occupation of a wheelwright, while he might have soared to the British House of Lords. This morning, however, she sat down and was silent, and her head drooped. Angela, who sat next her and watched, pre- sently observed that a tear formed in her eye and dropped upon her work, and that her lips moved as if she was holding a con- versation with herself. Thereupon she arose, put her hand upon the poor lady's arm, and drew her away without a word to the solitude of the dining-room, where her ladyship gave way and burst into an agony of sobbing. Angela stood before her saying nothing. It was best to let the fit have its way. When the crying was nearly over, she laid her hand upon her hair and gently smoothed it. 'Poor dear lady!' she said. 'Will you tell me what has happened ? ' ' Everything,' she gasped. ' Oh ! everything. The six months are gone, all but one. Nephew Nathaniel writes to say that as we haven't even made a start, all this time, he reckons we don't count to make any, and he's got children, and as for business, it's got down to the hard pan, and dollars are skurce, and we may come back again right away, and there's the money for the voyage home whenever we like, but no more.' ' Oh ! ' said Angela, beginning to understand. * And . . . and your husband ? ' ' There's where the real trouble begins. I wouldn't mind for myself, money or no money. I would write to the Queen for money. I would go to the workhouse. I would beg my bread in the street, but the Case I never would give up — never — never — never.' She clasped "her hands, dried her eyes, and sat bolt upright, the picture of unyielding determination. ' And your husband is not, perhaps, so resolute as yourself? ' 'He says, "Clara Martha, let us go hum. As for the title, I would sell it to nephew Nathaniel, who's the next heir, for a week of square meals ; he should have the coronet, if I'd got it, for a month's certainty of steaks and chops and huckleberry pie ; and as x'or my seat in the House of Lords, he should have it for our old cottage in Canaan City, which is sold, and the school which I've given up and lost." He says : "Pack the box, Clara Martha — there isn't much to paok — and we will go at once. If the American minister won't take up the Case for us, I guess that Case may slide till Nathaniel takes it up for himself." That is what he says. Miss Kennedy. Those were his words. Oh ! Oh I Oh ! Mr. Feeblemind ! Oh ! Mr. Facing-Both-Ways ! ' She wrung her hands in despair, for it seemed as if her hus- band would be proof against even the scorn and contempt of these epithets. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 151 'But wliat do you menu to do ? ' * I shall stay,' she replied. ' And so shall he, if my name is Lady Davcnant. Do yon tliink I am going back to Canaan City to be scorned by Aurelia Tucker ? Do you think I shall let that poor old man, who has his good side, Miss Kennedy — and as for virtue he is an angel, and knows not the taste of tobacco or whisky — face his nephew, and have to say what good he has done with all those dollars ? No, here we stay.' She snapped her lips, and made as if she would take root upon that very chair. * Shall he part with his birthright like Esau, because he is hungry ? Never I The curse of Esau would rest upon us.' 'He's at home now,' she went on, 'preparing for another day without dinner; groans won't help him now ; and this time there will be no supper — unless Mr. Goslett has another birthday.' ' Why ! Good gracious ! you will be starved.' ' Better starve than go home as we came. Besides, I shall write to the Queen when there's nothing left. When Nathaniel's money comes, which may be to-morrow, and may be next month, I shall give a mouth's rent to Mrs. Bormalack, and save the rest for one meal a day. Yes, as long as the money lasts, he shall eat meat — once a day — at noon, lie's been pampered, like all the Canaan City folk; set up with turkey roast and turkey boiled, and ducks and beef every day, and buckwheat cakes and such ! Oh ! a change of diet will bring down his luxury and increase his pride.' Angela thought that starvation was a new way of developing pride of birth, but she did not say so. * Is there no way,' she asked, ' in which he can earn money ? ' She shook her head. ' As a teacher he was generally allowed to be learned but sleepy. In our city, however, the boys and girls didn't expect too much, and it's a sleepy place. In winter, they sit round the stove and they go to sleep ; in summer, they sit in the shade and they go to sleep. It's the sleepiest place in the States. No, there's no kind o' way in which he can earn any money. And if there were, did you ever hear of a British Peer working for his daily bread ? ' ' But you, Lady Davenant ? Surely your ladyship would not mind — if the chance offered — if it were a thing kept secret — if not even your husband knew — would not object to earning something every week to find that square meal which j'our husband so natu- rally desires ? ' Her ladyship held out her hands, without a word. Angela, in shameful contempt of Political Economy, placed in them the work which she had in her own, and whispered : ' You had better,' she said, ' take a week in advance. Then you can arrange with Mrs. Bormalack for the usual meals on the old terms ; and if you would rather come here to work, you can have this room to yourself all the morning. Thank you, Lady Davenant. The obligation is entirely mine, you know. For, 152 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. really, more delicate work, naore beautiful work, I never saw. Do all American ladies work so beautifully ? ' Her ladyship, quite overcome with these honeyed words, took the work and made no reply, * Only one thin^, dear Lady Davenant,' Angela went on, smiling. * You must promise me not to work too hard. You know that such work as yours is worth at least twice as much as mine. And then you can push on the Case, you know.' The little lady rose, and threw her arms round Angela's neck. ' My dear! ' she cried, with more tears. ' You are everybody's friend. Oh ! yes, I know. And Jiow you do it and all — I can't think, nor Mrs. Bormalaclc neither. But the day may come — it shall come — when we can show our gratitude.' She retired, taking the work with her. Tier husband was asleep as usual, for he had had breakfast, and as yet the regular pangs of noon were not active. The Case was not spread out before him, as was usual, ever since Mr. Goslett had taken it in hand. It was ostentatiously rolled up, and laid on the table, as if packed ready for departure by the next mail. His wife regarded hiui with a mixture of afTection and contempt. * He would sell the Crown of England,' she murmured, ' for roast turkey and apple fixin's. The Davenants couldn't have been always like that. It must be his mother's blood. Yet she was a Church-member, and walked consistent.' She did not wake him up, but sought out ^Mrs. Bormalack, and presently there was a transfer of coins and the Resurrection of Smiles and Doitx Tarler, that Fairy of Sweet Speech, who cowera and hides beneath the cold wind of poverty.' ' Tell me, Mr. Goslett,' said Angela that evening, still thinking over the sad lot of the claimants; 'tell me: you have examined the claim of these people — what chance have they ? ' ' I should say, none whatever.' ' Then what makes them so confident of success ? ' 'Hush! listen. They are not really coniideut. His noble lordship perfectly understands the weakness of his claim, which depends upon a pure assumption, as you shall hear. As for the little lady, his wife, she has long since jumped to the conclusion that the assumption requires no proof. Therefore, save in moments of dejection, she is pretty confident. Then, they are hopelessly ignorant of how they should proceed, and of the necessary delays, even if their Case was unanswerable. They thought they had only to cross the ocean and send in a statement in order to get admitted to the rank and privilege of the peerage. And I believe they think that the Queen will, in some mysterious way, restore the property to them.' ' Poor things I ' * Yes, it's rather sad to think of such magnificent expectations. Besides, it really is a most beautiful case. The last Lord Davenant ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 153 had one son. 'I'hat only son grew up, liad some quarrel with his father, and sailed from the Port of Bristol bound for some American port — I forget which. Neither he nor his ship was ever heard of again. Therefore the title became extinct.' 'Well?' * Very good. Now the story begins. Ilis name was Timothy Clitheroe Davenant, the name -always given to the eldest son of the family. Now, our friend's name is Timothy Clitheroe Dave- naut, and so was his father's, and so was his grandfather's.' ' That is very strange.' ' It is very strange — what is stranger still is, that his grand- father was born, according to the date on his tomb, the same year as the lost heir, and at the same place — Davenant, where was the family seat.' * Can there have been two of the same name born in the same place and in the same year ? ' ' It seems improbable, almost impossible. Moreover, the last lord had no brother, nor had his father, the second lord. I found that out at the Herald's College. Consequently, even if there were another branch, and the birth of two Timothys in the same year was certain, they would not get the title. So that their one hope is to be able to prove what they call the Connection. That is to say, the identity of the lost heir with this wheel- wright.' ' That seems a very doubtful thing to do, after all these years.' *It is absolutely impossible, unless some documents are dis- covered which prove it. But nothing remains of the wheelwright.' ' No book ? No papers .? ' 'Nothing, except a small book of songs, supposed to be con- Tivial, with his name on the inside cover, written in a sprawling hand, and misspelt with two v's, — "Davvenant," and above the name, in the same hand, the day of the week in which it was written, "Satturday," with two tt's. No Christian name.' ' Does it not seem as if the absence of the Christian name would point to the assumption of the title ? ' * Yes : they do not know this, and I have not yet told them. It is, however, a very small point, and quite insufficient in itself to establish anything.' ' Yes,' Angela mused. She was thinking whether something could not be done to help these poor people and settle the case decisively for them one way or the otlier, ' What is to be the end of it ? ' Harry shrugged his shoulders. 'Who knows how long thej' can go on ? When there are no more dollars, they must go home again. I hear they have got another supply of money: Mrs. Bormalack has been paid for a fortnight in advance. After that is gone — perhaps they had better go too.' 'It seems a pity,' said Angela, slightly reddening at mentioE 15i ALL SOllTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. of the money, ' that soin-e researches could not be made, so as to throw a little light upon this strange coincidence of names.' 'We should want to Icnow first what to look for. After that, we should have to find a man to conduct the search. And then we should have to pay him.' 'As for the man, there is the Professor : as for the place, first there is the Herald's College, and- secondly, there are the parish registers of the village of Davenant ; and as for the money, why, it would not cost much, and I believe something might be ad- vanced ft>r them. If you and I, Mr. Goslett, between us, were to pay the Professor's expenses, would he go about for us ? ' She seemed to assume that he was quite ready to join her in giving his money for this object. Yet Harrj'- was now living, liaving refused his guardian's proffered allowance, on his pay by the piece, which gave him, as already stated, tenpence for every working hour. ' what would the Professor cost ?' she asked. 'The Professor is down upon his luck,' said Harry. 'He is so hard up at present that I believe we could get him for nothing but his expenses. Eighteen shillings a week would buy him outright until his eugngements begin again. If there were any travelling expenses, of course that would be an extra. But the village of Davenant is not a great way off. It is situated in Essex, and Essex is but a suburb of London, its original name having been East-End-seaxas, which is not generally known.' ' Very well,' she replied gravely. ' That would be only nine shillings a-piece, say eleven hours of extra work for you : and probably it would not last long, more than a week or two. Will you give two hours a day to his lordship ? ' Harry made a wry face, and laughed. This young person had begun by turning him into a journeyman cabinet-maker, and was now making him work extra time. What next ? ' Am I not your slave. Miss Kennedy ? ' ' Oh ! Mr. Goslett ! I thought there was to be no more nonsense of that kind. You know it can lead to nothing — even if you desired that it should.' ' Even ? Miss Kennedy, can't you see ' ' No — I can see nothing — I will hear nothing. Do not — oh, Mr. Goslett — we have been — we are — such excellent friends. You have been so great a help to me: I look to you for so much more. Do not spoil all: do not seek for what could never be: pray — pray do not.' She spoke with so much earnestness : her eyes were filled with such a frankness : she laid her hand upon his arm with so charm- ing a camaraderie, that he could not choose but obey. ' It is truly wonderful,' he said, thinking, for the thousandth time, how this pearl among women came to Stepney Green. ' What is wonderful? ' she blushed as she asked. ' You know what I mean. Let us both be frank. You com- ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 155 mand me not to say the tbiiii;' I most desire to say. Very good. I will be content to wait, but under one promise ' 'What is that?' *If the reason or rensons which command my silence should ever be removed — mind, I do not seek to know what they are — you will yourself ' ' What ? ' she asked, blushing sweetly. ' You will yourself — tell me so.' She recovered her composure and gave him her hand. ' If, at any time, I can listen to you, I will tell you so. Does that content you ? ' Certainly 'not : but there was no more to be got; therefore, Harry was fain to be contented, whether he would or not. And this was only one of a hundred little skirmishes in which he en- deavoured to capture an advanced fort or prepared to lay the siege in form. And always he was routed with heavy loss. * And now,' she went on, ' we will get back to our Professor.' ' Yes. I am to work two extra hours a day that he may go about in the luxury of eighteen shillings a week. This it is to be one of the horny-handed. What is the Professor to do first ? ' • Let us first,' she said, ' find him and secure his services.' It has been seen that the Professor was already come to the period of waist-tightening, which naturally follows a too con- tinued succession of banj^an days. He listened with avidity to any proposition which held forth a prospect of food. The work, he said, only partly understanding it, would be difficult, but therefore the more to be desired. Com- mon conjurers, he said, would spoil such a case. As for himself, he would undertake to do just whatever they wanted with the register, whether it was the substitution of a page or the tearing out of a page, under the very eyes of the parish clerk. ' There must be,' he said, ' a patter suitable to the occasion. I will manage that for you. I'm afraid I can't make up as I ought for the part, because it would cost too much, but we must do without tkat. And now. Miss Kennedy, what is it exactly that you want me to do ? ' He was disappointed on learning that there would be no 'palming' of leaves, old or new, among the registers : nothing, in fact, but a simple journey and a simple examination of the books. And though, as he confessed, he had as yet no experience in the art of falsifying parish registers, where science was concerned its interests were above those of mere morality. 166 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. CHAPTER XXII. DANIEL FAGG. What would have liappenod if certain things Lad not happened P Tbis is a question which is sekkini set in examination papers, on account of the great scope it offers to the imaginative faculty, and we all know how dangerous a thing it is to develop this side of the human mind. Many a severe historian has been spoiled by- developing his imagination. But for this, Scott might have been another Alison, and Thackeray a Mill. In this Stepney business the appearance of Angela certainly worked changes at once re- markable and impossible to be dissociated from her name. Thus, but for her, the unfortunate claimants must have been driven back to their own country like baflled invaders 'rolling sullenly over the frontier.' Nelly would have spent her whole life in the sad- ness of short rations and long hours, with hopeless prayers for days of fatness. Rebekah and the improvers and the dressmakers and the apprentices would have endured the like hardness. Harry would have left the Joyless City to its joylessness, and returned to the regions wliose skies are all sunshine — to the young and fortunate — and its pavements all of gold. And there would have been no Palace of Delight. And what would have become of Daniel Fagg, one hardly likes to think. The unlucky Daniel had, indeed, fallen upon very evil days. There seemed to be no longer a single man left whom he could ask for a subscription to his book. He had used them all up. He had sent begging letters to every Fellow of every Scientific Society: he had levied contribu- tions upon every Secri>:ary : he had attacked in person every official at the Museums of Great Russell Street and South Ken- sington : he had tried all the publishers: he had written to every bishop, nobleman, clergyman, and philanthropist of whom he could hear, pressing upon them tlie claims of his great Discovery. Now he could do no more. The subscriptions he had received for publishing his book were spent in necessary food and lodging: nobody at the Museum would even see him : he got no more answers to his letters: starvation stared him in the face. For three days he had lived upon ninepence. Threepence a day for food. Think of that, ye who are fed regularly, and fed well. Threepence to satisfy all the cravings of an excellent appetite ! There was now no more money left. And in two daj's more the week's rent would be due. On the morning when he came forth, hungry and miserable, •without even a penny for a loaf, it happened that Angela was standing.at her upper window on the other side of the Green, and, fortunately^ for the unlucky scholar, she saw him. His strange ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 157 behaviour made her watch him. First, he looked up and down the street in uncertainty : then, as if he had business which could not be delayed a moment, he turned to the right and marched straight away towards the Mile End Road. This was because he thought he would go to the Head of the Egyptian Department at the British Museum and borrow five shillings. Then he stopped suddenly : this was because he remembered that he would have to send in his tame, and that the Chief would certainly refuse to see him. Then he turned slowly and walked, dragging his limbs and hanging his head, in the opposite direction — because he was re- solved to make for the London Docks, and drop accidentally into the sluggish green water, the first drop of which kills almost as certainly as a glass of Bourbon whisky. Then he thought that there would be some luxury in sitting down for a few moments to think comfortably over his approaching demise, and of the noise it would make in the learned world, and how remorseful and ashamed the scholars — especiall}"- he of the Egyptian Department — would feel for the short balance of their sin-laden days, and he took a seat on a bench in the Green q-arden with this view. As he thought he leaned forward, staring into vacancy, and in his face there grew so dark an expression of despair and terror, that Angela shuddered and ran for her hat, recollecting that she had heard of his poverty and his disappointments. ' I am afraid you are not well, Mr. Fagg.' He started and looked up. In imagination he was already lying dead at the bottom of the green water, and before his troubled mind there were floating confused images of his former life, now past and dead and gone. Pie saw himself in his Australian cottage arriving at bis grand Discovery : he was lecturing about it on a platform ; he was standing on the deck of a ship, drinking farewell nobblers with an enthusiastic crowd; and he was wandering hungry, neglected, despised, about the stony streets of London. ' Well ? No ; I am not well/ he replied presently, understanding things a little. ' Is it distress of mind or of body, Mr. Fagg ? ' 'Yesterday it was both; to-night it will be both ; just now it is only one.' ' Which one ? ' 'Mind,' he replied fiercely, refusing to acknowledge that he was starving. He threw his hat back, dashed his subscription book to the ground, and banged the unoffending bench with his fist. ' As for Mind,' he went on, ' it's a pity I was born with any. I wish I'd had no more Mind than my neighbours. It's Mind, and nothing else, that has brought me to this.' ' What is this, Mr. Fagg ? ' 'Nothing to you. Go your ways; you aro young; you have yet your hopes, which may come to nothing, same as mine ; even though they are not, like mine, hopes of Glory and Learning. There's Mr. Goslett in love with you; what is Mind to you? 158 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Nothing. And you in love with him. Very likely he'll go off with anothei' woman, and then you'll find out what it is to be dis- appointed. What is Mind to anybody ? Nothing. Do they care for it in the Museum ? No. Does the head of the Egyptian Department care for it ? Not he ; not a bit. It's a cruel and a selfisli country.' ' Oh, Mr. iFagg ! ' She disregarded his allusion to herself, though it was sufficiently downright. ' Yes ; but I will be revenged. I will do something — yes — something that shall tell all Australia how I have been wronged ; the colony of Victoria shall ring with my story. It shall sap their loyalty ; they shall grow discontented ; they will import mora Irishmen ; there shall be separation. Yea ; my friends shall demand separation in revenge for my treatment.' ' It is Christian to forgive, Mr. Fagg.' ' I will forgive, when I have had my revenge. No one shall say I am vindictive. Ah ! ' — he heaved a profound sigh. * They gave me a dinner before I came away ; they drank my health ; they all told me of the reception I sliould get, and the glory that awaited me. Look at me now. Not one penny in my pocket. Not one man who believes in the Discovery. Wherefore I may truly say that it is better to be born without a brain.' * This is your subscription book, I believe.' She took it and turned over its pages. ' Come, Mr. Fagg, you have come to the fifty-first copy of the book. Fifty-one copies ordered beforehand does not look like dis- belief. May I add my name? That will make fifty-two. Twelve shillings and sixpence, I see. Oh, I shall look forward with the greatest interest to the appearance of the book, I assure you. Yet, you must not expect of a dressmaker much knowledge of Hebrew, Mr. Fagg. You great scholars must be contented with the simple admiration of ignorant work-girls.' He was too far gone in miserj' to be eaaly soothed, but he began to wish he had not said that cruel thing about possible desertion by her lover. ' Admiration ! ' he echoed with a hollow groan. ' And yester- day nothing to eat farther than threepence ; and the day before the same ; and the day before that. In Australia, when I was in the shoemaking line, there was always plenty to eat. Starvation, I suppose, goes to the brain. And is the cause of suicide, too. I know a beautiful place in the London Docks, where the water's green with minerals. I shall go there.' He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets, while his bushy eyebrows frowned so horribly that two children who were playing in the walk screamed with terror and fled without stopping. ' That water poisons a man directly he drops into it. It's surer and quicker than drowning, and doesn't hurt so much.' ' Come, Mr. Fagg,' said Angela, ' we allow something for the superior activity of great minds ; but we must not talk of despair when there should be nothine- beyond a little despondency.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 159 He shook his head, 'Too much reading has probably disordered your digestion, Mr. Fagg. You want rest and society, with sympathy — a woman's sympathy. Scholars, perhaps, are sometimes jealous.' ' Reading has emptied my purse,' he said. ' Sympathy won't fill it.' ' 1 do not know. Sympathy is a wonderful medicine some- times. It works miracles. I think, Mr. Fagg, you had better let me pay my subscription in advance. You can give me the change when you please.' She placed a sovereign in his hand. His fingers clutched it greedily; then his conscience smote him; her kind words, her flattery, touched his heart. ' I cannot take it,' he said. 'Mr. Goslett warned me not to take your money. Besides ' — he gasped and pointed to the sub- scription list. 'Firty-one names! They've all paid their money for printing the book. I've eaten up all the money, and I :-haU eat up yours as well. Take the sovereign back. I can starve. When 1 am dead, I would rather be remembered for my Discovery than for a shameful devourer of subscription money.' She took hiui by the arm and led him, unresisting, to the Establishment. 'We must look after you, Mr. Fagg,' she said. 'Now, I have got a beautiful room, where no one sits all day long except sometimes a crippled girl and sometimes myself. In the evening the girls have it. You may bring your books there if you like, and sit there to work, when you please. And by the way,' she added this as if it were a matter of the very least consequence, hardly worth mentioning, 'if you would like to join us any day at dinner — we take our simple meal at one — the girls, no doubt, will all think it a great honour to have so distinguished a scholar at table with them.' Mr, Fagg blushed with pleasure. Why, if the British Museum people treated him with contumely, if nobody would subscribe to his book, if he was weary of asking and being refused, here was a haven of refuge where he would receive some of the honour due to a scholar. ' And now that you are here, Mr. Fagg,' said Angela, wlien he had broken bread and given thanks, ' you shall tell me all about your Discovery. Because, you see, we are so ignorant, we girls of the working classes, that I do not exactly know what is your Discovery.' He sat down and asked for a piece of paper. With this assistance he began his exposition. ' I was drawn to my investigation,' he said solemnly, ' by a little old book about the wisdom of the ancients. That is now five years ago, and I was then fifty-five years of age. No time to be lost, says I to myself, if anything is to be done. The more I read and the more I thought— I was in the shoemaking trade, and J'm not ashamed to own it, for it's a fine business for such as are JfiO ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. born witli a head for thinking — the more I thought, I say, the more I was puzzled. For there seemed to me no way possible of reconciling what the scholars said.' ' You have not told me the subject of your research, yet.' 'Antiquity,' he replied grandly. 'All antiquity was the subject of my research. First, I read about the Egyptians, and the biei'oglyphics. Then I got hold of a new book all about the Assyrians and the cuneiform character.' ' I see,' said Angela. ' You were attracted by the ancient inscriptions ? ' 'Naturally; without inscriptions, where are you? The scholars said this, and the scholars said that. They talked of reading the Egyptian language, and the Assyrian, and the Median, and what not. That wouldn't do for me.' Tlie audacity of tlie little man excited Angela's curiosity, which had been languid. ' Pray go on,' she said. ' The scholars have the same books to go to as me. Yet they don't go. They've eyes as good, but they won't use them. Now follow me, Miss, and you'll be surprised. When Abraham went down into Egypt, did he understand their language or didn't he? ' ' Why, 1 suppose — at lea^-t, it is not said that he did not.' * Of course he did. When .Joseph went there, rlid he understand them ? Of course he did. Wiien Jacob and his sons came into the country, did they talk a strange speech ? Not they. When Solomon married an Egyptian princess, did he understand her talk ? Why, of course he did. Now, do you guess what's coming next? ' 'No, not at all.' ' None of the scholars could. Listen, then. If they all understood each other, they must have all talked the same langnnpc, mustn't they? ' ' Why, it would seem so.' 'It's a sound argument, which can't be denied. Nobody can deny it — I defy them. If they understood each other, there must liave been a common language. Where did this common lan- guage spread ? Over all the countries thereabout. What was the common language ? Plebrew.' ' Oh ! ' said Angela. ' Then, they all talked Hebrew ! ' ' Every man Jack. Nothing else known. What next? They wanted to write it. Now, we find what seems to be one character in Egypt, and another in Syria, and another in Arabia, and another in Phoenicia, and another in Judtea. Bless you, I know all about their alphabets. What I say is — if a common language, then a common alj>).a))bt to write it with.' ' I see, a common alphabet. Which you discovered perhaps.' ' That, young lady, is my Discovery. That is the greatest Discovery of the age. I found it myself, once a small shoemaker ill a little Victorian township ; I alone found out that common The audacity of the little man excited Angela's curiosity. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 161 alphabet, and have come over here to make it known. Not bad, sajs you, for a shoemaker who had to teach himself his own Hebrew.' ' And the scholars here ' * They're jealous, that's what it is ; they're jealous. Most of them have written books to prove other things, and they won't give in and own that they've been wrong. My word! The scholars ' He paused and shook his hands before her face. ' Some of them have got the Hebrew alphabet, and try to make out how one letter is a house and another a bull's head. And so on. And some have got the cuneiforms, and they make out that one bundle of arrows is an A and another a B. And so on. And soo)e have got the hieroglyphic, and it's the same game with all. While I — if you please — with my little plain simple Discovery just show that all the different alphabets — different to outward seeming — are really one and the same.' * This is very interesting,' said Angela. The little man waa glowing with enthusiasm and pride ; he was transformed : he walked up and down throwing about his arms ; he stood before her, looking almost tall ; his eyes flashed with fire, and his voice was strong. ' And can you read inscriptions by your simple alphabet ? ' * Tliere is not,' he replied, ' a single inscription in the British Museum that I can't read. I just sit down before it, with my Hebrew dictionary in my hand — I didn't tell you I learned Hebrew on purpose, did I ? — and I read that inscription, however lung it is. Ah ! ' * This seems extraordinary. Can you show me your alphabet P* He sat down, and began to make figures. * What is the simplest figure ? A circle ? a square ? a nought ? No. A triangle. Very good, then. Do you think they were such fools as to copy a great ugly bull's head when they'd got a triangle ready to their hands and easy to draw? Not they; they just made a triangle — so — ' he drew an equilateral triangle on its base — ' and called it the first letter ; and two triangles, one a-top of the other — so — and called that the second letter. Then they stuck their triangle in another position, and it was the third letter; and in another, and it is the fourth ' Angela felt as if her head was swimming as he manipulated his triangles, and rapidly produced his primitive alphabet, which really did ])resent some resemblance to the modern symbols. ' There — and there — and there— and what is that ? and this P And so you've got the whole. Now, young lady, with this in your hand, which is the key to all learning — and the Hebrew dictionary — there's nothing you can't manage.' * And an account of this is to be given in your book, is it ? ' ' That is the secret of my book. Now you know what it was I found out; now you see why my friends paid my passage home^ and are now looking for the glory which they prophesied,' 162 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 'Don't get gloomy again, Mr. Fagg. It is a long lane, you know, that has no turning. Let us hope for better luck.' * No one will ever know,' he went on, ' the inscriptions that I have found — and read — in the Museum. They don't know what they've got. I've told nobody yet, but they are all in my book,- and I'll tell you beforehand, Miss Kennedy, because you've been kind to me. Yes, a woman is best ; I ought to have gone to the women first. I would marry you, Miss Kennedy, I would indeed ; but — I am too old, and besides, I don't think I could afford a family.' ' I thank you, Mr. Fagg, all the same. You do me a great honour. But about these inscriptions ? ' 'Mind, it's a secret.' He lowered his voice to a whisper, 'There's cuneiform inscriptions in the Museum with David and Jonathan on them, — ah ! — and Balaam and Balak — Aho ! — ' he positively chuckled over the thought of these great finds — ' and the whole life of Jezebel — Jezebel! what do you think of that? And what else do you think they have got, only they don't know it ? The two tables of stone ! ! Nothing short of the Two Tables, with the Ten Commandments written out at length ! ! ! ' Angela gazed with amazement at this admirable man ; his faith in himself; his audacity; the grandeur of his conceptions; the wonderful power of his imagination overwhelmed her. But, to be sure, she had never before met a genuine enthusiast. 'I know where they are kept; nobody else knows. It is in a dark corner ; they are each about two feet high ; and there's a hole in the corner of each for Moses's thumb to hold them bj'. Think of that ! I've read them all through, only ' — he added with a look of bewilderment — ' I think there must be something wrong with my Hebrew dictionary, because none of the com- mandments read quite right. One or two come out quite surpris- ing. Yet the stones must be right, mustn't they ? There can be no question about that; and the Discovery must be right. No question about that. And as for the dictionaries — who put them together ? tell me that ! Yah ! the scholars ! ' CHAPTER XXIII. THE MISSING LINK. The Professor, then, started on his quest with a cheerful heart, caused by the certainty of dinner for some days to come. But he was an honest Professor, and he did not prolong his absence for the sake of those dinners. On the other hand, he made the most rapid despatch consistent with thorough work, and returned after an absence of four days, bearing with him the fruits of his research. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 163 'T think,' tsiiid Hany, after reading his report — 'I thiuk, Miss Kennedy, that we have found a Missinp: Link.' ' Then they really will make their claim good?' *I did not say that — quite. I said that we have found a Missing Link. There might be, if you will think of it— two. One of them would have connected the condescending wheel- wright with his supposed parent, the last Lord Davenant. The other would connect him with quite another father.' The truth, which was for some time carefully concealed from the illustrious pair, was, in fact, this. There is a village of Uavenant surrounding or adjoining a castle of Davenant, just as Alnwick, Arundel, Durham, Lancaster, Chepstow, Raglan, and a great many more English towns have a castle near them. And whether Davenant town was built to be protected by the castle, or the castle for the protection of the town, is a point on which I must refer you to the county historian, wlio knows all about it and is not likely to deceive you on so important a point. The castle is now a picturesque ruin, with a country house built beside it. In this country house the last Lord Dave- nant died and the last heir to the title was born. There is an excellent old church, with a tower and ivy, and high-pitched roof, as an ancient church should have, and iu the lixmily vault under the chancel all the Davenants, except the last heir, lie buried. There is also in the village a small country inn called the Davenant Arms, where the Professor put up, and where he made himself extraordinarily popular, because, finding himself among an assemblage of folk slow to see and slower still to think, he astonished them for four nights consecutively. The rustics still tell, and will continue to tell so long as memory lasts, of the wonderful man who took their money out of their waistcoats, ex- changedhandkerchiefs, conveyed potatoes into strange coat-pockets, read their thoughts, picked out the cards they had chosen, made them take a card he had chosen whether they wanted it or not, caused balls of glass to vanish, changed halfpence into half-crowns, had a loaded pistol fired at himself and caught the ball, with other great marvels all for nothing, to oblige and astonish the villagers, and for the good of the house. These were the recrea- tions of his evening hours. The mornings he spent in the vestry of the old church searching the registers. There was nothing professional about it, only the drudgery of clerk's workj to do it at all was almost beneath his dignity; yet he went through with it conscientiously, and restrained InrnJelf from inviting the sexton, who stayed with him, to lend him his handkerchief or to choose a card. Nor did he even hide a card in the sexton's pocket, and then convey it into the parish register. Nothing of the sort. He was sternly practical and searched. dili- gently. Nevertheless, he noted how excellent a place for the simpler feats would be the reading-desk. The fact is, that gentle- men of his profession never go to church, and therefore are ignorant m2 164 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. of the uses of its various parts. On Sunday morning they lie in bed; on Sunday afternoon they have dinner, and perhaps the day's paper, and on' Sunday eveniuji; they gather at a certain house of call for conjurers in Drury Lane and practise on each other. There is therefore no room in the conjurer's life for church. Some remedy should he found for this hy the hisliops. ' What have I got to look for ? ' said the Professor, as the sexton produced the old books. ' Well, I've got to find what families there were living here a hundred years ago, or thereabouta, named Davenant, and what Christian names they had, and whether there were two children born and baptised here in one year, both bearing the name of Davenant.' The sexton shook his head. He was only a middle-aged man, and therefore not yet arrived at sextonial ripeness ; for a sexton only begins to be mellow when he is ninety or thereabouts. He knew nothing of the Davenants except that there were once Lords Davenant, now lying in the family vault below the chancel, and none of them left in the parish at all, nor any in his memory, nor in that of his father's before him, so far as he could tell. After a careful examination of the books, the Professor was enabled to state with confidence that at the time in question the Davenant name was borne by none but the family at the castle ; that there were no cousins of the name in the place ; and that the heir born in that year was christened on such a day, and received the name of Timothy Clitheroe. If this had been the only evidence, the case would have made in favour of the Canaan City claimant ; but, unfortunately, there was another discovery made by the Professor, at sight of which he whistled and then shook his head, and then considered whether it would not be best to cut out the page, while the sexton thought he was forcing a card, or palming a ball, or boiling an e^^, or some other ingenious feat of legerdemain. For he instantly perceived that the fact recorded before his eyes had an all-important bearing upon the case of his illustrious friends. The little story which he saw was, in short, this. In the same year of the birth of the infant Timothy Clitheroe, there was born of a poor vagrom woman, who wandered no one knew where from into the parish, and died in giving him to the world, a man-child. There was no one to rejoice over him, or to ■welcome him, or to claim him, therefore he became parish pro- perty, and had to be christened, fed, flogged, admonished and educated, so far as education in those days was considered necessary, at the charge of the parish. The first step was to give him a name. For it was formerly, and may be still, a custom in country parishes to name a waif of this kind after the village itself, which accounts for many odd surnames, such as Stepney, Marybone, or Iloxton. It was not a good custom, because it might lead to complications, as perhaps it did in this case, when there was already another family legitimately entitled to bear the name. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 1G5 The authorities, following this custom, conferred upon the baby the lordly name of Davenant. Then, as it was necessary that he Bhould have a Christian name, and it would be a pity to waste good Richard or Robin upon a beggar-brat, they gave him the day of the week on which he was born. This was intended to keep him humble, and to remind him tliat he had no right to nny of the distinguished Christian names bestowed upon respectably born children. He was called Saturday Davenant. The name, the date, and the circumstances were briefly re- corded in the parish register. In most cases this book contains three entries for each name, those of the tliree important events in his life ; the beginning, the marrying, which is the making or the marring, and the ending. One does not, of course, count the minor occasions on v.'hich he may be mentioned, as on the birth or death of a child. The Professor turned over the pages of the register in vain for any further entry of this Saturday Davenant. lie appeared no more, ilis one public appearance, so far as history records it, was on thnt joyful occasion when, held in hireling arms, he was received into the Christian Church. The one thing to which he was born was his brotherhood in the Christian faith, no doubt the grandest of all possessions, yet in itself not professing to provide the material comforts of life. The baby was presented at the font, received a contemptuous name, squealed a little, no doubt, when he felt the cold water, and then — then — nothing more. What lie did, whither he went, where he died, might be left to conjecture. A parish brat, a cottage home, bread and bacon to eat, with more bread than bacon, plenty of stick, the Church Catechism and particular atten- tion called to the clauses about picking and stealing, practical work ns a scarecrow at seven, the plougb later on ; for pleasures, quarter-stafl", wrestling, fightinir, bull-baiting, and perhaps poach- ing, with strong beer and small beer for diiuk ; presently a wife, then children, then old age, th^n death. One was free to conjec- ture, because there was no more mention of this baby j he did not marry in the parish nor did he die in it. lie therefore went away. In those days, if a man went away, it was for one of two reasons : either he fell into trouble and went away, to escape the wrath of the squire ; or he enlisted, marched ofl' with beer in his head and ribbons in his hat, swore terribly with the army in Flanders, and presently earned the immortal glory which England lajoices to confer upon the private soldier who falls upon the ensanguined field. The enjoyment of this glory is such a solid, substantia? and satisfying thing, that fighting and war and the field of honour are, and always will be, greatly beloved and desired by private soldiers. There was no other entry of this boy's name. When the Pro- fessor had quite satisfied himself upon this point he turned back to 166 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. the first entry, and then became aware of a note in failed ink, now barely legible, written in the margin. It was as follows, and he copied it exactly: — ' Y* above s*' Saturday Djt was a Roag in Grane : he was bro't up in the Fear of God yet feared Him not ; taught his Duty, yet did it not : admonished without stint of Rodd in Virtue, yet still inclined to Vice: he was app** to the Wheelwright: was skillful, yet indolent : notorious as a Pocher who could not be caught: a Deceiver of Maidens : a Tosspot and a Striker. Compelled to leave the parish to avoid Prison and the Lash he went to London, Latronum officina. Was reported to have been sent to His Majesty's Plantations in Virginia, whereof nothing certain is known.' This was the note which the Professor read and copied out, with misgivings that it would not prove acceptable. Of course, he knew the story, and quite understood what this might mean. The next day, nothing more remaining to be found in the register, the Professor examined the brasses and tablets in the church, and paid a visit to the castle. And when he had faith- fully executed his commission he went away, amid the regrets of the villagers, who had never before been entertained by so delightful and surprising a stranger, and brouo:ht back his spoils. ' What are we to think ? ' said Harry after reading this report. '" The Roag in Grane," this wheelwright by trade, who can he be but the grandfather of our poor old friend ? ' ' I fear it must be so,' said Angela. ' Saturday Davenant, Remember the little book.' ' Yes,' said Harry, ' the little book came into my mind at once.' ' Not a doubt,' added the Professor. ' Why, it stands to reason. The fellow found himself a long way from England, among strangers, with no money and only his trade. What was to pre- vent him from pretending to be one of the family whose name he bore ? ' ' And at the same time,' said Harry, ' with reserve. He never seems to have asserted that he was the son of Lord Davenant ; he only threw out ambiguous words, he fired the imagination of his son, he christened him by the name of the lost heir, he pretended that it was his own Christian name, and it was not until they found out that this was the hereditary name that the claim was thought of. This Poacher and Striker seems to have possessed considerable native talent.' ' But what,' asked Angela, 'are we to do ? ' ' Let us do nothing, Miss Kennedy. We have our secret, and we may keep it for the present. Meantime, the case is hopeless on account of the absolute impossibility of connecting the wheel- wright with the man supposed to have been drowned. Let them go on "enjoying" the title, ignorant of the existence of this unlucky Saturday Davenant.' So, for the present, the thing was hidden away and nothing was said about it. And though about this time the Professor gave ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 167 one or two entertainmeuts in the drawing-room, we cannot suppose that his silence was bought, and it would be unjust to the noble profession of which he was a member to think that he would let out the secret had not Miss Kennedy paid him for their per- formance. Indeed, the Professor was an extremely honourable man, and would have scorned to betray confidence, and it was good of Miss Kennedy to find out that an evening of magic and miracle would do the girls good. But a profound pity seized the heart of Angela. These poor people who believed themselves to be entitled to an English peer- age, who were so mistaken, who would be so disappointed, who were so ignorant, who knew so little what it was they claimed — could not something be done to lessen their disappointment — to break their fall ? She pondered long over this diiiiculty. That they would in the end have to return to their own country was a thing about which there could be no doubt whatever ; that they should return with no knowledge whatever of the reality of the thing they had claimed, what it meant, what it involved, its splendours and its obligations, seemed to her a very great pity. A little experience, she thought, even a glimpse of the life led by the best-bred and most highly cultivated and richest people of England, would be of so much advantage to them, that it would show them their own unfivness for the rank which they assumed and claimed. And pre- sently she arrived at a project which she put into execution with- out delay. What this was you will presently see. CHAPTER XXIV. LOKD JOCELTN's TEOtTBLES. As the season advanced, and the autumn deepened into winter, Angela found that there were certain social duties which it was impossible altogether to escape. The fiction of the country-house was good enough for the general world, but for her more intimate friends and cousins this would not do for long. Therefore, while she kept the facts of her present occupation and place of residence a secret from all except Constance Woodcote, now the unsym- pathising, she could not wholly shut herself oif from the old circle. Among others there was one lady whose invitations she was in a sense bound to accept. What her obligations were, and who this lady was, belongs in no way to this history — that is to say, the explanation belongs to Angela's simple chronicle of the old days when she was only Miss Messenger, the heiress presiunptive of the Great Brewery. Therefore it need not concern us. Suffice it to say that she was a lady in society, and that she gave great dinners and held other gatherings, and was at all times properly IG8 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. awake to the attractions which the young, and beautiful, and wealthy Angela Messenjifer lent to her receptions. On this occasion Constance Woodcote, among others, was invited to meet her old friend; she came, but she was ungracious, and Angela felt, more than she had expected, how great already was the gulf between the old days of Newnham and her life of active, practical work. Six months before, such coldness would have hurt and pained her ; now she hardly felt it. Yet Constance meant to demoustrate by a becoming frost of manner how grievous was her disappointment about those scholarships. Then there were half-a-dozen men — unmarried men, men in society, men of clubs, men who felt strongly that the possession of Miss Messenger's millions might reconcile them to matrimony, and were much interested by the possibility of an introduction to her, and came away disappointed because they got nothing out of her, not even an encouragement to talk ; and everybody said that she was singularly cold, distraite, and even embarrassed that evening ; and those who had heard that Miss Messenger was a young lady of great con- versational powers, went away cynically supposing that any young lady with less than half her money could achieve the same reputa- tion at the same cost of energy. The reason of this coldness, tliis preoccupation, was as follows. The dinner party was large, and the conversation by no means general. So far as Angela was concerned, it was held entirely with the man who took her down, and his name was Lord Joeelyn le Breton — a rugged-faced man, with a pleasing manner and agreeable voice ; no longer young. lie talked to her a good deal in a light, irresponsible vein, as if it mattered very little what he said so that it amused the young lady. He discoursed about many things, principally about dinners, asking Angela what were her own views as to dinners, and expostulating with her feminine contempt for the subject. ' Each dinner,' he said, ' should be like a separate and distinct work of art, and should be contrived for different kinds of wine. There should be a champagne dinner, for instance, light and composed of many dishes, but some of these substantial; there should be a claret dinner, grave and con- scientious; a Burgundy dinner of few courses, and those solid; a German wine dinner, in which only the simplest 2)luts should appear. But unto harmony and consistency in dining we have not yet arrived. Perhaps, Miss Messenger, you may be induced to bring your intellect to bear upon the subject. I hear you took high honours at Newnham lately.' She laughed. * You do too much honour to my intellect, Lord Joeelyn. At Newnham they teach us political economy, but they have not trusted us with the art of dining. J3o you know, we positively did not care much what we had for dinner ! ' ' My ward, Harry, used to say — but I forget if you ever met him.' ALL sours AiYD CONDITIONS OF MEN. lCi> *I think not. AVliaL is his name ? ' ' Well, he used tu bear uiy name, and everybody knew liim as Harry le Breton ; bat he had no right to it, because he was uo relation of mine, and so he gave it up and took his own.' ' Oh ! ' Angela felt profoundly uninterested in Mr. Henry le Breton. ' Yes. And now you never will meet him. For he is gone ' — Lord Jocelyn uttered these words iu so sepulchral a tone that Angela gave them greater significance than they deserved. * I am very sorr}',' she said. ' No, Miss Messenger, he is not dead. He is only dead to society. He has gone out of the world ; he has returned to — in fact, his native rank of life.' Angela reddened. What coidd he mean ? ' You interest me. Lord Jocelyn. Do you say that your ward has voluntarily given up society, and — and — everything ? ' She thought of herself at the moment, and also, but vaguely, of Harry Goslett. For, although she knew that this young man had refused some kind of offer which included idleness, she had never con- nected him in her mind quite with her own rank and station. How could she ? He was only a cabinet-maker, whose re semblance to a gentleman she had learned to accept without an}' further wonder. ' He gave up everything : he laughed over it : he took a header into the mob just as if he was going to enjoy the plunge. But did you not hear of it ? Everybody talked about it — the story got into the Society journals — and people blamed me for telling him the truth.' ' I have not been in London much this year, therefore I heard nothing,' said Angela, Just then the dinner came to an end. ' Will you tell me more about your ward, Lord Jocelyn ? ' she asked, as she left him. His words had raised in her mind a vague and uncertain anxiety. ILilf an hour later he came to her side. The room was by this time full, and Angela was surrounded. But she made room for Lord Jocelyn, and presently the others dropped away and they could talk. A young lady began, too, a long and vei-y brilliant piece of music under cover of which everybody would talk. * Do you really want to hear my trouble about Harry ? ' he asked. * You look a very sympathetic young lady, and perhaps you will feel for me. You see, I brought him up iu ignorance of his fVither, whom he always imagined to be a gentleman ; whereas he was only a sergeant in a Line regiment. What is it, ]Mis3 Messenger ? ' For she became suddenly white in the cheek. Could there be two Harrys, sons of sergeants, who had taken this downward plunge ? More wonderful than a pair of Timothy Clitheroes. ' It is nothing, Lord Jocelyn. Pray go on. Your adopted son, then ' 170 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' I had always resolved to tell him all about his people when be was twenty-three. Who would have thought, however, that he would take it as he did ? ' ' You forget that you have not told nie what he did do. If I am to sympathise, you must tell me all.' 'As far as the world knows, he went away on leave, so to speak. Perhaps it is only on leuve after all. But it is a long leave, and it looks more like desertion.' ' You are mysterious. Lord Jocelyn.' ' Are you curious. Miss Messenger ? ' ' Say, am I sympathetic? Tell me as much as you can about your ward.' Lord Jocelyn looked in his listener's face. Yes ; there was sympathy in it and interest, both, as phrenologists say, largely developed. 'Then I will explain to you, Miss Messenger, how the boy did this most remarkable and unexpected thing.' He paused a moment considering. * Imagine a boy whom I had taken away from his own people at three, or tliereabouts, so that he should never know anything of them at all, or dream about them, or 3^earn, you know, or anything of that kind — an orphan, too, with nothing but an Uncle Bunker — it is inconceivable !' ' But we do not get on,' said Angela, in great impatience ; yet relieved to find from the reference to her worthy friend Bunker that there was only one Harry. ' What is inconceivable ? ' ' I am coming to that. I gave the boy the best education I could get for him ; he was so eager and apt that he taught him- self more than he could be taught ; if he saw anybody doing a thing well, he was never satisfied till he could do it as well him- self — not better, mark you ! a cad might have wanted to do it better : a gentleman is content to do it as well as any — any other gentleman. There is hardly anything he could not do; there was nobody who did not love him; he was a favourite in society; he had hosts of friends ; nobody cared who was his father : what did that matter ? As I put it to him, I said, " Look at So-and-so and So-and-so : who are their fathers ? Who cares ? Who asks ? " Yet when he learned the truth he broke away, gave up all, and went back to his own relations — to Whitechapel ! ' Angela blushed again, and her lip trembled a little. Then she said softly : ' To Whitechapel ! That is very interesting to me. Because, Lord Jocelyn, I belong to Whitechapel myself.' ' Do you ? ' She might as well have said that she belonged to Seven Dials. In fact, much better, because in his young days, his Corinthian daj's. Lord Jocelyn had often repaired to Seven Dials to see noble sportsmen chez Ben Caunt, and rat-killing and cock-fighting, and many other beautiful forms of sport. *Do you really ? Do you belong to that remarkable part of Loudon ? ' ' Certainly, My grandfather — did you know him ? ' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 171 Lord Jocelyn shook his head. 'He had the Brewery, you know, Messenger, Marsden and Company, in Whitechapel. He was born there, and always called himself a Whitechapel man. He seemed to be proud of it, so that in common filial respect I, too, should be proud of it. I am, in fact, a Whitechapel granddaughter.' 'But that docs not seem to help my unlucky Harry.' ' It gives one a little more sympathy, perhaps,' she said. ' And that is, you know, so very useful a possession.' ' Yes,' but he did not seem to recognise its usefulness as regards his ward. * Well, he went to Whitechapel with a light heart. He would look round him, make the acquaintance of his own people, then he would come back again and we would go on just as usual. At least he did not exactly say this, but I unHer- stood him so. Because it seemed impossible that a man who had once lived in society, among ourselves, and formed one of us, could ever dream of living down there.' Angela laughed. From her superior knowledge of ' down there ' she laughed. ' He went away, and I was left without him, for the first time for twenty years. It was pretty dull. He said he would give the thing a trial ; he wrote to me that he was trying it, that it was not so bad as it seemed, and yet he talked as if the experiment would be a short one. I left him there. I went away for a cruise in the Mediterranean ; when I came home he returned to me.' ' He did return, then ? ' ' Yes, he came back one evening a good deal changed. I should not have thought it possible for a boy to change so much in so short a time. He wasn't ill-fed ; he hadn't suffered any privation, apparently ; but he was changed: he was more thought- ful ; his smile and his laugh were not so ready. Poor boy ! ' Lord Jocelyn sighed heavily. Angela's sympathy grew deeper, for he evidently loved the ' boy.' ' What had he done, then ? ' ' He came to say farewell to me ; he thanked me for — you know what a good honest lad would say ; and he told me that ho had had an offer made to him of an unexpected nature which he had determined to accept. You see, he is a clever fellow with his fingers, he can play and paint and carve and do all sorts of things. And among his various arts and accomplishments he knows how to turn a lathe, and so he has become a joiner or a cabinet-maker, and he told me that he has got an appointment in some great factory or works or something, as cabinet-maker iu ordinary.' ' What is his name ? ' ' Harry Goslett.' ' Goslett ! Goslett ! ' Here she blushed again, and once more made play with the fan. 'Has he got a relation, a certain Mr. Bunker ? ' 172 ALL SORTS AXD CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' Why — yes — I told you, au Uncle Bunker,' * Then I remember the name. And, Lord Jocelyn, I hope you ■will be grateful to me, because I have been the humble means of procuring him this distinguished post. Mr. Bunker, in fact, was, or conceived that he had been, useful to my grandfather, and was said to be disappointed at getting nothing by the will. Therefore I endeavoured to make some return by taking his nephew into the Plouse. That is all.' 'And a great deal more than enough, because. Miss Messenger, you have all out of your kindness done a great uiischief, for if you had not employed him I am quite certain no one else would. Then he would have had to come back to me. Send him away. Do send him away, Miss Messenger. There are lots of cabinet- makers to be had. Then he will come back to societ}', and I will present him to you and he shall thank you.' She smiled and shook her head. * People are never sent away from the Brewery so long as they behave properly. But it is strange indeed that your ward should voliiutarily surrender all the advantages of life and social position for tbe hard work and poor pay of an artisan. Was it . . . was it affection for his cousins? ' She blushed deeply as she put this simple question. ' Strange indeed. When he came to me the other night, he told me a long story about men being all alike in every rank of life — I have noticed much the same thing in the army ; of course he did not have the impudence to say that women are all alike ; and he talked a quantity of prodigious nonsense about living among his own people. Presently, however, I got out of him the real truth.' 'What was that?' ' lie confessed that he was in love.' ' \\\l\\ a young lady of Whitechapel ? This does great credit to the excellent education you gave him. Lord Jocelyn.' She blushed for the fourth or fii'th time, and he wondered why, and fihe held her fan before her face. ' But, perhaps,' she added, ' you are wrong, and women of all ranks, like men, are the same.' ' Perhaps. I ouglit not to have told you this — Miss Messenger. Now you will despise him. Yet he had the impudence to say that she was a lady— positively a lady — this Whitechapel dress- maker.' ' A dressmaker ?— oh ! ' She threw into her voice a little of that icy coldness with which ladies are expected to receive this kind of announcement. ' Ah ! now you care no more about him. I might have known that your sympathy would cease directly you heard all. He went into raptures over this young milliner. She is as beautiful as the day; she is graceful, accomplished, well-bred, well-mannered, a queen ' 'No doubt,' said Angela, still frozen. 'But really, Lord ALL SORTS AXD COXDITTOXS OF MEN. 173 Joceljn, as it is Mr. Goslett, the cabinet-maker, and not yon, -who is in love with this paragon, we may be spared her praises.' ' And, which is more remarkable still, she won't have anything to say to him.' 'That is indepd remarkable. But perhaps, as she is the Queen of Drojsmakers, she is looking for the King of Cabinet-Makers.' ' No doubt,' said Lord Jocelyn ; 'I think the music is coming to an end. However — Miss Messenger, one favour.' • A dozen, Lord Jocelyn, if I can grant them.' 'He refuses to take any help from me ; he lives on work paid for at the rate of tenpence an hour. If you will not send liiui away — then — oh, then ' ' Quick, Lord Jocelyn, what is it ? * * Tax the resources of the Brewery. Put on the odd two- pence. It is the gift of tlie Samaritan — make it a shilling an hour.' ' I will. Lord Jocelyn — hush ! The music is just over, and I hope that the dressmaker will relent, and that there will be a wed- ding in Stepney Church, and that they will be happy ever after. Oh, brave and loyal lover ! lie gives up all, all — ' she looked round the room filled with guests, and her great eyes became limpid, and her voice fell to a murmur — ' for love, for love. Do you think. Lord Jocelyn, that the dressmaker will continue to be obdurate ? But perhaps she does not know, or cannot suspect, what he has thrown away — for her sake — happy dressmaker ! ' ' I think,' faid Lord Jocelyn afterwards, ' that if Harry had seen Miss Messenger before he saw his dressmaker we shouldn't ha%e heard so much about the beautiful life of a working man. Why the devil couldn't I wait ? This girl is a Helen of Troy, and Harry should have written his name Paris, and carried her off, by gad ! before Menelaus or any other fellow got hold of her. What a woman ! What a match it would have been ! ' CHAPTER XXV. A.N INVITATION. Vert shortly after the fatal discovery made by the Professor, Lord Davenant received the first outside recognition — so to s[)eak — of his rank. It is true that no one within a mile of Stepney Green — that is, anywhere between Aldgate Pump and Bow Church — would have had the hardihood to express a doubt on the validity of a claim which conferred a lustre upon the neigh- bourhood ; yet even Lord Davenant, not remarkable for quickness of perception, was sharp enough to know that recognition at Stepney is not altogether the same thing as recognition at West- minster. He was now once more tolerably comfortable in hvi mind. The agonies of composition were over, thanks to his youjiy 174 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. friend's assistance ; the labour of transcription was finished ; he felt, in looking at the bundle of papers, all the dignity of success- ful authorship ; the Case, in fact, was now complete and ready for presentation to the Queen, or to any one. Lord Chancellor, Prime Minister, Lord Chamberlain, or American Minister, who would undertake and faithfully promise to lay it before Her Majesty. For his own part, brought up in the belief that the British Lion habitually puts his heroic tail between his legs when the name of America is mentioned, he thought tliat the Minister of the States was the proper person to present his Case. Further, the days of fatness were come again. Clara Martha, in some secret way known only to herself, was again in command of money : once more bacon and tea, and bread and butter, if not coffee, cream, and buckwheat cakes, with maple syrup and hot compone — delicacies of his native land — were spread upon the board at eight in the morning ; and again the succulent steak of Stepney, yield- ing to none, not even to him of Fleet Street, appeared at stroke of one ; and the noble lord could put up his feet and rest the long and peaceful morning through, unreproached by his consort. Therefore he felt no desire for any change, but would have been quite content to go on for ever enjoying his title among this eiuiplc folk, and careless about the splendours of his rank. How Clara Martha got the money he did not inquire. We, who know, may express our fears that here was another glaring violation of political economy, and that the weekly honorarium received every Saturday by Lady Davenant was by no means adequately accounted for by her weekly work. Still, her style was very line, and there were no more delicate workers in the association than the little peeress with the narrow shoulders and the bright eyes. Not one word, mark you, spoken of Saturday Davenant — that Roag in Grane — and the Professor as respectful as if his lordship had sat through thirty years of deliberation in the Upper House, and Mr. Goslett humbly deferential to her ladyship, and in secret confidential and familiar, even rollicking, with my lord, and Miss Kennedy respectfully thoughtful for their welfare. This serenity was troubled and dissipated by the arrival of a letter addressed to Lady Davenant. She received it — a simple letter on ordinary note-paper — with surprise, and opened it with some suspicion. Her experience of letters was not of late happy, inasmuch as her recent correspondence had been chiefly with American friends, who reminded her how they had all along told her that it was no good expecting that the Davenant claim would be listened to, and now she saw for herself, and had better come home again and live among the plain folk of Canaan, and praise the Lord for making her husband an American citizen — with much more to the same effect, and cruel words from nephew Nathaniel, who had no ambition, and would have sold his heirship to the coronet for a few dollars. She looked first at the signature, and turned pale, for it wag ALL SOIiTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 176 from that niysterioua young Lidj, almost divine in the eyes of Stepney, because she was so rich, Miss Messeng-er. * Lord !' cried Mrs. Bormalack. ' Do read it quick.' Her ladyship read it through very slowly, much too slowly for her landlady's impatience. Her pale cheeks flushed with pride and joy when she com- prehended exactly what the letter meant ; she drew herself up straight, and her shoulders became so sloping that the uneasy feeling about her clothes, already alluded to, once more passec through Mrs. Bormalack's sympathetic mind. ' It will be a change, indeed, for us/ she murmured, looking at her husband. ' Change ?' cried the landlady. ' What change ? ' asked his lordship. ' Clara Martha, I do not want any change ; I am comfortable here, I am treated with respect, the place is quiet, I do not want to change.' He was a heavy man and lethargic — change meant some kind of physical activity — he disliked movement. His wife tossed her head with impatience. ' Oh ! ' she cried, ' he would rather sit in his armchair than walk even across the Green to get his coronet. Shame upon him ! O Carpenter! Shh!' _ His lordship quailed and said no more. That allusion to his father's trade was not intended as a sneer ; the slothfulness of his parent it was which the lady hurled at his lordship's head. No one could tell, no living writer is able to depict faithfully, the difficulties encountered and overcome by this resolute woman in urging her husband to action; how she had first to persuade him to declare that he was the heir to the extinct title ; how she had next to drag him away from Canaan City; how she had to bear with his moanings, lamentations, and terrors, when he found him- self actually on board the steamer, and saw the land slowly dis- appearing, while the great ship rolled beneath his unaccustomed feet, and consequences which he had not foreseen began to follow. These were things of tbe past, but it had been bard to get him avray even from Wellclose Square, which he found comfortable, making allowance for the disrespectful Dane ; and now — but it must and should be done. ' His lordship,' said the little woman, thinking she had perhaps said too much, ' is one of them who take root wherever you set them down. He takes after bis grandfather, the Honourable Timothy Clitheroe. Set himself down in Canaan City, and took root at once, never wanted to go away. And the Davenants, I am told, never left the village from the day they built their castle there till the last lord died there. In other people, Mrs. Bormalack, it might be called sloth, but in his lordship's case we can only say that he is quick to take root. That is all, ma'am. And when we move him it is like tearing him up by the roots.' ' It is,' said his lordship, clinging to the arms of the chair; 'it is. 176 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. The letter was as follows, and Lady Davenant read it aloud : — 'Dear Lady Davenant, — I have quite recently learned that you and Lord Davenant are staying at a house on Stepney Green which happens to be my property. Otherwise, perhaps, I might have remained in ignorance of this most interesting circumstance. I have also learned that you have crossed the Atlantic for the purpose of presenting a claim to the Davenant title, which was long supposed to be extinct, and I hasten to convey to you my most sincere wishes for your success. 'I am at this moment precluded from doing myself the pleasure of calling upon you, for reasons with which I will not trouble you. I hope, however, to be allowed to do so before very long. Mean- time, I take the liberty of offering you the hospitality of my own house in Portman Square, if you will honour me by accepting it, as your place of residence during your stay in London. You will perhaps find Portman Square a central place, and more convenient for you than Stepney Green, which, though it possesses undoubted advantages in healthful air and freedom from London fog, is yet not altogether a desirable place of residence for a lady of your rank. ' I am aware that in addressing you without the ceremony of an introduction I am taking what may seem to you a liberty. I may be pardoned on the ground that I feel so deep an interest in your romantic story, and so much c-iympathy with your courage in crossing the ocean to prosecute your claim. Such claims as these are, as you know, jealously regarded and sifted witli the greatest care, so that there may be ditHculty in establishing a perfectly made-out case, and one which shall satisfy the House of Lords as impregnable to any attack. There is, hoAvever, such a thing as a moral certainty, and 1 am well assured that Lord Davenant would not have left his native country had he not been convinced in his own mind that his cause is a just one, and that his claim is a dut}' owed to his illustrious ancestors. So that, whether he wins or loses, whether he succeeds or fails, he must in either case command our respect and our sympathy. Under these circumstances I trust that 1 may be forgiven, and that your ladyship will honour my poor house with your presence. I will send, always provided that you accept, my carriage for you on any day that you may appoint. Your reply may be directed here, because all letters are forwarded to me, though I am not, at the present moment, residing at my town house. 'Believe me to remain, dear Lady Davenant, yours very faithfully, ' Angela Marsden Messenger.' ' It is a beautiful letter!' cried Mrs. Bormalack, 'and to think of Miss Messenger knowing that this house is one of hers ! AVhy, she's got hundreds. Now, I wonder who could have told her that you were here.' ' No doubt,' said her ladyship, ' she saw it in the papers.' ALL SOnTS AXD COXDITIONS OF MEN. 177 'AVliat a Providence tliat you came here ! If }'ou liad stayed at Wellclose Square, wbicli is a low place and only lit for Ibreipners, she never would have heard about you. Well, it will bo a sad blow losint^ your ladyship, but of course you must go. You can't refuse such a noble oiler; and though I've done my best, I'm sure, to make his lordship comfortable, yet I know that the dinner hasn't always been such as I could wish, though as good as the money would run to. And we can't hope to rival Miss Messenger, of course, in housekeeping, though I should like to hear what she gives for dinner.' * You shall, Mrs. Bormalack,' said her ladyship; 'I will send you word myself, and I am sure we are very grateful to you for all your kindness, and especially at times when — when my husband's nephew Nathaniel, who is not the whole-souled and high-toned man that the heir to a peerage ought to be ' _' Don't speak of it,' interrupted the good landlady, 'don't speak of it, your ladyship. It will always be my pride to remember that your ladyship thought I did my little best. But, there, with mutton at elevenpence ha'penny !' The name of Portman Square suggested nothing at all to the illustrious pair. It might just as well have beeu Wellclose Square. Put here was an outside recognition of them ; and from a very rich young lady, who perhaps was herself acquainted with some of the members of the Upper House. * It is a proper letter,' said Lady Davenant, critically, ' a letter written in a becoming spirit. There's many things to' admire in England, but the best thing is the respect to rank. Now, in our own (Jity did they respect his lordship for his family ? Not a mite. The boys drew pictures of him on the walls with a crown on his head and a sword in his hand.' _ ' Must we go, Clara Martha ? ' his lordship asked in a tremulous voice. ' Yes, we must go ; we must show people that we are ready to assume the dignity of the position. As fof my husband, Mrs. Bormalack'— she looked at him sideways while she addressed the landlady' — ' there are times when I feel that nothing but noble blood confers real dignity '—his lordship couched — 'real dignity and a determination to have your rights, and a behaviour according".' Lord Davenant straightened his back and held up his head. But when his wife left him he drooped it agaiu and looked sad. Lady Davenant took the letter with her, to show Miss Kennedy. 'I shall never forget old friends, my dear,' she said kindl}^, ■when Angela had read it through, 'never; and your kindness in my distress I could not forget if I tried.' The tears stood in her eyes as she spoke. * We are standing now on the very threshold of Greatness; this is the first step to Recognition; a short time more and my husband will be in his right place among the British peers. As for myself, I don't seem to mind any, Miss Kennedy. 178 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF 3IEN. It's for him that I n)ind. Ouce in his own place, he will show the world what he is capable of. You only think of him as a sleepy old man, who likes to put up his feet and shut liis eyes. So he is — so he is. But wait till he gets his own. Then you wili see. As for eloquence, now, I remember one Fourth of July — but of course we were Amer'cans then.' ' Indeed, Lady Davenant, we shall all be rejoiced if you succeed. But do not forget Miss Messenger's warning. There is a moral success, and there is a legal success. You may have to be contented with the former. But that should be enough for you, and vou would then return to your own people with triumph.' ' Aurelia Tucker/ said her ladyship, smiling gently, ' will wish she hadn't taken up the prophesyin' line. I shall forgive her, though envy is indeed a hateful passion. However, we cannot all have illustrious ancestors, though since our own elevation, there's not a man, woman, or child in Canaan Cit3', except the Dutch- men, who hasn't connected himself with an English family, and the demand for Red-books and books of the County Families is more than you could believe, and they do say that many a British peer will have to tremble for his title.' ' Come,' said Angela, interrupting these interesting facts, 'come. Lady Davenant, I knew beforehand of this letter, and Miss Messenger has given me work in anticipation of your visit,' She led the little lady to the show room, and here, laid out on the chairs, were marvels. For there were dresses in silk and in velvet : dresses of the best silk, moire antique, brocaded silk, silk that would stand upright of itself, without the aid of a chair back, and velvet of the richest, the blackest, and the most costly. There could be no doubt whatever as to the person for whom these dre.sses had been designed, because nobody else had such narrow and such sloping shoulders. Never in her dreams had her ladyship thought it possible that she should wear such dresses. ' They are a present from Miss Messenger,' said Miss Kennedy. 'Now, if j'ou please, we will go into the trying-on room.' Then Lady Davenant discovered that these dresses were trimmed with lace, also of the most beautiful and delicate kind. She had sometimes seen lace during her professional career, but she never possessed any, and the sight of it created a kind of yearning in her heart to have it on, actually on her sleeves and round her neck. When she was dressed in her velvet with the lace trimming she looked a very stately little lady. When Angela had hung about her neck a heavy gold chain with a watch and seals; when she had deftly added a touch to her still luxuriant hair, and set in it a small aigrette of brilliants ; when she had put on her a pair of gloves and given her a large and beautifully painted fan, there was no nobler-lonking lady in the land, for all she was so little. Then Angela curtsied low and begged her ladyship to examine the dress in the glass. Her ladyship surveyed herself with an ALL SORTS ANB CONDITIONS OF MEN. 179 astonishment and delight impossible to be repressed, although they detracted somewhat from the dignity due to the dress. ' Oh, Aurelia ! ' she exclaimed, as if, in the joy of her heart, she could have wished her friend to share her happiness. Then Miss Kennedy explained to her that the velvet and the magnificent silk dresses were for the evening only, while for the morning there were other black silk dresses, with beautiful fur cloaks and things for carriage exercise, and all kinds of things pro- vided, 80 that she might make a becoming appearance in Portman Square. ' As for his lordship,' Miss Kennedy went on, ' steps have been taken to provide him also with garments due to his position. And I think. Lady Davenant, if I may venture to advise ' *My dear,' said her ladyship, simply, 'just tell me, right away, what I am to do.' ' Then you are to write to Miss Messenger and tell her that you will be ready to-morrow morning, and say any kind thing that occurs to your kind heart. And then you will have undis- turbed possession of the big house in Portman Square, with all its servants, butler, coachman, footman, and the rest of them, at your orders. And I beg — that is, I hope — that you will make use of them. Remember that a nobleman's servant expects to be ordered, not asked. Drive every day ; go to the theatres to amuse yourselves — I am sure after all this time you want amuse- ment.' * "We had lectures at Canaan City/ said her ladyship ; ' shall we go to lectures ? ' ' N — no. I think there are none. But you should go to concerts if you like them, and to picture galleries. Be seen about a good deal; make people talk about you, and do not press your Case before you have been talked about.' * Do you think I can persuade Timothy — I mean, his lordship — to go about with me ? ' ' You will have the carriage, you know ; and if he likes he can sleep at the theatre ; you have only to take a private box — but be seen and be talked about.' This seemed very good advice. Lady Da,venant laid it to heart. Then she took otf her magnificent velvet and put on the humble stuff again, with a sigh. Happily, it was the last day she would wear it. On returning to the boarding-house she found her husband in great agitation, for he, too, had been ' trying on,' and he had been told peremptorily that the whole of the existing wardrobe must be abolished, and changed for a new one which had been provided for him. The good old coat, whose sleeves were so shiny, whose skirts so curly, whose cufis so worn, must be abandoned; the other things which long custom had adapted to every projection of his figure must go too ; and, in place of them, the new things which he had iust been trying on. n2 ISO ALL SORTS A. YD COYLITJOKS OF MEN. ' There's a swallow-tail, Clara Martha, for evening wear. I shall have to change my clothes, they tell me, every evening; and frock-coats to button down the front like a congress man in a statue ; and — oh ! Clara Martha, we are going to have a terrible time ! ' ' Courage, my lord,' she said. ' The end will reward us. Only hold np your head and remember that you are enjoying the title ! ' The evening was rather sad, though the grief of the noble pair at leaving their friends was shared by none but their landlady, who really was attached to the little birdlike woman, so resolute and so full of courage. As for the rest, they behaved as members of a happy family are expected to behave — that is to say, they paid no heed whatever to the approaching departure of two out of their number, and Josephus leaned his head against the wall, and Daniel Fagg plunged his hands into his hair, and old Mr. Malijihant sat in the corner with his pipe in his mouth and narrated bits of Btories to himself, and laughed. CHAPTER XXVI. LOED DAVEN-ANT'S GREATNESS. Probably no greater event had ever happened within the memory of Stepney Green than the arrival of Miss JNIessenger's carriage to take away the illustrious pair from the boarding-house. Mrs. Bormalack ftlt, with a pang, when she saw the pair of greys, with the coachman and footman on the box, actually standing before her own door, for all to see, as if she had not thoroughly appreciated the honour of having a peer and his consort residing under her roof, and paying every week for board and lodging the moderate sum of but she could not bear to put it into words. Now, however, they were going. His lordship, in his new frock-coat tightly buttoned, stood, looking constrained and stiff, with one hand on the table and the other thrust into his breast, like a certain well-known statue of Washington. His wife had instructed him to assume this attitude. With him were Daniel Fagg, the Professor, and Harry, the rest of the boarders being engaged in their several occupations. Mrs. Bormalack was putting the final touches to Lady Davenant's morning toilette. 'If I was a lord,' said Daniel, 'I should become a great patron to discoverers. I would publish their works for them.' 'I will, Mr. Fagg, I will,' said his lordship; 'give me time to look around and to see how the dollars come in. Because, gentle- men, as Clara Martha — I mean her ladyship — is not ready yet, there is time for me to explain that I don't quite know what is to happen next, nor where those dollars are to come from unless it ia ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 181 from tlie Davenant estates. But I don't think, Mr, Fagg, tliat we shall forget old friends. A man born to a peerap^e — that is an accident, or the gift of Providence ; but to be a Hebrew scholar conies from genius. When a man has been a school-teacher for near upon forty years, he knows what genius means — and it's fikurse, even in Amer'ca.' 'Then, my lord,' said Daniel, producing his note-book, 'I may put your lordship's name down for ITow many copies ? ' ' Wal, Mr. Fagg, I don't care how many copies you put my name down for, provided you don't fisk for pajmient until the way is clear. I don't suppose they will play it so low on a man as to give him his peerage without a mite of income, even if it has to be raised by a tax on somethiu'.' 'American beef will have to be taxed,' said Harry. 'Never fear, my lord, we will pull you through, somehow. As Miss Messenger said, "moral certainty" is a fine card to play, even if the committee of the House of Lords don't recognise the con- nection.' The Professor looked guilty, thinking of that 'Rong in Grane,' Saturday Davenant, wheelwright, who went to the American colonies. Then her ladyship appeared, complete and ready, dressed in her black silk, with a fur cloak and a magnificent muff of sable, stately, gracious, and happy. After her, Mrs. Bormalack, awed. 'I am ready, my lord,' she said, standing in the doorway. 'My friends, we shall not forget those who were hospitable to us and kind in the days of our adversity. Mr. Fagg, you may depend upon us ; you have his lordship's permission to dedicate your book to his lordship; we shall sometimes speak of your discovery. The world of fashionable London shall hear of your circles.' ' Triangles, my lady,' said Daniel, bowing. 'I beg your pardon, IMr. Fagg, I ought to have known; and the triangle goes with the fife and the drum in all the militia regi- ments. Professor, if there is any place in Portman Square where an entertainment can be held, we will remember you. Mr. Goslett — all ! Mr. Goslett — we shall miss you^ very much. Often and often has my husband said that but for your timely aid he must have broken down. What can we now do for you, Mr. Goslett? ' Nothing could have been more generous than this dispensing of patronage. 'Nothing,' said Harry; 'but I thank you all the same.' 'Perhaps Miss Messenger wants a cabinet made.' 'No, no,' he cried hastily. ' I don't want to make cabinets for Miss Messenger. I mend the office stools for the Brewery, and I work for .... for l^Iiss Kennedy,' he added with a blush. Lady Davenant nodded her head and laughed. So happy was she, that she could even show for the first time an interest in something outside the Case. 'A handsome couple/ she said simply. 'Yes, my dear, go on 182 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF 3IEN. worldng for Miss Kennedy, because she is wortli it. And now, uiy lord ! Gentlemen, I wish you farewell.' She made the most stately, the most dignified obeisance, and turned to leave them. But Harry sprang to the front and offered his arm. 'Permit me, Lady.Davenant.' It was extraordinary enough for the coachman to be ordered to Stepney Green to take up a lord ; it was more extraordinary to see that lord's noble lady falling on the neck of an ordinary female in a black stuff gown and an apron, namely, Mrs. Bormalack, and still more wonderful to see that noble lady led to the carriage by a young gentleman who seemed to belong to the place. * I know him,' said James the footman, presently. 'Who is he?' 'He's Mr. Le Breton, nephew or something of Lord Jocelyn. I've seen him about, and what he's doing on Stepney Green the Lord only knows.' * James ! ' said the coachman. ' John ! ' said the footman. 'When you don't understand what a young gentleman 18 a-doin', what does a man of your experience conclude ? ' ' John,' said the footman, ' you are right as usual. But I didn't see her.' There was a little crowd outside, and it was a proud moment for Lady Davenant when she walked through the lane — which she could have wished a mile long — formed by the spectators, and took her place in the open carriage beneath the great fur rug. His lordship followed with a look of sadness or apprehension rather than triumph. The door was slammed, the footman mounted the box, and the carriage drove off. One boy called ' Hooray ! ' and jumped on the curbstone ; to him Lord Davenant took off his hat ; another turned catherine-wheels along the road, and Lord Dave- nant took off his hat to him, too, with aristocratic impartiality, till the coachman flicked at him with his whip, and then he ran behind the carriage and used language for a quarter of a mile. ' Timothy,' said her ladyship, ' would that Aurelia Tucker were here to see ! ' He only groaned. How could he tell what sufferings in the shape of physical activity might be before him ? When would he be able to put up his feet again? One little disappointment marred the complete joy of the departure. It was strange that Miss Kennedy, who had taken so much interest in the business, who had herself tried on the di'esses, should not have been there to see. It was not kind of her — who was usually so very kind — to be absent on this important occasion. They arrived at Portman Square a little before one. Miss Messenger sent them her compliments by her own maid, and hoped they would be perfectly comfortable in her house, which was placed entirely at their disposal. She was only sorry that ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF J/ EN. 183 absence from town would prevent her from personally receiving Lady Davenant. The spaciousness of the rooms, the splendour of the furniture, the presence of many servants, awed the simple little American woman. She followed her guide, who oiFered to show them the house, and led them into all the rooms — the great and splendidly furnished drawing-room, the dining-room, the morning-room, and the library — without saying a word. Her husband walked alter her in the deepest dejection, hanging his head and dangling his hands in forgetfulness of the statuesque attitude. He saw no chance whatever for a place of quiet meditation. Presently they came back to the morning-room. It was a pleasant, sunny room, not so large as the great dining-room, nor so gaunt in its furniture, nor was it hung with immense pictures of game and fruit, but with light and briglit water-colours. ' I should like,' said her ladyship, hesitating, because she was a little afraid that her dignity demanded that they should use the biggest room of all — ' I should like, if we could, to sit in this room ■when we are alone.' * Certainly, my lady.' * We are simple people,' she went on, trying to make it clear why they liked simplicity, 'and accustomed to a plain way of life, so that his lordship does not look for the splendour that belongs to his position,' ' No, my lady.' * Therefore, if we may use this room mostly — and — and keep the drawing-room for when we have company — ' She looked timidly at the grave young woman who was to be her maid. * Certainly, my lady.' * As for his lordship,' she went on, * I beg that he may be un- disturbed in the morning when he sits in the library. He is much occupied in the morning.' ' Yes, my lady.' ' I think I noticed,' said Lord Davenant, a little more cheer- fully, ' as we walked through the library, a most beautiful chair.' He cleared his throat but said no more. Then they were shown their own rooms, and told that luncheon would be served immediately. 'And I hope, Clara Martha,' said his lordship when they were alone, ' that luncheon in this house means something solid and substantial. Fried oysters, now, with a beefsteak and tomatoes, and a little green corn in the ear, I should like.' ' It will be something, my dear, worthy of our rank. I almost regret, now, that you are a teetotnller. Wine, somehow, seems to belong to a title. Do you think that you could break your vow and take one glass, or even two, of wine, just to show that yuu are equal to the position ? ' * No, Clara Martha,' her husband replied with decision. * No. I will not break the pledge, not even for a glass of old Bourbon.* 184 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. There were no fried oysters at that day's luncheon, nor any green corn in the ear, but it was the best square meal tliat his lordship had ever sat down to in his life. Yet it was marred by the presence of an imposing footman, who seemed to be watching to see how niucb an American could eat. This caused his lordship to drop knives and upset glasses^ and went very near to mar the enjoyment of the meal. After the luncheon he bethought hitn of the chair in the library and retired there. It was, indeed, a most beautiful chair, low in the seat, broad and deep, not too soft, and there was a foot- stool. His lordship sat down in this chair beside a large and cheer- ful fire, put up his feet and surveyed the room. Books were ranged round all the walls, books from floor to ceiling ; there was a large table witb many drawers covered with papers, magazines, and reviews, and provided with ink and pens. The door was shut, and there was no sound save of a passing carriage in the square. 'This,' said his lordship, 'seems better than Stepney Green. I wish nephew Nathaniel weie here to see.' With these words upon his lips he fell into a deep slumber. At half-past three his wife came to wake him up. She had ordered the carriage, and was ready and eager for another drive along those wonderful streets which she had seen for the first tinae. She roused him with great difficulty, and persuaded him, not without words of refusal, to come with her. Of course she was perfectly wide awake. ' This,' she cried, once more in tbe carriage, ' this is London, indeed. Oh ! to think that we have wasted months at Stepney, thinking that was town. Timoth}', we must wake up ; we have a great deal to see and to learn. Look at the shops, look at the carriages. Do tell ! It's better than Boston City. Now we have got the carriage, we will go out every day and see something; I've told them to drive past the Queen's Palace, and to show us where the Prince of Wales lives. Before long we shall go there ourselves, of course, with the rest of the nobility. There's only one thing that troubles me.' ' What is that, Clara Martha ? You air thinkiu', perhaps, that it isn't in nature for them to keep the dinners every day up to the same pitch of elevation ? ' She repressed her indignation at this unworthy suggestion. * No, Timothy; and I hope your lordship will remember that in our position we can afford to despise mere considerations of meat and drink, and wherewithal we shall be clothed,' She spoke as if pure Christianity was impossible beneath their rank, and, indeed, she had never felt so truly virtuous before. ' No, Timothy, my trouble is that we want to see everything there is to be seen.' ' That is si~, Clara Martha. Let us sit in this luxurious chaise, and see it all. I never get tired o' settin', and I like to s^e tilings.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 186 'But wo can only see the things that cost nothing-, or the out- side of things, because we've got no money.' ' No money at all ? ' 'None: only seven shillings, and threepence in coppers.' This was the dreadful truth. Mrs. Bormalack had been paid, and the seven shillings was all that remained. ' And, oh I there is so much to see ! We'd always intended (o run round some day, only we were too busy with the Case to lind the time, and see all the shows we'd heard tell of— the Tower ot London and Westminster Abbe}', and the Monument and Mr. Spurgeon's Tabernacle— but we never thought things were so grand as this. When we get home we will ask for a guide-book of London, and pick out all the things that are open free. That day they drove up and down the streets, gazing at the crowds and the shops. When they got home, tea was brought them in the morning-room, and his lordship, who took it for another square meal, requested the loaf to be brought, and did great things with the bread and butter — and having no footman to fear. At half-past seven a bell rang, and presently Miss Messenger's maid came and whispered that it was the lirst bell, and would her ladyship go to her own room, and could she be of any help ? Lady Davenant rose at once, looking, however, much surprised. She went to her own room, followed by her husband, too much astonished to ask what the thing meant. There was a beautiful fire in the room, which was very large and luxuriously furnished, and lit with gas burning in soft-coloured glass. < Nothing could be more delightful,' said her ladyship, ' and this room is a picture. But I don't imderstand it.' ' Perhaps it's the custom,' said her husband, 'for the aristocracy to meditate in their bedrooms.' *I don't understand it,' she repeated. 'The girl said the first bell. What's the second ? They can't mean us to go to bed.' 'They must,' said his lordship. 'Yes, we must go to bed. And there will be no supper to-night. To-morrow, Clara Martha, you must speak about it, and say we're accustomed to later hours. At nine o'clock or ten we can go with a cheerful heart — after supper. But — well — it looks a soft bed, and I dare say 1 can sleep in it. You've nothing to say, Clara Martha, before I shut my eyes? Because if you have, get it ofl'your mind, so's not to dis- turb me afterwards.' He proceeded to undress in his most leisurely manner, and in ten minutes or so was getting into bed. Just as his head fell upon the pillows there was a knock at the door. It was the maid who came to say that she had forgotten to tell her ladyship that dinner was at eight. ' What ? ' cried the poor lady, startled out of her dignity, ' Po you mean to say that we've got to have dinner ? ' 186 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' Certainly, my lady ; ' this young person was extremely well- beliaved, and in presence of her masters and mistresses and superiors knew not the nature of a smile. 'My!' _ Her ladyship standing at the door looked first at the maid with- out and th(5n at her husband, whose eyes were closed and who was experiencing the iirst and balmy influences of sweet sleep. She felt so helpless that she threw away her dignity and cast herself upon the lady's-maid. * See now 1 ' she said, ' what is your name, my dear ? ' ' Campion, my lady.' ' I suppose you've got a Christian name ? ' * I mean that Miss Messenger always calls me Campion.' ' Well, then, I suppose 1 must too. We are simple people, Miss Campion, and not long from America, where they do things diflerent, and have dinner at half-past twelve and supper at six. And my husband has gone to bed. What is to be done ? ' That a gentleman should suppose bed possible at eight o'clock in the evening was a thing so utterly inconceivable that Campion could for the moment suggest nothing. She only stared. Pre- sently she ventured to suggest that his lordship might get up again. ' Get up, Timothy, get up this minute !' Her ladyship shook and pushed him till he opened his eyes, and lifted his head. ' Don't stop to ask questions, but get up, right away.' Then she ran back to the door. ' Miss Campion ! ' ' Yes, my lady.' ' 1 don't mind much about myself, but it might not look well for his lordship not to seem to know things just exactly how they're done in England. So please don't tell the servants, Misa Campion,' She laid her hand on the maid's arm and looked so earnest, that the girl felt sorry for her. ' No, my lady,' she replied. And she kept her word, so that though the servants' hall knew how the noble lord and his lady had been brought from Stepney Green, and how his lordship floundered among the plates at lunch, and ate up half a loaf with afternoon tea, they did not know that he went to bed instead of dressing for dinner. ' And, Miss Campion,' she was now outside the door, holding it ajar, and the movements of a heavy body hastily putting on clothes could be distinctly heard, ' you will please tell me, pre- Bontly, what time they do have things.' ' Yes, my lady.' ' Family prayers, now ? His lordship will lead, of course, a thing he is quite used to, and can do better than most, having always — ' here she stopped, remembering that there was no abso- lute necessity to explain the duties of a village schoolmaster. ' There are no family prayers, my lady, and your ladyship can have dinner or any other meal at any time you please.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 187 * His lordsliip's times for meals will be those of Lis brother peers.' * Yes, my lady. Breakfast at ten ? ' * Ten -will do perfectly.' It was two Lours later tLan tliuir usual time, and Ler Lusband's suiierings would be very great. Still, everytLing must give way to the responsibilities of the rank. ' Will your ladyship take luncheon at half-past one, and tea at half-past five, and dinner at eight ? ' ' Yes, now that we know them, these hours will suit me per- fectly. We do not in our own country take tea before dinner, but after it. That is nothing, however. And supper ? ' * Your ladyship can have supper whenever you want it,' replied the maid. She hesitated for a moment and then went on. ' It is not usual for supper to be served at all.' * Oh ! then we must go without.' By this time her husband was dressed, and, obedient to in- struction, lie Lad put on Lis new dress coat, witLout, Lowever, making any alteration in tLe rest of Lis morning garments. The effect, therefore, when they descended to the drawing-room would have been very startling, but for the fact that there was nobody to see it. If luncheon was a great meal, dinner was far more magnificent and stately ; only there were two footmen instead of one, and his lordship felt that he could not do that justice to the dinner wLicL tLe dinner deserved, because those two great hulking fellows in livery watched him all the time. After dinner they sat in the great drawing-room, feeling very magnificent and yet uncomfort- able. * The second dinner,' said his lordship in a half-whisper, ' made me feel, Clara Martha, that we did right to leave Canaan City. I never before knew what they really meant by enjoying a title, and I don't think I ever thoroughly enjoyed it before. The red mullet was beautiful, and the little larks in paper baskets made me feel a Lord all over.' CHAPTEn XXVII. THE SAME SIGNS. * Tnis he has done — for love.' When Angela returned to her dressmakery, it was with these words ringing in her ears, like some refrain which continually returns and will not be silenced. ' This he has done — for love.' It was a great deal to do — a great deal to give up ; she fully realised, after her talk with Lord Jocelyn, how much it was that he had given up — at her recLuest. AVhat had she herself done, 188 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Blie asked, in comparison ? She had given money — anybody could give money. She had lived in disguise, under false pretences, for a few months ; but she never intended to go on living in the East End, after she had set her Association on a firm basis. To be sure, she had been drawn on into wider schemes, and could not retire until these, including the Palace of Delight, were well started. But this young man had given up all, cheerfully, for her sake. Because she was a dressmaker, and lived at Stepney, he would be a workman and live there as well. Eor her sake he had given up for ever the life of ease and culture, which might have been his, among the gentle-folk to whom he belonged; for her sake he left the man who stood to him in loco parentis ; for her sake he gave up aJl the things that are dear to young men, and became a servant. And without a murmur. She watched him going to his work in the morning, cheerful, with the sunshine ever in his face, in fact, sunshine lived there — his head erect, his eyes fearless, not repenting at all of his choice, perhaps hopeful that in the long run those impediments spoken of miglit be removed ; in that hope he lived. Should that hope be disappointed — what then? Only to have loved, to have sacrificed so much for the sake of love, Angela said to herself, thinking of something she had read, was enough. Then she laughed because this was so silly, and the young man deserved to have some reward. Then, as a first result of this newly-acquired knowledge, the point of view seemed changed. Quite natural)}', after the first surprise at finding so much cultivation in a working-man, she regarded him, like all the rest, from her own elevated platform. In the same way he, from his own elevation, had been, in a sense, looking down upon herself, though she did not suspect the fact. One might pause here, in order to discuss how many kinds of people do consider themselves on a higher level than their neigh- bours. My own opinion is, that every man thinks himself on so very high a platform as to entitle him to consider the greater part of mankind quite below him ; the fact that no one else thinks so has nothing to do with it. Any one, however, can understand how Angela would at first regard Harry, and Harry the fair dress- maker; i'urther, tbat, whatever acquaintance or intimacy grew up between them, the first impression would always remain, with the mental attitude of a slight superiority in both minds, so long as the first impression, the first belief as to the real facts, was not removed. Now that it was removed on one side, Angela, for her part, could no longer look down ; there was no superiority^ left, except in so far as the daughter of a Whitechapel brewer might consider herself of finer clay than the son of a sergeant in the Army, also of Whitechapel origin. All for love of her ! The words filled her heart; they made her cheeks burn and her eyes glow. It seemed so great and noble a thing to do; so grand a sacrifice to make. ALL SORTS AXD CONDITIONS OF MEN. 189 She remembered lier words of contempt wlien, in a shame- faced, hesitating way, as if it was something wrong, he liad con- fessed that he might go hack to a life of idleness. Why, sho might have known — she ought to have known — that it was not to an ignoble life among ignoble people that he would go. Yet she was so stupid. What a sacrifice to make ! And all for love of her ! Then the flower of love sprang up and immediately blossomed, and was a beauteous rose, ready for her lover to gather and place upon his heart. But as yet she hardly knew it. Yet she had known all along that Harry loved her. He never tried to conceal his passion. * W^iy/ she said to herself, trying to understand the meaning of the sudden change in herself, — '^ WHiy, it only seemed to amuse me; the thing was absurd; and I felt pity for him, and a little anger because he was so presumptuous ; and I was a little embarrassed for fear I had compromised nivself with him. But it wasn't absurd at all ; and he loves me, though I have no fortune. Oh, Heaven ! I am a she Dives, and he doesn't know it, and he loves me all the same.' She was to tell him when the 'impediments' were removed. "Why, they were removed already. But should she tell him? How could she dare to tell him ? No girl likes to do her own wooing; she must be courted ; she must be won. Besides — per- haps — but here she smiled — he was not so very much in love, after all. Perhaps he would change ; perhaps he would grow tired and go home and desert her; perhaps he would fall in love with some- one else. And perhaps Angela, the strong-minded student of Newnham, who would have no love or marriage, or anything of the kind in her life, was no stronger than any of her sisters at the approach of Love the Unconquered. She came back the evening after that dinner. Her cheek had a new colour upon it ; there was a new smile upon her lips ; there was a new softness in her eyes. * Y^ou look so beautiful this evening,' said Nelly. * Have you been happy while you were away ? ' 'I have heard something- that has made me happier,' said Angela. * But you, dear Nelly, have not. Why are your cheeks so pale, and what is the meaning of the dark lines under your eyes ? ' ' It is nothing,' the girl replied quicklj% ' I am quite well. I am always well.' But she was not. She was nervous and pre- occupied. There was something on her mind. Then Harry came, and they began to pass the evening in the usual way, practising^ their songs, with music, and the little dance, without which the girls could not have gone away happy. And Angela, for the first time, observed a thing which struck a chill to her heart and robbed her of half her joy. Why had she never before discovered "this thing ? Ah ! igno- rant maiden, despite the wisdom of the schools ! Hypatia herself 190 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. was not more ignorant than Angela, who knew not that the chief quality of the rose of love in her heart was to make her read the hearts of others. Armed with this magic power, she saw what she might have seen long before. In the hasty glance, the quick flush, the nervous trembling of her hands, poor Nelly betrayed her secret. And by those signs the other girl, who loved the same man, read that secret. ' Oh ! selBsh woman ! ' said Angela's heart. ' Is your happi- ness to be bought at such a cost ? ' A girl of lower nature might have been jealous. Angela was not. It seemed to her no sin in Nelly that she thought too much of such a man. But she pitied her. Nor did she, as some women might have done, suspect that Harry had trifled with her feelings. She knew that he had not. She had seen them together, day after day ; she knew what his bearing had always been towards her, frank, courteous, and brotherly. He called her by her Christian name ; he liked her ; her presence was pleasant ; she was pretty, sweet, and winning. No; she did not suspect him. And yet, what should she say to the poor girl ? how comfort her ? how reconcile her to the inevitable sorrow ? ' Nelly,' she whispered at parting, ' if you are unhappy, my child, you must tell me what it is.' ' I cannot,' Nelly replied. ' But oh ! do not think about rae, Miss Kennedy ; I am not worth it.' Perhaps she, too, had read those same signs, and knew what they meant. CHAPTER XXVIII. HAKBY FINDS LIBERTY. Mentioit has been made of the Stepney Advanced Club, wnere Dick Coppin thundered, and burning questions were discussed, and debates held on high political points, and where more ideas were submitted and more projects set forth in a single year than in all the rest of London in two years. The members of the Advanced Club were mostly young men, but there was a sprinkling among them of grizzled beards who remembered '48 and the dreams of Chartism. They had got by this time pretty well all they clamoured for in their bygone days, and when they thought of this, and remembered how everything was to go well as soon as the five points of the Charter were carried, and how everything still remained in the same upsydown, topsy-turvy, one-sided, muddle-headed perverseness, just as if those points had not been carried, they became sad. Nevertheless, the habit of demanding remained, because the reformer is like the daughter of the horse- leech, and still cries for more. Yet they had less confidence than ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 191 of old in the reformer's preat nostrum of destruction. The younfjer men, of course, were quite sure, absolutely sure, tliat with a little more upsetting and downpullingthe balance would be set right and abeautiful straight level of universal happiness would be reached. Angela heard, from time to time, of the meetings of this club. Harry told her how his cousin Dick had surpassed himself, how they were going to abolish Crown, Church, and House of Lords, with landlordism, lawyers, established armies, pauperdom, Dives- dom, taxes, and all kinds of things which the hateful Tory or that pitiful creature the moderate Liberal considers necessary for the welfare of the State. And she knew that Harry went there and spoke occasionally, and that he had made in a quiet way some sort of mark among the members. One evening, about this time, she met Dick Coppin returning from his work, in which, unlike his cousin, he did not disdain the apron nor the box of tools. ' There's going to be a debate on Sunday,' he said, half shyly and half boastfully, ' at the Club. It's on the Abolition of tiie House of Lords. I am going to speak, and if you like to come, you and one or two of the girls, I'jl pass you in, and you will hear a thing or two that will open your eyes.' ' That is very good of you, Mr. Coppin. I always like to have my eyes opened. Will there be many speakers ?' ' There will be JtE,' he replied, with simple grandeur. 'I don't think, when I've said my say, that there will remain much more to be said by anybody. Cousin Harry may get up, perhaps ' — his face assumed a little uneasiness — 'but no, I don't think he will find any holes in me. I've got the facts, I've gone to the right quarter to get 'em. No ; he can't deny my facts.' ' Very well, Mr. Coppin. Perhaps we will go to hear you. But be very sure about your facts.' Angela said nothing about the proposed debate or her inten- tion of being present, but she learned from Harry that there really was going to be a field night, and that Dick Coppin was expected to come out in more than his usual strength. The informant said nothing about his own intentions. Indeed, he had none, but ho was falling into the habit of spending an hour or two at the Club on Sunday evening before finishing off with the girls ; sometimes he spoke, but oftener he listened and came away silent and reflec- tive. The Advanced Club offered ample material for one who knows how to reflect. Humanity is a grand subject, and, in fact, is the only subject left for an epic poem. But perhaps the action would drag. Here, Harry saw, was a body of men, old and young, all firmly persuaded that things were wronfr, that things might be made better, yet casting about blindly for a remedy and crying aloud for a leader. And those who desired to lead them had nothing to offer but a stone instead of bread. The fact that this young man did listen and reflect shows how greatly he was changed from him whom we first met in the Prologue. Regular hours, simple living, reason- 192 ALL SOLITS AND COXDITLOXS OF JTEN. ably hard work, strengthened Lis nerves for anything; he was harder ; the men with whom he talked were rougher, and the old carelessness was gone. He kept his gaiety of heart, yet it was sobered ; he felt responsible ; he knew so much more than the men around him, that he felt a consuming desire to set them right, but could not, for he was tongue-tied ; he had not yet found liberty, as the old preacliers used to say ; when he felt most strongly that the speakers were on a false tack, he spoke most feebly ; he wanted to be a Prophet, and there were only confused ideas, blurred per- ceptions to work upon. Now, the first step towards being a Prophet — which is a most laudable ambition — is to see quite clearly oneself and to understand what one means. lie could set a man right as to facts; he could shut up a speaker and make the Club laugh, but he could not move them. As yet Harry was only in the position occupied during a long life by the late Prophet of Chelsea, inasmucli as he distinctly perceived the folly of his neigh- bours, but could teach no way of wisdom. This is a form of prophetical utterance which has never possessed much weight with the people; they want direct teaching, and a leader who knows what he means and whither he would conduct them, if it be only in the direction of one of those poor old worn-out panaceas once warranted to guarantee universal happiness, like the ballot- box. Not that Harry grew miserable over his failure to prophesy, rot at all; he only wished for words of wisdom and power, and sat meanwhile with his hands in his pockets and his hat pulled over his eyes, like a Minister in the House of Commons, while the members of the Club poured forth their frothy declamation, each louder than his predecessor, trying to catch the applause of an assembly which genernlly shouted for the loudest. The times might be out of joint, but Harry felt no certain inspiration as to the way of setting them light; if a thing came to him, he would sa}' it ; if not, he would wait. The great secret about waiting is that while a man waits he thinks, and if he thinks in solitude and waits long enough, letting words lie in his brain and listening to ideas which come upon him, sometimes singly and slowly, some- times in crowds lilce the fancies of a wakeful night, there presents itself an idea at last which seizes upon him and holds him captive, and works itself out in his brain while he mechanically goes on with the work, the rest, the toil, and the pleasure of his daily life. Solitary work is favourable to meditation ; therefore, while Harry was shaping things at his lathe, undisturbed by any one, his brain was at work. And a thought came to him which lay there dimly perceived at first, but growing larger daily till it filled his head and drew unto itself all his other thoughts, so that everything he saw, or read, or heard, or meditated upon, became like a rill or rivulet which goes to swell a great river. And it was this thought, grown into chape at last, which he proclaimed to the members of the Advanced Club on the night of their great debate. It was not a large Hall, but it was perfectly filled with people; ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 193 chiefly they were men and young men, but among them were a good many women and girls. Does it ever occur to the ' better class ' that the work of woman's emancipation is advancing in cer- tain circles with rapid strides ? That is so, nevertheless ; and large, if not pleasant, results may be expected in a few years there- from. It must be remembered that for the most part they start perfectly free from any trammels of religion. It has been stated that the basis of all their philosophy is, and always will be, the axiom that every one must get as much as possible for herself out of the rather limited rations of Pleasure supplied to Humanity. Whether that is true I know not. Angela watched these women with curiosity ; they were mostly young and some of them were pretty, and there was absolutely nothing to show that they thought diiferently from any other women. Some of them had brought their work ; some were talking ; they were not excited by the prospect of the coming debate ; they expected, in fact, nothing more than they had already heard over and over again. There was too much gas, the atmosphere was already heavy and the walls already shiny, before the meeting began. On the platform was a chair for the chairman, with a table and a hammer and a decanter of water and a glass. Angela sat far back against the door, with Captain Sorensen and Nelly. She was silent, wondering at these people and why they should trouble themselves about the House of Lords, and whether they never felt any desire at all for the re- ligion which brings joy and happiness to so many suffering lives. Presently she saw Harry walk slowly up the middle aisle and take a place, for there was no chair, on the steps which led to the plat- form. She was so far back that he could not see her, for which afterwards she was glad. The chairman, a man stricken in years, with grey hair and a grizzled beard, and one of those ex-Chartists of whom we have spoken, took the chair, hammered the table, and opened the debate. He was a man of great reputation, having been all his life an Irre- concilable, and he was suspected of being a Socialist, and was cer- tainly a Red Republican. He began in the usual way by stating as an axiom that the People can do no wrong ; that to entrust the destinies of a Nation to the people is to ensure its greatness ; that Manhood is the only rank : — and so forth, all in capital letters with notes of admiration. The words were strong, but they produced no effect, because the speech had been made before a great many times, and the people knew it by heart. Therefore, though it was the right thing to say, and the thing expected of a chairman, nobody paid any attention, The Discussion, which was all one-sided, then began. Two or three young men rose one after the other ; they were listened to with the indulgence which is always accorded to beginners. None of them made a point, or said a good thing, or went outside the crude theories of untaiignt, if generous, youth ; and their ignorance was such as to make Angela almost weep. 194 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Then Dick Coppin mounted the platform, and advanced amid the plaudits of the expectant audience. He ran his finders through his coarse black hair, straightened himself up to his full height of five feet six, drank a little water, and then, standing beside the chairman's table, with his right band resting upon it, when he was not waving it about, he began, slowly at first, but afterwards with fluent speech and strong words and a ringing voice, the liaranguo which he had so carefully prepared. Of course he condemned tlie House of Lords tooth and nail ; it must bo destroyed root and branch; it was a standing insult to the common sense of the nation ; it was an effete and worn-out institution, against wliich the en- lightenment of the age cried out aloud ; it was an obstruction to Progress ; it was a menace to the People ; it was a thing of the Past ; it was an enemy of the working-man ; it was a tyrant who had the will but not the power to tyrannise any longer; it was a toothless old wolf who could bark but could not bite. Those free and enlightened men sitting before him, members of the Advanced Club, had pronounced its doom — therefore it must go. The time had come when the nation would endure no longer to have a pri- vileged class, and would be mocked no more by the ridiculous spectacle of hereditary legislators. He pursued this topic with great freedom of language and a great natural eloquence of a rough and uncultivated kind ; his hearers, getting gradually warmed, interrupted him by those plaudits which go straight to the heart of the born orator, and stir him to his strongest and his best. Then he changed his line and attempted to sliow that the families which compose the Upper House are themselves, as well as their Institution, worn out, used up, and lost to tlie vigour which first pushed them to the front. Where were now their fighting men ? he asked. Where were their orators ? Which among them all was of any real importance to his Party ? Which of them had in modern times done anything, proposed anything, or thought of anything for the advancement of knowledge, or the good of the people? Not one able man, he said, among them; luxury had ruined and corrupted all ; their blood was poisoned ; they could drink and eat; they could practise other luxurious habits, which he enumerated with fidelity, lest there should be any mistake about the matter; and then they could go to the House, reeling into it drunk with wine, and oppose the Will of the People. Then he turned from generalities to particulars, and enter- tained his audience with anecdotes gleaned. Heaven knows how, from the private histories of many noble families, tending to show the corruption into whicli the British Aristocracy had fallen. These anecdotes were received with that keenness which always awaits stories which show how wicked other people are, and what are the newest fiishions and hitherto unknown forms of vice, Angela marvelled, on her part, to hear 'Scandal about Queen Elizabeth ' at Stepney, ALL SORTS AM) CONDITIONS OF MEN. 195 Tlieu, after an impeacliment ■wliicu lasted for half an hour, he thuudered forth an appeal — not at all novel to his hearets, yet still effective, because his voice was like a trumpet — to the men before him to rise in their millions, their majesty, and their might, and to tear the accursed thing down. He sat down, at last, -wiping his forehead, and exhausted, but triumphant. Never before had he so completely carried his audience with him ; never before had he obtained such flow of language, and such mastery over his voice ; never before had he realised so fully tliat he was, lie himself, an orator inferior to none. As he sat down, while the men clapped their hands and cheered, a vision of greatness passed before his mind. lie would be the Leader of the People ; they should look to him as tliey had never yet looked to any man for guidance. And he would lead them. Whither? But this, in the dream of the moment, mattered nothing. A cold chill came over him as he saw his cousin Harry leap lightly to the platform and take his place at the table. For he foresaw trouble ; and all the more because those of the audience who knew Gentleman Jack laughed in expectation of that trouble. Fickle and fleeting is the breath of popular favour ; only a moment before, and they were cheering him to the skies ; now they laughed because they hoped he was to be made to look a fool. But the orator took heart, considering that his facts were undeni- able. When tlie tumult had subsided, Harry, to everybody's astonish- ment, laid his hand upon his cousin's shoulder — a gesture of approbation — and looked round the room and said, quietly, but loud enough to be heard by all : ' JMy cousin, Dick Coppin, can talk. That was a very good Bpeech of his, wasn't it ?' Voices were heard asking if he could better it. * No,' Harry replied, ' I can't. I wish I could.' lie took his place beside the table, and gazed for a few moments at the faces below him. Angela observed that his face was pale, though the carriage of his head was brave. 'I wish,' he repeated 'that I could. Because, after all these fireworks, it is such a tame thing just to tell you that there wasn't a word of sense in the whole speech.' Here there were signs of wrath, but the general feeling was to let the speaker have his say. ' Do you suppose — any of you — that Dick believes that tlie Lords go rolling drunk to tlie House ? Of course he doesn't. Do you suppose that he tliinks you such fools as to believe it? Of course he doesn't. But then, you see, Dick must have his fire- works. And it was a first-iate speech. Do you suppose he believes that the Lords are a worn-out lot ? Not he. He knows better. And if any of you feel inclined to think so, go and look at them. You will find them as well set up aa most, and better, o2 1D6 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. You can hear some of them in the House of Commons, where you send them, you electors. Wherever there are Englishmen, work" ing, fighting, or sporting, there are some of those families among them. As for their corruption, that's fireworks too. Dick has told you some beautiful stories which he challenged anybody to dispute. I dare say they are all true. What he forgot to tell you is that he has picked out these stories from the last hundred and fifty years, and expects you to believe that they all happened yesterday. Shall we charge you members of the Club with all the crimes of the Whitechapel Road for a hundred years ? If you want to upset the House of Lords, go and do it. But don't do it with lies on your lips, and on false pretences. You know how virtuous and moral you are yourselves. Then just remember that the members of the House of Lords are about as moral as you are, or rather better. Abolish the House of Lords, if you like. How much better will you be when it is gone ? Y^ou can go on abolishing. There is the Church. Get it disestablished. Think how much better you will all be when the churches are pulled down. Yet you couldn't stay away any more then than you do. You want the Land Laws reformed. Get them reformed, and think how much land you will get for yourselves out of that Reform. ' Dick Coppin says ycni have got the Power. So you have. He says the last Reform Bill gave it to you. There he makes a mistake. You have always had the Power. You have always had all the Power there is. It is yours, because you are the people, and what the people want they will have. Your Power is your birthright. You are an irresistible giant who has only to roar in order to get what he wants. 'Well, why don't you roar.P Because you don't know what you do want. Because your leaders don't know, any more than yourselves ; because they go bawling for things which will do you no good, and they don't know what it is you do want. 'You think that by making yourselves into Clubs and calling yourselves Radicals, j'ou are getting forward. You think that by listening to a chap like my cousin Dick, who's a clever fellow and a devil for fireworks, you somehow improve your own con- dition. Did you ever ask yourselves what difference the form of Government makes ? I have been in America, where, if any- where, the people have it their own waj'. Do you think work is more plentiful, wages better, hours shorter, things cheap3r in a Republic ? Do you think the heels of your boots last any longer? If you do, think so no longer. Whether the House of Lords, or the Church, or the Land Laws stand or fall, that, my friends, makes not the difference of a penny piece to any single man among us. You who agitate for their destruction are generously giving your time and trouble for things which help no man. And yet there are so many things that can help us. 'It comes of your cursed ignorance ' — Harry was warming up — * I say, your cursed ignorance. You know nothing : you under- ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 197 stand nothing : of your own country. You do not know bow its institutions iiavo grown up: why it is so prosperous: why changes, wlien they have to be made, should be made slowly, and not before they are necessary ; nor how you yourselves may climb up, if you will, into a life above you, much happier, much more pleasant. You do not respect the old institutions, because you don't know them ; you desire new things because you don't under- stand the old. Go — learn — make your orators learn and make them teach you. And then send them to the House of Commons to represent you. * You think that Governments can do everything for you. You FOOLS ! Has any Government ever done anything for you ? Has it raised your wages ? Has it shortened your hours ? Can it pro- tect you against ]'ogues and adulterators ? Will it ever try to better your position ? Never : never : never. Because it cannot. Does any Government ask what you want, what jovl ought to want? No. Can it give you what you want ? No. '' Listen. You want clean streets and houses in which decent folk can live. The Government has appointed sanitary officers. Yet, look about you : put your heads in the courts of Whitechapel — what has the sanitary officer done ? You want strong and well- built houses. There are Government inspectors. Yet, look at the lath-and-plaster houses that a child could kick over. You want honest food. All that you eat and drink is adulterated. How does the Government help you there ? ' You have the Power — all the Power there is ; you cannot use it because you don't know how. You expect the Government to use your Power — to do your work. My friends, I will tell you the secret — whatever you want done you must do for yourselves — no one else will do it for you. You must agree that such and such shall be done, and then be very sure, you will get it done. ' In politics you are used as the counters of a game, each side plays with you : not for you, mind. You get nothing, whichever side is in : you are the pawns. ' It is something, perhaps, to take even so much part in the game ; but as you get nothing but the honour, I am rather sur- prised at your going on with it. And if I might advise, it would be that we give that game over and play one by ourselves in which there really is something to be got. ' What we must play for is what we want. What we have got to do is to remember that when we say we will have a thing, nobody can resist us. Have it we must, because we are the masters. ' Now, then, what do we want ? ' Harry was quite serious by this time, and so were the faces of those who listened, though there was a little angry doubt on some of them. No one replied to the question. Some of the younger men looked as if they might perhaps have answered in the words of the sailor, ' more rum.' But they refrained, and pra- lejved silence. 198 ALL SORIS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' What do we waut ? Has any one of you ever considered what you do waut ? Let me tell you a few things — I can't think of many, but I hnow a few that you ought to put first. ' You want your own local Government. What every little country town has, you have not. You waut to elect your own Alder- men, Mayors, Guardians, and School Boards, yourselves— by your- selves. Get that first, and abolish the House of Lords afterwards. 'There is your food. You ought to get j^our beef from America at threepence a pound, and you are contented to give a shilling; you ought to have your fish at twopence a pound, and you pay whatever they choose to charge you ; you drink bad beer, bad spirits, bad tea, bad cocoa, bad coflee — because you don't know that the things are bad and dear, and because you don't under- stand that you have only got to resolve in order to get all this changed. It is, you see, your cursed ignorance. ' There are your houses. The rich people, having more know- ledge than you, and more determination, have found out how to build houses so as to prevent fevers. You live in houses built to catch fever — fever-traps. When you find out what you want, you will refuse to live in such houses, you will refuse to let anybody live in such houses ; you will come out of them ; you will havo them pulled down. When it comes to building up better houses, you will remember that paid inspectors are squared by the builders, so that the cement is mud and sand, and the bricks are crumbling clay, and the walls crack, and the floors are shaky. Therefore, you will be your own inspectors. * The Government makes us send our children to Board Schools to be educated. That would be very noble of the Government if they at first considered, which nobody has, what sort of education a working-man wants. As yet they have only got as far as spell- ing. When a boy can spell, they think he is educated. Onco it was all Kings of Israel ; now it is all spelling. Is that what you want ? Do you think it matters how you spell, so that you knoiv ? Are you contented that your children sliall know nothing about this 'great country, nothing of its wealth and people, nothing of their duties as citizens, nothing of their own trade? Shall they not be taught that theirs is the PoAver, that they can do whf.t they like and have what they like — if they like ? Do you resolve that the education of your children shall be real, and it will be- come real. But don t look to Government to do it, or it will con- tinue to bo Spelling. Find out the thing that you want, and send your own men to the School Boards to get that thing done. 'Another thing that you want is Pleasure. Men can't do without it. Can Government give you that ? They can shut the public-houses at twelve. What more can they do ? But you — you do not know how to enjoy yourselves. You don't know what to do. You can't play music, nor sing, nor paint, nor dance : you can do nothing. You get no pleasure out of life, and you won't get it, even by abolishing everything. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 199 ' Take that simple question of a lioliclay. Wo take ours, like the Cools we are, all in droves, by thousands and uiillious, on Rank holidays. Why do we do that '^ Why do we not insist on having- our holidays at diflerent times in the year, without these mon- strous crowds which render enjoyment impossible ? And why do we not demand— what is granted to every little quill-driving clerk in the City — our fortnight every year, with nothing to do and drmvivr/ full pay ? That is one of your wants, and you don't know it. Tlie reform of the Land Laws, my brothers, will not bring you one inch nearer getting this want.' At this point the chairman nodded his head approvingly. Per- haps he had never before realised how all his life he had neglected the substance and swallowed the shadow. The old man sat listening patiently with his head in his hands. Never before had any workman, anyone of his own class, spoken like this young fellow, wlio talked and looked like a swell, though they knew him for what he was. Pleasure ! Yes : he had never considered that life might have its delights. Yet, what delights? ' There's another thing, and the blackest of all.' Harry paused a moment. But the men were listening, and now in earnest. ' I mean the treatment of your girls, your sisters and your daughters. Men ! You have combined together and made your Unions for yourselves. You have forced upon your employers terms which nothing but combination v/ould have compelled them to accept ; you are paid twice what you received twenty years ago ; you go in broadcloth ; you are well fed ; you have money in your pocket. Jjut you have clean forgotten the girls. ' Think of the girls ! ' They have no protection but a Government Act, forbidding more than ten hours' work. Who cares for a Government Act ? It is defied daily ; those who frame these Acts know very well that they are powerless to maintain them. Because, my friends, the Power is with the People — you. If you resolve that an Act shall become a law, you make it so. Everything, in the end, is by the people and through the people. ' You have done nothing for your girls. You leave them to the mercies of employers who have got to cut down expenses to the last farthing. They are paid starvation wages ; they are kept in unwholesome rooms ; they are bound to the longest hours ; they are oppressed with fines. The girls grow up narrow-chested, Btooping, consumptive. They are used up wholesale. And what do you do for them ? Nothing. There are girls and women in this hall. Can any one of them here get up and say that the working men have raised a finger for them ? ' The worst charge any man can bring against you is that you care nothing for your girls. ' Why, it is only the other day that a Dressmakers' Association has been opened among you. You all know where it is; you all know what it tries to do for the girls ; yet, what single man 200 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. among you has ever had the pluck to stand up for his sisters who are working in it ?' Then Harry stepped right to the edge of the platform and spread out his hands, changing his voice. ' You are good fellows/ he said, ' and you've given me fair play. There isn't a country in the world except England where I could have had this fair play. Don't misunderstand me. I tell you, and I don't think you knew it before, that the time has come when the people should leave off caring much about the Govern- ment or expecting any good thing for themselves from any Government, because it can't be done in that way. You must find out for yourselves what you want, and then you must have that done. You must combine for these things as you did for wages, and you will get them. And if you spend half the energy in working for yourselves that you have spent in working for things that do you no good, you will be happy indeed. * Your Politics— I say again — will do nothing for you. Do you hear — nothing at all. But yours is the Power. Let us repeat it again and again: all the Power is yours. Try what Government can do. Send Dick Coppin into Parliament — he's a clever chap — and tell him to do what he can for you. He will do nothing. Therefore, work for yourselves, and by yourselves. Make out what you want, and resolve to have it. Nobody can prevent you. The world is yours to do what you like with. Here in England, as in America, the working man is master, provided the working man knows what he wants. The first thing you want, I reckon, is good lodging ; the second is good food ; the third is good drink — good unadulterated beer, and plenty of it ; the fourth is good and sensible education ; the fifth is holiday and pleasure ; and the last which is also the first, is justice for your girls. But don't be Fools. I have been among you in this Club a good many times. It goes to my heart every time I come to see so many clever men, and able men, wasting their time over grievances which don't hurt them, when they are sur- rounded by a hundred grievances which they laave only to perceive, in order to sweep them away. I am a Radical, like yourselves, but I am a Social Radical. As for your political Jaw, it plays the game of those who use you : Politics is a game of lying accusations, and impossible promises : the accusations make you angry : the promises make you hopeful. But you get nothing in the long run, and you never will: because, promise what they may, it is not laws or measures that will improve our lot : it is by our own resolution that it shall be improved. Hold out your hands and take the things that are offered you. Everything ia yours if you like to have it. You are in a beautiful garden filled Avith fruits, if you care to pick them, but you do not : you lie grubbing in the mud and crying out for what will do you no good. Voices are calling to you : they offer you such a life as was never yet conceived by the lordliest House of Lords, a life full of work ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 201 and full of pleasure ; but you don't hear: you are deaf: you are blind : you are ignorant.' He stopped — a hoarse shout greeted his peroration — Harry wondered for a moment if this was applause or disapproval. It was the former. Then one man rose and spoke. ' Damn him I ' he cried. Yet the phrase was used in no con- demnatory spirit — as when a mother addresses her boy as a naughty little rogue-pogue. ' Damn him ! Pie shall be our next member.' ' No/ said Harry, clapping his cousin on the shoulder, ' here is your next member, Dick Coppin is your boy. Pie is clever : he is ambitious : tell him what you want, and he'll get it for you if anyone can. But — oh ! men — find out what you want : and have it. Yours — yours — yours is the Power — you are the masters of the world. Leave the humbug of Radicalism and Liberalism and Toryism. Let dead politics bury their dead. Learn to look after your own interests. You are the Kings and Lords of humanity : the old Kings and Lords are no more : they are swept away: they are only shadows of the past. With you are the sceptre and the crown : you sit upon the throne : and when you know how to reign, you shall reign as never yet king was known to reign. But Jirst, find vut xvhat you want.' He lightly leapt from the platform, and stepped down the hall. He had said his say, and was going. The men laughed and shouted, half angry, half pleased, but wholly astonished. And Dick Coppin, with a burning cheek, sat humiliated, yet proud of his cousin. At the door Harry met Miss Kennedy with Captain Sorensen and Nelly. '■ We have heard your speech,' said Angela, with brightened eyes and glowing cheeks. ' Oh ! what did I tell you ? You can speak, you can persuade — you can lead. What a career — what a career — lies before the man who can persuade and lead I ' CHAPTER XXIX. THE FIGUREHEADS. It wap Sunday morning, after breakfast, and Harry was sitting in the boarding-house common room, silently contemplating his two fellow-boarders, Josephus and Mr. Maliphant. The circle at Bor- malack's was greatly broken up. Not to speak of the loss of the illustrious pair, Daniel Fagg had now taken to live entirely among the dressmakers, except in the evenings, when their music and dancing drove him away; in fact, he regarded the place fi3 his own, ftnd had so far forgotten that he took his nxeals thefQ 202 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. by invitation as to criticise tlie dinners, -which were always g'ood, although plain, and to find fault with the beer, -which came from Messenger's. Miss Kennedy, too, only slept at the boarding-house, though by singular forgetfulness she always paid the landlady every Saturday morning in advance for a week's board and lodging. Therefore Josephus and the old man for the most part sat in the room alone, and were excellent company, because the ill-used junior clerk never wanted to talk with anybody, and the aged carver of figureheads never wanted a listener. Almost for the first time, Harry considered this old man, the rememberer of fag ends and middlebits of anecdote, with some- thing more than a passing curiosity and a sense of irritation caused by the incongruity of the creature. You know that whenever you seriously address yourself to the study of a person, however insig- cilicantin appearance, that person assumes an importance equal to that of any lord. A person, you see, is an individual, or an indi- \isible tiling. Wherefore, let us not despise our neighbour. The ancient IMr. Maliphant was a little, thin old man, with a few grey hairs left, but not many; his face was enwrapped, so to speak, in a pair of very higli collars, and he wore a black silk stock, not very rusty, for he had been in the reign of the fourth George a dapper young fellow, and possessed a taste in dress beyond the lights of Limehouse. But this was in his nautical days, and before he developed his natural genius for carving ship's figureheads. He bad no teeth left, and their absence greatly shortened the space between nose and chin, which produced an odd effect ; he -vyas closely shaven ; his face was covered all over like an ocean with innumerable wrinkles, crowsfeet, dimples, furro-vs's, valleys, and winding watercourses, which showed like the universal smile of an accurate map. His forehead, when the original thatch was thick, must have been rather low and weak ; his eyes were still bright and blue, though they wandered while he talked ; when he wal silent they had a far-otf look ; his eyebrows, as often happens ■with old men, had grown bushy and were joined across the bridge; when his memory failed him, which was frequently the case, they frowned almost as terribly as those of Daniel Fagg ; his figure vyas spare and his legs thin, and he sat on one side of the chair with his feet twisted beneath it ; lie never did anything, except to emoke one pipe at night; he never took the least notice of any- body ; when he talked, he addressed the whole company, not any individual; and he was affected by no man's happiness or suffering. He had lived so long that he had no more sympathy left; the world was nothing more to him ; he had no further interest in it ; be had gone beyond it and out of it; he was so old that he bad not a friend left who knew him when be was young; he lived apart ; he was, perforce, a hermit. Harry remembered, looking upon this survival, that the old man had once betrayed a knowledge of liis father and of the early history of the Ooppin and Messenger families. He wondered now ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 203 wliv he liad not tried to get more out of him. It would be a fnmily chronicle of small beer, but there could be nothing, proba- bly, very disagreeable to learn about the career of the late sergeant, his father, nor anything painful about the course of the Coppins. On this Sunday morning, when the old man looked as if the carea of tlie week were off his mind, his memory should bo fresh — clearer than ou a week-day. In the happy family of boarders, none of whom pretended to take the least interest in each other, nobody ever spoke to Mr. Malipliant, and nobody listened when he spoke : nobody, except Mrs. Bormalack, who was bound by rules of politeness, took the least notice of his coming or of his going ; nobody knew how he lived or what he paid for his board and lodging, or anythiug else about him. Once, it was certain, he had been in the mercantile marine. Now he had a ' yard ' ; he went to this yard every day ; it was rumoured that in this yard he carved figureheads all day for hn-ge sums of mone}^ ; he came home in the evening in time for supper; a fragrance, as of rum and water, generally accom- panied him at that time ; and after a pipe and a little more grog, and a few reminiscences chopped up iu bits and addressed to the room at large, the old fellow would retire for the night. A per- fectl}'^ cheej'ful and harmless old man, yet not companionable. ' Did you know my father, Mr. Malipliant ? ' asked Harry, by way of opening up the conversation. ' He was a sergeant, you know, in the army.' Mr. Maliphant started and looked bewildered ; he had been, in imagination, somewhere olf Cape Horn, and he could not get back at a moment's notice. It irritated him to have to leave his old friends. ' Your father, young gentleman ? ' he asked in a vexed and trembling quaver. ' Did I know your father ? Pray, sir, how am I to know that you ever had a father P ' 'You said the other day that you did. Think again. My father, you know, married Caroline Coppin.' ' Ay, ay — Caroline Coppin — I remember Caroline Coppin. Oh ! Yes, sister she was to Bob — wlien Bob was third mate of a East Indiaman; a devil of a fellow was Bob, though but a boy, and if living now, which I much misdoubt, would be but sixty or thereabouts. Everybody, young man, knew Bob Coppin,' .... here ho relapsed into silence. When he spoke again, he carried on aloud the subject of his thoughts— ' below he did his duty. Such a man, sir, was Bob Coppin.' ' Thank you, Mr. Maliphant. I. seem to know Bob quite well from your description. And now he's gone aloft, hasn't he? And when the word conies to pass all hands, there will be Bob with a hitch of his trousers and a kick of the left leg. But about my mother? ' ' Young gentleman, how am I to know that you were bom with a mother P Law ! law I One might as well — ' here his 204 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Toice dropped again and he finished the sentence with the silent motion of his lips. ' Caroline Coppin, you know j your old friend.' He shook his head. * No, oh ! no. I knew her when she was as high as that table. My young friend, not my old friend, she was. How could she be my old friend ? She married Sergeant Goslett, and he went out to India and — and — something happened there. Perhaps he was cast away. A many get cast away in those seas.' ' Is that all you remember about her ? ' ' I can remember,' said the old man, ' a wonderful lot of things at times. You mustn't ask any man to remember all at once. Not at his best, you mustn't, and I doubt I am hardly at what you may call my tip-top ripest — ^yet. Wait a bit, young man ; wait a bit. I've been to a many ports and carved figureheads for a macy ships, and they got cast away, one after tlie other, but dear to memory still, and paid for. Like Sergeant Goslett. A handsome man he was, with curly brown hair, like yours, young gentleman, I remember how he sang a song in this very house when Caroline — or was it her sister ? — had it, and I forget whether it was before Bunker married her sister or after Caroline's baby was born, which was when the child's father was dead, A beautiful evening, we had.' Caroline's baby, Harry surmised, was himself. ' Where was Caroline's baby born ? ' Harry asked. ' Where should he be ? Why, o' course, in his mother's own house.' ' Why should he be born in his mother's own house ? I did not know that his mother had a house.' The old man looked at him with pity. ' Young man,' he said, 'you know nothing. Your ignorance is shameful.' ' But why ? ' * Enough said, young gentleman,' replied Mr. Maliphant, with dignit3^ ' Enough said : youth should not sport with age : it doth not become grey hairs to — to — ' He did not finish the sentence, except to himself, but what he did say was something emphatic and improving, because he shook his head a good deal over it. Presently he got up and left the room. Harry watched him getting his hat and tying his muffler about his neck. When things were quite adjusted the old man feebly tottered down the steps. Harry took his hat and followed him. * May I walk with you, sir ? ' he asked. * Surely, surely ! ' Mr. Maliphant was surprised ; ' it is an unusual thing for me to have a companion. Formerly, they came — ah ! — all the way from Rotherhithe to — to — sing and drink with nje.' ' Will you take my arm P ' IJarry asked, AIL 30liTS AND CONDITTONS OP MUX 20S The little old man, wlio wore black trousers and a dress-coat Out of respect to the day, but, altlioui^h the month was December, no great-coat — in fact, he had never worn a great-coat in all his life — was trotting along with steps wluch shewed weakness but mani- fest intention. Harry wondered where he meant to go. He took the proffered arm, however, and seemed to get on better for the support. ' Are you going to church, sir ? asked Harry, when they came opposite the good old church of Stepney, with its vast acres of dead men, and heard the bells ringing. * No, young gentleman, no, certainly not. I have more impor- tant business to look after.' He quickened his steps, and they left the church behind them. ' Church ? ' repeated Mr. Maliphant, with severity. ' When there's Property to look after, the bells may ring as loud as they please. Church is good for paupers and churchwardens. Where would the Property be, do you think, if I were not on the spot every day to protect it ? ' He turned off the High Street into a short street of small houses, neither belter nor worse than the thousands of houses around : it was a cul-dc-sac, and ended in a high brick wall with a large gateway in the middle and square stone pillars and a ponderous pair of wooden gates, iron bound, as if they guarded things of the greatest value. There was also a small wicket beside it, which the old man carefully unlocked and opened, looking round to see that no burglars followed. Harry saw, within, a tolerably large yard, in the middle of which was a little house of one room. The house was a most wonderful structure ; it was built apparently of packing-cases nailed on four or eight square posts : it was furnished with a door, a window, and a chimney, all complete ; it was exactly like a doll's house, only that it was rather larger, being at least six feet high and eight feet square. The house was painted green ; the roof was painted red ; the door blue ; there was also a brass knocker; 80 that in other respects it was like a doll's house. * Aha ! ' cried the old man, rubbing his hands and pointing to the house. ' I built it, young man. That is my own house, that is ; I laid the foundations ; I put up the walls ; I painted it. And I very well remember when it was. Let me see : Mr. Messenger, who was a younger man than me by four years, married in that year, or lost his son — I forget which,' h's voice lowered, and he went on talking to himself — ' Caroline's grandfather went bankrupt in the building trade ; or her father, perhaps, who afterwards made money and left houses. And here I am still. This is my Property, young gentleman, and I come here every day to execute orders. Oh ! yes,' — he looked about him in a kind of mild doubt — ' I execute orders. Perhaps the orders don't come in so thick as they did. But here I am — ready for work — always ready, and I see my old friends too, aha ! They come as thick as ever, bless you, if the orders don't. Quite a 206 ALL SORTS AjVI) CONDITION'S OF MEm patherinf» in here, some days.' Harry shuddered, thinlnng who these old friends might be. * Sundays and all I come here, and they come too. A merry company ! ' The garrulous old man opened the door of the little house. Harry saw that it contained a cupboard with some simple cooking utensils, and a fireplace, where the proprietor began to make a fire, and one chair, and a little table, and a rack with tools ; there were also one or two pipes and a tobacco jar. He looked about the yard. A strange place, indeed ! It was adorned or rather furnished with great sliipa' figureheads, carved in wood, standing in rows and circles, some complete, some half finished, some just begun ; so that here was a Lively Peggy with rudimentary features just emerging from her native wood, and here a Saucy Sal of Wapping still clothed in oak up to her waist ; and here a Neptune, his crowned head only as yet indi- cated, though the weather-beaten appearance of his wood showed that the time was long since he was begun ; or a Father Thames, his god-like face as yet showing like a blurred dream. Or there were finished and perfect heads, painted and gilded, waiting for the purchaser who never came. They stood or sat — • whichever a head and shoulder can be said to do — with so much pride, each so rejoicing in himself, and so disdainful of his neigh- bour, in so haughty a silence, that they seemed human and belonging to the first circles of Stepney ; Harry thought, too, that they eyed him curiously, as if he might be the long-expected shipowner come to buy a figurehead. ' Here is Property, young man ! ' cried the old man ; he had lit his fire now and came to the door, craning forward and spread- ing his hands. ' Look at the beauties. There's truth ! There's expression ! Mine, young man, all mine. Hundreds— thousands of pounds here, to be protected.' ' Do you come here every day ? ' Harry asked. ' Every day. The Property must be looked after.' ' And do you sit here all day, by j'ourself .? ' * Why, who else should I sit with ? And a man like me never sits alone. Bless your heart, young gentleman, of a morn- ing, when I sit before the fire and smoke a pipe, this room gets full o' people. They crowd in, they do. Dead people, I mean, of course. I know more dead men than living. They're the best company, after all. Bob Coppin comes, for one.' Harry began to look about, wondering wliether the ghost of Bob might suddenly appear at the door. On the whole, he envied the old man his company of departed friends. ' So j'ou talk,' he said; 'you and the dead people,' By this time the old man had got into his chair, and Harry stood in the doorway, for there really was not room for more than one in tlie house at the same time, to say nothing of inconveniencing and crowding the merry company of ghosts. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 207 * You wouldn't believe,' said the old man, ' the tallcs we have nor the yarns wo spin, wlien we're here together.' ' It must bo a jovial time,' said Harry. ' Do they drink ? ' Mr. Maliphant screwed up his lips and shook his head mysteriously. ' Not of a morning-,' he replied, as if in the evening the old rollicking customs were still kept up. ' And 3'ou talk about old times — eh ? ' 'There's nothing else to talk about, as I know.' 'Certainly not. Somelimes you talk about my — about Caroline Coppin'a fatlier, 1 suppose. I mean the one who made money, not the one who went bankrupt.' 'Houses,' said Mr. Maliphant; ' houses it was.' 'Oh!' 'Twelve houses there were, all his own. Two sons and two daughters to divide among. Bob Coppin sold bis at once — Banker bouglit 'em — and we drank up tiie money down Poplar way, him and me and a few friends together in a friendly and comfortable spirit. A fine time we had, I remember. Jack Coppin was in his father's trade, and he lost his money ; specu- lated, he did. Builders are a believin' people. Bunker got his houses, too.' ' Jack was my cousin Dick's father, I suppose,' said Harry. 'Go ahead, old boy. The family history is reeling out beautifully. Where did the other houses go ?' But the old man had gone off oi''. another tack. ' There were more Coppins,' he said. ' When I was a boy, to be a Coppin of Stepney was a thing of pride. Josephus's fr.ther was Churchwarden and held up his head.' ' Did he, really ? ' ' If I hadn't the Property to look after, I would show you his tombstone in Stepney chui'cliyard.' ' That,' said Harry, ' would be a great happiness for me. As for Caroline Coppin, now ' 'She was a pretty maid, she was,' the old man went on. * I saw her born and brought up. And she married a sojer.' ' I know, and her three houses were lost too, I suppose ?' ' Why should her houses be lost, young man ? ' Mr. Mali- phant asked with severity, 'Houses don't run away. This Property doesn't run away. When she died, she left a baby, she did, and when the baby was took — or was stolen — or something — I'unker said those houses were his. But not lost. You can't lose a house. You may lose a figurehead ; ' he got up and looked outside to see if his were safe— 'or a big drum. But not a house.' 'Oh!' Harry started. 'Bunker said the houses were his, did he V ' ' ' Of course he did,' ' And if the baby had not died, those houses would still be the property of that baby, I suppose?' 808 ALL SORT'S AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. l^ut Mr. Malipbant made no reply. He was now in the full enjoyment of the intoxication produced by his morning pipe, aud. was sitting in his arm-chair with liis feet on the fender, disposed, apparently, for silence. Presently he began to talk, as usual, to himself. Nor could he be induced, by any leading questions, to remember anything more of the things which Harry wanted him to remember. But he let his imagination wander. Gradually the room became filled with dead people, and he was talking with them. Nor did he seem to know that Harry was with him at all. Harry slipped quietly away, shutting the door after him, so that the old man might be left quite alone with his ghosts. The yard, littered with wood, crowded with the figureheads, all of which seemed turning inquiring and jealous eyes upon the stranger, was silent and ghostly. Thither came the old man every day, to sit before the fire in his little red and green doll's house, to cook his own beefsteak for himself, to drink his glass of grog after dinner, to potter about among his carved heads, to talk to his friends the ghosts, to guard his Property, and to execute the orders which never came. For the shipbuilders who had em- ployed old Mr. Maliphant were all dead and gone, and nobody knew of his yard any more, and he had it all to biuiself. The tide of time had carried away all his friends and left Mm alone ; the memory of him among active men was gone ; no one took any more interest in him : and he had ceased to care for anything: to look back was his only pleasure. No one likes to die at any time, but who would wish to grow so very old ? And those houses ! Why, if the old man's memory w.as right, then Bunker had simply appropriated his property. Was that, Harry asked, the price for which he traded the child away ? He went straight away to his cousin Dick, who, mindful of tbe recent speech at the Club, was a little disposed to be resentful. It fortunately takes two to make a quarrel, however, and one of those two had no intention of a family row. * Never mind, Dick,' he said, in answer to an allusion to the Fpeech. ' Hang the Club. I want to ask you about something else. Now, then, Tell me about your grandfather.' ' I cannot. He died before I can remember. He was a builder.' ' Did he leave property ? ' * There were some houses, I believe. My father lost his share, T know. Speculated it away.' ' Your uncle Bob — what became of his sbare ? ' ' Bob was a worthless chap. He drank everything, so of course he drank up his houses.' * Then we come to the two daughters. Bunker married one, and of course he got his wife's share. What became of my mother's share ?' ' Indeed^ Harry, I do not know.' In iJie full enjoyment of the intoxication produced by his morning pipe. ' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 209 ' Who would tnow ? ' ' Bunker oiiglit to bo able to tell you all about it. Of course he knows.' ' Dick,' said Ilarrj', ' sliould you be astonished to learn that the respectable uncle Bunker is a mighty great rogue ? But say no- thing, Dick. Say nothing. Let me consider how to bring the thing home to him.' CHAPTER XXX. THE PEOFESSOR's TEOrOSAL. When the Professor called upon Angela that same Sunday morn- ing and requested an interview, she perceived that something serious was intended. He had on, as if for an occasion, a new coat with a flower in the buttonhole — a chrysanthemum. His face was extremely solemn, and his fingers, which always seemed restless and dissatisfied unless they were making things disappear and come again, were quite still.' Certainly, he had something on his mind. The drawing-room had one or two girls in it, who were reading and talking, though they ought to have been in church — Angela left their religious duties to their own consciences. But the dining-room was emptj^, and the interview was held there. The Professor had certainly made up in his own mind exactly what was going to be said ; he had dramatised the situation — a very good plan if you are quite sure of the replies j otherwise, you are apt to be put out. 'Miss Kennedy,' he began, with a low voice, 'allow me, first of all, to thank you for your great kindness during a late season of depression.' 'I am glad it is a late season,' said Angela; 'that means, I presume, that the depression has passed away.' 'Quite, I am glad to say; in fact,' the Professor laughed cheeifally, ' I have got engagements from now till nearly the" end of April, in the country, and am in treaty for a West-end engage- ment in May. Industry and application, not to speak of talent, will make their way in the long run. But I hope I am none the less grateful to you for your loan— let me call it a loan — when things were tight. I assure you, Miss Kennedy, that the run into the country, after those parish registers, was as good as a week's en- gagement, simple as it looked ; and as for that Saturday night for your girls ' Oh ! Professor, -we were agreed that it should appear to bo given by you for nothing.' ' Never mind what was agreed. You know very well what was paid for it. Now, if it hadn't been for that night's perform- ance and that little trip into the country, I verily believe they P 210 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. would have had to send for a nice long box for me, a box that can't be palmed, and I should have pone oil' in it to a country where perhaps they don't care for coiijuiinj^,' ' In that case, Professor, I am very glad to have been of help.' 'And so,' he went on — following the programme he had laid down in his own mind ; 'And so 1 have come here to-day, to ask if your interest in conjuring could be stimulated to a professional height.' ' Really, I do not know — professional ? You mean ' ' Anybody can see that you've showed an interest in the sub- ject beyond what is expected or found in women. What I came here to-day for is to ask whether you like the conjurer well enough to take to conjuring? Angela lauglied and was astonished after being told by Daniel Fagg that he would honour her by making her his wife, but for certain reasons of age. Now, having become hardened, it seemed but a small thing to receive the offer of a conjurer, and the pro- posal to join the profession. ' I think it must be the science. Professor,' she said ; 'yes; it must be the science that I like so much. Not the man who ex- hibits his skill in the science. Yes, I think always of your admir- able science.' 'Ah!' he heaved a deep sigh, 'you are quite right. Miss; science is better than love. Love ! what sort ot a thing is that, when you get tired of it in a month ? But science fills up all your life — and we are always learning — always.' ' I am so glad. Professor, that I can agree with you entirely.' ' Which makes me bolder,' he said, ' because we could be use- ful to each other, without pretending to be in love, or any nonsense of that sort.' ' Indeed ! Now, I shall be very pleased to bo useful to you without, as you cay, any foolish pretence or nonsense,' ' The way is this ; you can play, can't you ? ' ' Yes.' _ * And sing ? ' 'Yes.' ' ' IJid you ever dance in tights P ' 'No, 1 never did that' 'Ah well — it's a pity — but one can't expect everything. And no doubt you'd take to it easy. They all do. Did you ever sing on the stage— at a music-hall, I mean ? ' 'No; I never did.' * There was a chap — but I suppose he was a liar— said you used to sing under an electric light at the Canterbury, with a character dance and a topical song and a kick-up at the finish.' ' Yes, Professor. I think that "chap" must certainly be written down a liar. But go on.' ' I told hira he was, and he olferedto fight me for half-a-crown. When I said I'd do it, and willing, for a bob, he went away, i ALL SOBTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 211 think he's the fellow Ilarr}' Goslett kuocked down one nipht. Bunker put hiui up to it. Bunker doesn't like you. Never mind Lini. Look here now. ' I am looking, as hard as I can.' ' There's some things that bring the money in, and some that don't. Dressmaking don't, conjurin' does.' ' Yet, you yourself, Professor ' ' Why ? ' he asked ; * because I am only four-and-twenty, and not much known as yet. Give nio time — wait — Lord ! to see the clumsy things done by the men who've got a name; and hiw they go down! And a child would spot the dodge. Now, mark my words, if you will stand in with mo, there's a fortune in it.' ' For your sake, I am glad to hear it, but it must be without me.' ' It's for your sake that I tell you of it.' lie was not in love at all — love and science have never yet really composed their diO'erences — and there was not the least dropping of his voice or any other sign of passion in his speecli. ' For your sake,' he repeated, ' because if you can be got to see your wav as I see it, there's a fortune for both of us.' 'Oh!' ' Yes. Now, Miss, you listen ; conjuring, like most things, is makiu' believe and deeeivin'. What we do is to show you one tiling and to do another. The only thing is, to do it so quick tliat it shan't be seen, even by the few men who know how it is done. No woman yet was ever able to be a conjurer, which is a rum thing, because their fingers do pretty for music and lacework and such. But for conjurin', they haven't the mind. You want a man's brain for such work.' ' I have always,' said Angela, 'felt what poor weak things we are compared vrith men.' ' Yes, you are,' continued the rrofessor gallantly ; ' but you do have your uses in the world. Most things have. Now, as a confederate or an assistant, there's nobody like a woman. They do what they are told to do; they are faithful over the secrets; they learn their place on the platform, and tliey stay there. Some professors carry about a boy with them. But you can't place any real trust in a boy. lie's always up to tricks, and if you wallop him, likely as not, next night, he'll take and spoil your best trick, out of revenge. Some have a man to help, but then he learns the secrets and tries to cut you out. But with a woman you're always pretty safe. A daughter's best, because then you pocket all the money yourself; but a wife is next best, so long as she keeps steady and acts on the square.' ' I never thought of it before,' said Angela. ' But I suppose it is as you say, and the real object for which women were created must have been the assistance of conjurers.' ' Of course,' said the Professor, failing to see the delicate sar- casm of this remark. Of course : what better thing could they P2 212 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. do ? Why : here you sit slaving all day long and all the year round, and what are you better for it ? A bare living : that's all you get out of it. Whether you go into shops, behind a bar, or into the workroom, it's the same story : a bare living. Look at the conjurin' line, now. You live in splendour: you go on the stage in a most beautiful costoom — silks and satins, gold and spangles, tights if you like : you travel about the country free ; you hear the people clappin' their hands whenever you go on, and believin' that you do it all yourself: you've got nothing to do but just what you are told: and — and that's your life, with pockets full of money and the proud consciousness that you are making your fortune.' ' It certainly seems very beautiful to look at. Are there no drawbacks ? ' ' None,' answered the enthusiast. * It's the best profession in the world. There's no danger in it : there's no capital required : all it wants is cleverness. That's why I come to you, because you are a real clever girl, and what's more, you're good-looking. It ia not always that looks and brains go together.' Very well. Professor. Let us come to the point. Wliat is it you want me to do ? ' ' I want you, Miss Kennedy, to go about the country with me. You shall be my assistant : you shall play the piano and come on dressed in a pink costoom, which generally fetches at an enter- tainment. Nothing to say : and I will teach you, by degrees, all the dodges ; and the way it's done you will learn. You'll be sur- prised when you find how easy it is, and yet how you can't do it ; and when you hear the people telling what they saw, and you know just exactly what they could have seen if they'd had their eyes in their heads, you'll laugh — you will.' ' But I am afraid I can't think ' 'Don't raise difficulties, now,' he spoke persuasively. 'lara coming to them directly. I've got ideas in my head which I can't carry through withcuit a real clever confederate, and jou must be that confederate. Electricity, now,' he lowered his voice and whispered, ' none of the conjurers have got a battery at work. Think of new feats of marvel and magic, never before considered possible — and done secret by electricity. What a shame — what a cruel shame — to have let the world get hold of electricity. Why, it ought to have been kept for conjurers. And telephones, again : what a scope there is in a good telephone. You and me together. Miss Kennedy, could knock up an entertainment as nobody yet ever dreamed of. If you could dance a bit, it would be au advan- tage : but if you won't, of course we must give it up ; and as to the dressmaking rubbish, why, in a week you will be wondering how in the world you ever came to waste your time upon it at all while such a chance was going about in the world. Not that I blame you for it : not at all : it was your ignorance kept you out of it, and your good luck threw you in the way of it.' ALL SORTS Ah'i) CONDITIONS OP MEN. 213 'Tluat may be so ; but still I am not sure- * I haven't done yet. Look liere, I've been turning the thing over in my own mind a good bit. The only way I can think of for such a girl as you to go aljout the country with a show, is for you to be married to the showman. So I'll marry you before we start, and then we shall be comfortable and happy, and ready for the fortune to come in, and you'll be quite sure of your share in it.' ' Thank you, Professor.' 'Very good then, no need for thanks. I've got engagements in the country for over three months. We'll marry at once, and you can spend that time in learning.' Angela laughed. Were women of * her class,' she thought, so easily won and so unceremoniously wooed ? Were there no pre- liminary advances, soft speeches, words of compliment and flattery ? ' I've been laying out a plan/ the Professor went on, ' for the most complete thing you ever saw — never before attempted on any stage — marvellous optical illusion. Hush ! Electricity;' he said this in a stage whisper. 'You are to be a fairy — stale old business, isn't it ? but it always pays. Silk stockin's and gauze, with a wand. I'm Siubad the Sailor — or Robinson Crusoe — it doesn't matter what — and then you ' * Stay a moment. Professor ; ' she laid her hand upon his arm ; *you have not waited for my answer. I cannot, unfortunately, marry you, nor can I go about the country with you, nor can I possibly become your confederate and assistant.' ' You can't marry me ? Why not ? When I offer you a fortune ? ' * Not even for the fortune,' ' Why not ? ' ' Well, for many reasons. One of them is that I cannot leave my dressmaking, rubbish as it seems to you. That is, indeed, a sufficient reason.' ' Oh ! ' his face becoming very sad. * And I set my heart upon it ! The very first time I saw you, I said to myself, " There's a girl for the business. Never was such a girl ! " And to think that you're thrown away on a dressmaking business ! Oh ! it's too bad. And that you're contented with your lot, humble as it is, when I offer to make you an artist and to give you a fortune ! That's what cuts me to the quick — that you should be contented.' 'I am very much ashamed of myself,' said Angela, with con- trition. ' But, you see, what you ask is impossible.' ' And I only made up my mind last night, that I would marry you, if nothing else would do.' 'Did you? poor Professor ! I am quite sorry for you. But you should never marry a woman unless you are in love with her. Now, it is quite clear that you are not in love with me.' ' Love ! I've got my work to think of.' ' Then good morning, Professor j let us part friends, if I cannot accept your offer,' 214 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. He took her offered hand with reluctance, and in sorrow more than in anger. ' Do you really understand,' he asked, ' what you are throwing away ? Fame and fortune. Nothing- less.' She laughed and drew back her hand, shaking her head. ' Oh ! the woman's a fool,' cried the Professor, losing his temper and slamming the door after him. CHAPTER XXXr. CAPTAIN COPPIX. It was at this time that Tom Coppin, Captain Coppin of the Sal- vation Army, paid his only visit to Angela, that visit which caused 60 great a sensation among the girls. He chose a quiet evening early in the week. Wliy he came hiis never been quite clear. It was not curiosity, for he had none ; nor was it a desire to study the kind of culture which Angela had introduced among her friends, for he had no knowledge of, or desire for, culture at all. Nor does the dressmakers' workshop afford a congenial place for the exercise of that soldier's gifts. He came, perhaps, because he was passing by on his way from a red-hot prayer meeting to a red-hot preaching, and he thought he would see the place which, among others — the Advanced Club, for instance — was keeping his brother from following in his own steps, and helping him to regard the world, its pleasures and pur- suits, with eyes of affection. One knows not what he expected to find or what he proposed by going there, because the things he did find completely upset all his expectations, if he had any. Visions, perhaps, of the soul-destroying dance, and the red cup, and the loud laughter of fools, and the talk that is as the crackling of thorns, were in his mind. The room was occupied, as usual, with the girls, Angela among them ; Captain Sorensen was there too ; the girls were qiiietly busy, for the most part, over ' their own ' work, because, i± they would go fine, they must make their own fineries ; it was a frosty night, and the fire was burning clear; in the laost comfortable chair beside it sat the crippled girl of whom v/e know; the place was hers by a sort of right; she was gazing into the flames, listen- ing lazily to the music — Angela had been playing — and doing nothing, with contentment. Life was so sweet to the child when she was not suffering pain, and was warm, and was not hungry, and was not hearing complaints, that she wanted nothing more. Nelly, for her part, sat with hands folded pensively, and Angela wondered, but with knowledge, what, of late days, it was that seemed to trouble her. Suddenly the door opened, and a man, dressed in a tight ALL SORTS AND COJS'BJTJ ONS OF MEN. 215 uniform of dark clolh and a cap of tlio same with S. S. upon it, like the Lord IMajor'a {^^old cluiiii, stood before them. He did not remove liia cap, but he looked round the room, and presently called in a loud har.sli voice : — ' Which of you here answers to the name of Kennedy ? ' ' I do,' replied Angela ; ' my name is Kennedy. What is yours ? and why do you come here?' ' My name is Coppin. My work is to save souls, I tear them out of the very clutches and claws of the devil ; I will have them ; I leave them no peace until I have won them ; I cry aloud to them ; I shout to them ; I pray for them ; I sing to them ; I seek them out in their hiding-places, even in their dens and courts of sin ; there are none too far gone for my work ; none that I will let go once I get a grip of them ; once my hand is on them, out they must come, if the devil and all his angels were pulling them the other way. For my strength is not of myself; it is ' ' But why do you come here ? ' asked Angela. The man had the same black hair and bright eyes as hi3 brother ; the same strong voice, although a long course of street shouting had made it coarse and rough ; but his eyes were brighter, his lips more sensitive, his forehead higher; he was like his brother in all respects, yet so unlike that, while the Radical had the face of a strong man, the preacher had in his the indefinable touch of weakness which fanaticism always brings with it. Whatever else it was, however, the face was that of a man terribly in earnest. ' I have heard about you,' he said ; 'you are of those who cry peace when there is no peace ; you entice the young men and maidens who ought to be seeking pardon, and preaching repen- tance, and you destroy their souls with dancing and music. I come here to tell you that you are one of the instruments of the devil in this wicked town.' 'Have you really come here, Mr. Coppin, on purpose to tell me that ? ' * That,' he said, * is part of my message.' *Do you think,' asked Angela, because this was almost in- tolerable, 'that it is becoming a preacher like yourself to invade a quiet and private house, iu order to insult a woman ? ' * Truth is not insult,' he said ; ' I come here as I would go to a theatre or a singing hall or any soul-destroying place. You shall hear the plain truth. With your music and your dancing and your pleasant ways, you are corrupting the souls of many. My brother is hardened in his unrepentance since he knew you. My cousin goes on laughing, and dances over the very pit of de- Btruction, through you. These girls ' * Oh ! ' cried Rebekah, who had no sympathy with the Salvation Army, and felt herself an authoiity when the religious question was touched, ' they are all mad. Let him go away.' ' I would,' replied the Captain, ' that you were half as mad. 216 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Oh ! I know you now : I know you smug professors of a Saturday religion ' ' Your mission,' Angela interrupted, 'is not, I am sure, to arguo about another sect. Come, Mr. Coppin, now that you have told us who you are, and what is your profession, and why you come here, you might like to prench to us. Do so, if you will. ^Ye were sitting here quietly when you came, and you interrupt nothing. So that, if it would really make you feel any happier, you may preach to us for a few minutes.' He looked about him in hesitation. This kind of preaching was not in his line : he loved a vast hall with a thousand faces looking at him ; or a crowd of turbulent roughs ready to answer the Message with a volley of brickbats; or a chance gathering of unrepentant sinners in a wide thoroughfare. He could lift up hia voice to them : but to preach in a quiet room to a dozen girls was a new experience. And it was not the place which he had expected. His brother, in their last interview, had thrown in his teeth this house and its doings as offering a more reasonable solution of life's problems tlian his own. 'You want everybody,' he said, 'to join you in ringing and preaching every day : what should we do when there was nobody left to j)reach at? Now, there, what they say is, "Let lis make ourselves comfortable." There's a deal in that, come to think of it. Look at those girls, now: while you and your Happy Elizas are tranipin' in the mud with your flag and your pi'ocession, and gettin' black eyes and brickbats, they are singin' and laughin' and dancin', and makin' what fun they can for themselves. It seems to me, Tom, that if this kind of thing gets fashionable, you and your army will be played out.' Well : he had come to see this place which offered pleasure instead of repentance as a method of improving life. They were not laughing and singing at all : there were no men present except one old gentleman in a blue coat with brass buttons. To be sure, he had a iiddle lying on a chair beside him. There was no indica- tion whatever of the red cup, and no smell of tobacco. Now, pleasure without drink, tobacco, and singing, had been in Tom's unregenerate days incomprehensible. 'I would rather,' said Dick, 'see an army of Miss Kennedy's girls than an army of Hallelujah Pols.' Y'et they seemed perfectly quiet. 'Make 'era happy, Tom, first,' said Dick, who was still thinking over Harry's speech as a possible point of departure. ILappiness is not a word in the dictionary of men like Tom Coppin : they know not what it means: they know a spree : they understand a drink: they know misery, because it is all round them; the misery of hunger, of disease, of intemperance, of dirt, of evil temper, of violence: the misery which the sins of one bring upon all, and the sins of all bring upon each. Indeed, we need not go to NVhitechapel to find out misery. But they know not happiness. For such as Captain Coppin there is, as an alternative for misery, the choice of Glory, ALL SORTS AND CONLITTONS OP MEN. 217 What tliey mean by Glory is the ecstasy, the rapture, the mysteries of emotional religion : he, they believe is the most advanced who is most often hysterical : Tom, like many of his followers, yearned honestly and unselfishly to extend this rapture which he himself 80 often enjoyed ; but that there should be any other way out of misery save by way of the humble stool of Conviction was a thing which he could not understand. Happiness, calm, peace, content, the sweet enjoyment of innocent recreation, — these things he knew nothing of; they had not come in his way. lie had come: he had seen: no doubt, the moment his back was turned the orgies would begin. But he had delivered his message : he had warned the young woman who led the girls — that calm, cold woman who looked at him with curiosity and was so unmoved by what he said : he might go. With his whole heart he had spoken, and had so far moved no one except thf» daughter of the Seventh Day Independent — and her only a little. This kind of thing is very irritating. Suppose you were to put a red-hot poker into a jug of water without producing any steam or hissing at all; how, as a natural philosopher, would you feel? * You may preach to us, if you like,' said Miss Kennedy. She sat before him, resting her chin upon her hand. He knew that she was beautiful, although women and their faces, graces, and sweet looks played no part at all in his thoughts. He felt, without putting the thing into words, that she was beautiful; also, that she regarded him with a kind of contempt, as well as curiosity; also, that she had determined not to be moved by any- thing he might say; also, that she relied on her own influence over the girls. And he felt for a moment as if his trusty weapons were dropping from his hands, and his whole armour was slipping from his shoulders. Not her beauty: no: fifty Helens of Troy would not have moved this young apostle: but her position as an impregnable outsider. For against the curious outsider, who regards Captains in the Salvation Army only as so many interesting results of growing civilisation, their officers are powerless indeed. If there is any real difference between the working man of England and the man who does other work, it is that the former is generally emotional and the latter is not. To the man of emo- tion things cannot be stated too strongly ; his leader is he who has the greatest command of adjectives; he is singularly open to the charm of eloquence ; he likes audacity of statement ; he likes to be moved by wrath, pity, and terror ; he has no eye for shades of colour; and when he is most moved he thinks he is most right. It is this which makes him so angry with the people who cannot be moved. Angela was one of those persons who cannot be moved by the ordinary methods. She looked at Tom as if he was some strange creature ; watching what he did, listening to what he said, as if ihe teas not like unto him. It is not quite a fair way of describing 218 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Angela's attitude of miiul; but it is near enough; and it representa what passed through the brain of the Salvation Captain. ' Will you preach to us P' she repeated a third time. He mechanically opened his hymn-book, 'Number three hundred and sixty-two,' he said quietly. lie sang the hymn all by himself, at the top of his voice, so that the windows rattled, to one of those rousing and popukr melodies which have been pressed into the service of the Army ; it was, in fact, 'Molly Darling,' and the people on Stepney Green asked each other in wonder if a meeting of the Salvation Army was actually being helil at Miss Kennedy's. When he had finished his hymn, he began to preach. He stammered at first, because the surroundings were strange ; besides, the cold, curious eyes of Miss Kennedy chilled him. Presently, however, he recovered self-possession, and began his address. There is one merit, at least, possessed by these preachers : it is that of simplicity. Wliatever else they ma;7 be, they are alwaj's the same ; even the words do not vary, while there is but one idea. If you want to influence the dull of comprehension, such as the common donkey, there is but one way possible. He cannot be led, or coaxed, or persuaded ; he must be thwacked. Father Stick explains and makes apparent, instantly, what the logic of all the schools has failed to prove. In the same way, if you wish to awaken the spiritual emotions among people who have hitherto been strange to them, your chance is not by argument, but by appeals, statements, prophecies, threats, terrors, and pictures, which, in fact, do exactly correspond, and produce the same eflect as Father Stick ; they are so many knock-down blows ; they be- labour and they terrify. The preacher began : the girls composed themselves to listen, with the exception of Rebekab, who went on with her work osten- tatiously, partly to show her disapproval of such irregular pro- ceedings, and partly as one who, having got the Truth from an independent source and being already advanced in the narrow way, had no occasion for the Captain's persuasion. It is one thing to hear the voice of a street preacher in his own church, so to speak, that is, on the curbstone, and quite another tiling to hear the same man and the same sermon in a quiet room. 1'om Coppin had only one sermon, though he dressed it up some- times, but not often, in new words. Yet it was relieved of mono- tony by the earnestness which he poured into it. He believed in it himself: that goes a long way. Angela began by thinking of the doctrine, but presently turned her attention to the preacher, and began to think what manner of man he was. Personally he was pale and thin, with strong black hair, like his brother, .and his eyes were singularly bright. Here was a man of the people j self-taught, profoundly ignorant ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 219 r,9 to tlie ninny problems of life and their many solutions ; filled, however, with that noble synipatliy whicli makes prophets, pods, niiirtyrs ; wholly possessed of faith in his narrow creed ; owiiini,' no autliority of church or priest: believinj,^ himself under direct Divine guidance, chosen and called, tlie instrument of merciful Heaven to drag guilty souls from the pit ; consciously standing as a servant day and night before a Throne which other men regard afar off, or cannot see at all ; actually living the life of hardship, privation, and ill-treatment which he preached; for the sake of others, enduring hardness, poverty, contumely ; taking all these things as part and parcel of the day's work ; and in the name of duty, searching into corners and holes of this great town for the vilest, the most hardened, the most depraved, the most bliirded to a higher life. This, if you please, is not a thing to be laughed at. What did Wesley more ? _ What did AVhitefield ? Naj — what did Paul ? They paid liira for his services, it is true ; they gave him fivc- and-twenty shillings a week; some of this great sum he gave away ; the rest provided him with poor and simple food. He had no pleasures or joys of life; he had no recreations; he had no hope of any pleasures; some of the officers of his Army — being men and women as well as preachers — loved each other and were married ; but this man had no thought of any such thing ; he, as much as any monk, was vowed to the service of the Master, with- out rest or holidaj-^, or any other joy than that of doing the work that lay before him. A great pity and sympathy filled Angela's heart as she thought of these things. The man before her was for the moment a prophet; it mattered nothing that his creed was narrow, his truths only half-truths, his doctrine commonplace, his language in bad taste, his manner vulgar; the faith of the man covered up and hid these defects ; he had a message to mankind; he was delivering that message; to him it was a fresh new message ; never before entrusted to any man ; he had to deliver it perpetually, even though ho went in starvation. Angela's heart softened as she realised the loyalty of the man. He saw the softening in her eyes, and thought it was the first sign of conviction. But it was not. Meantime, if Angela was thinking of the preacher, the girls of course, with the exception of Rebekah, were trembling at his words. Suddenly — the unexpected change was a kind of rhetorical trick which often proved eflective — the preacher ceased to de- nounce and threaten, and spoke of pardon and peace ; he called upon them in softer voice, in accents full of tears and love, to break down their pride, to hear the voice that called them .... We know well enough what he said, only we do not know how he said it. Angela looked about the room, The Captain sat with his 220 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. hands on liis knees and his face dutifully lifted to the angle which denotes attention; his expression was unmoved; evidently, the Captain was not open to conviction. As for the girls, they might be divided into classes. They had all listened to the threats and the warnings, though they had heard them often enough before; now, however, some of them seemed as if they were impatient, and as if with a little encouragement tliey could break into scoffing. But others were crying, and one or two were steadfastly regarding the speaker, as if he had mesmerised them. Among these was Nelly. Her eyes were fixed, her lips were parted, her breathing was quick, her cheek was pale. Great and wonderful is the power of eloquence ; there are few orators ; this ex-printer, this uneducated man of the ranks, was, like his brother, born with the gift that is so rare. He should have been taken away and taught, and kept from danger, and properly fed and cared for. And now it is too late. They said of him in his Connection that he was blessed in the saving of souls ; the most stubborn, the most hardened, when they fell under the magic of his presence and his voice, were broken and subdued: what wonder that a weak girl should give way ? When he paused he looked round ; he noted the faces of those •whom he had mesmerised ; he raised his arm ; he pointed to Nelly, and beckoned her without a word to rise. Then the girl stood up as if she could not choose but obej'. She moved a step towards him ; in a moment she would have been at his feet, with sobs and tears, in the passion of self-abasement which is so dear to the revivalist. But Angela broke the .^^pell. She sprang towards her, caught her in her own arms, and passed her hand before her eyes. ' Nelly ! ' she said gently ; ' Nelly, dear ! ' The girl sank back in her chair and buried her face in her hands. But the moment was gone, and Captain Coppin had lost his recruit. They all breathed a deep sigh. Those who had not been moved looked at each other and laughed \ those who were, dried their eyes and seemed ashamed. * Thank you,' said Angela to the preacher. ' You have preached very well, and I hope your words will help us on our way, even though it is not quite your way.' 'Then, be of our way. Cease from scoffing.' She shook her head. ' No, I do not scoff, but I cannot join your way. Leave us now, Mr. Coppin. You are a brave man. Let us reverence' courage and loyalty. But we will have no more sermons in this room. Good night ! ' She offered him her hand, but he would not take it, and with a final warning addressed to Angela in particular and the room in general, he went as he bad come, without greeting or word of thanka. - - ^ ^ ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 221 'These Salvation people,' said llebekah, 'are all mad. If people want the way of trutli there's the chapel in Redman's Row, and fiither's always in it every Saturday.' 'What do you say, Captain Sorenien ? ' asked Angela. * The Church of England,' said the Captain, who had not been moved a whit, ' says that two sacraments are necessary. I liiid nothing about stools of repentance. Come, Nelly, my girl, remem- ber that you are a Churchwoman.' 'Yet,' said Angela, 'what are we to say when a man is so brave and true and when he lives the life ? Nelly dear — girls all — I think that religion should not be a terror, but a great calm and a trust. Let us love each other, and do our work, and take the simple happiness that God gives, and have faith. AVhatmore can we do ? To-night, I think, we cannot dance or sing, but I ■will play to you.' She played to them — grand and solemn music — so that the terror went out of their brains, and the hardening out of their hearts, and next day all was forgotten. In this manner, and this once, did Tom Coppin cross Angela's path. Now he will cross it no more, because his work is over. If a man lives on less than the bare necessaries, in order to give to others, if he does the work of ten men, if he gives himself no rest any day in the week, what happens to that man when typhus seizes him ? He died, as he had lived, in glory, surrounded by Joyful Jane, Hallelujah Jem, Happy Pol, Thankful Sarah, and the rest of them. His life has been narrated in the ' War Cry ' ; it is specially recorded of him that he was always 'on the mountains'; which means, in their language, that he was a man of strong faith, free from doubt, and of emotional nature. The extremely wicked and hardened family, consisting of an old woman and half-a-dozen daughters, for whose snuls' sake he starved himself, and thereby fell an easy prey to the disease, have nearly all found a refuge in the workhouse, and are as hardened as ever, though not so wicked, because some kinds of wickedness are not allowed in that palace of virtue. Therefore it seems almost as if poor Tom's life has been fooled away. According to a philosophy which makes a great deal of noise just now, every life is but a shadow, a dream, a mockery, a catching at things impos- sible, and a waste of good material, ending with the last bi'eath. Then, all our lives are fooled away, and why not Tom's as well as the rest ? But if the older way of thinking is, after all, right ; then that life can hardly have been wasted which was freely given — even if the gift was not accepted — for the advantage of others. Because the memory and the example remain, and every example — if boys and girls could only be taught this copy-book truth — is like an inexhaustible horn, always filled with precious seed. 222 ALL SOBTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. CHAPTER XXXII. BUNKEK AT BAT. Harry was thinking a good deal about the old man's strange story of the houses. There was, to be sure, little dependence to be placed in the rambling, disjointed statements made by so old a man ; but then, this statement was so clear and precise ; — there were so many children ; there were so many houses — three for each child ; and "he knew exactly what became of all those houses. If the story had been told by a man in the prime of life, it could not have been more exact and detailed. JJut what were the houses ? where were they ? and how could he prove that tliey were his own ? AVhat did Bunker get, wlieu he traded the child away ? Harry hud always been of opinion that he got a sum of money down, and that he was now ashamed of the transaction- and would fain have it remain unknown. This solution accounted, or seemed to account, for his great wrath and agitation when the subject was mentioned. Out of a mischievous delight in making his uncle an^ry, Harry frequently alluded to the point. But the story of the houses was a better solution still ; it accounted for Mr. Bauker'a agitation as well as his wrath. But his wrath and his terror appeared to Harry to corroborate very strongly the old man's Btory. And the longer he thought about it, the more strongly he believed it. Harry asked his landlady whether, in her opinion, if Mr. Maliphant made a statement, that statement was to be accepted aa true. Mrs. Bormalack replied that as he never made any statement except in reference to events long since things of the past, it was impossible for her to say whether they were true or not; that his memory was clean gone for things of the present, so that of to-day and yesterday he knew nothing ; that his thoughts w-era always running on the old days; and that when he could be heard right through without dropping his voice at all, he sometimes told very interesting and curious things. His board and lodging were paid for him by his grandson, a most respectable gentleman and a dockmaster; and, as to the old man's business, he had none, and had had none for many years, being clean forgotten, although he did go every day to his yard and stayed there all day long. Harry thought he would pay him another vidt. Perhaps something more would be remembered. He went there again in the morning. The street at the end of wliich was the yard was as quiet as on the Sunday, the children being at school and the men at work. The great gates were closed and locked, but the :'raall side door was unlocked. ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 223 Wlieu lio opened it all the iigureheads turned quickly and Riixiously to look at Lim : at least, Harry declares they did, and aiiiritiialists will readily believe him. Was he, they asked, going to take one of them away and stick it on the bow of a great ship and send it up and down upon tlie face of the ocean to the four corners of the world ? Ha ! Thoy were made for an active life : they pined away in this inactivity : a fig for the dangers of the deep. From Saucy Sal to Neptune, they all asked the same question in the same hope. Ilarry shook his head, and they Bighed sadly and resumed their former positions, as they were, eyes front, waiting till night should fall and the old man should ir*o, and they could talk with each other. ' This,' thought Ilarry, ' is a strange and ghostly place.' You know the cold and creepy feeling caused by the presence - albeit unseen — of ghosts; one may feel it anywhere and at all times: in church: at a theatre: in bed at night: by broad diiylight: in darkness: or in twilight. This was in the sunshine of a bright December day— the last days of the year eighty-one ^Tcre singularly bright and gracious : the place was no dark chamber or gloomy vault, but a broad and open yard, cheerfully decorated with carved figureheads. Yet even here Harry experi- enced the touch of ghostliness. The place was so strange that it did not astonish him at all to ma the old man suddenly appear in the door of his doll's house, waving his hand and smiling cheerily, as one who speeds the .>ai ting guest. The salutations were not intended for Harry, because Ir. Maliphant was not looking at him. Presently he ceased gesticulating, became suddenly serious (as happens to one when his friend's back is turned or he has vanished), and returned to his seat by the fire. Harry softly followed and stood before him, waiting to be recognised. The old man looked up at last and nodded his head. 'Been entertaining your friends, j\[r. Maliphant?' 'Bob was here, only Bob. You have just missed Bob,' he replied. 'That's a pity. Never mind. Can you, my ancient, carry yov.r memory back some twenty years ? You did it, you know, last Sunday for me.' ' Twenty years ? Ay — ay — twenty years. I was only sixty- fiTO or so, then. It seems a long time until it is pone. Twenty years. Well, young man, twenty years. Why, it is only yesterday.' ' I mean to the time when Caroline Coppiu, you know, your old friend Caroline, was uianied.' ' That was twenty years before, and more : when William the Fourth died and Queen Victoria, then a young thing, came long to reign over us ' his voice sank and he continued the rest cf hla reminiscence to himself. I 224 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' But Caroline Ooppin-?' ' I'm telling you about Caroliue Coppin, only you won't listen.' There was nothinpf more to be got out of him. His recent conversation with Bob's spirit had muddled him for the day, and he mixed up Caroline with her mother or grandmother. He relapsed into silence, and sat with his long pipe unfilled in his hand, looking into the fireplace, gone back iu imagination to the past. As the old man made no sign of conversation, but rather of a disposition to 'drop off' for a few minutes, Harry began to look about the room. On the table lay a bundle of old letters: it was as if the living and the dead had been reading them together, Harry took them up aud turned them over, wondering what secrets of long ago were contained in those yellow papers with their faded ink. The old man's eyes were closed : he took no heed of his visitor, and Harry standing at the table began shamelessly to read the letters. They were mostly the letters of a young sailor addressed to one apparently a good deal older than himself, for they abounded in such appellations as ' my ancient,' ' venerable,' ' old salt,' and so forth ; but the young man did not regard his correspondent with the awe which age should inspire, but rather as a gay and rollick- ing spirit who would sympathise with the high jinks of younger men even if he no longer shared in them, and who was an old and still delighted treader of those flowery paths which are said by moralists to be planted with the frequent pitfall and the crafty trap. The old man, thought Harry, must have been an admirable truide to youth, and the disciple was apt to learn. Souietimes the letters were signed Bob : sometimes R. Coppin: sometimes R. C. Harry therefore surmised that the writer was no other than his own uncle Bob, whose ghost he had just missed. Bob was an officer on board of an Eastlndiaman : but he spoke not of such common-place matters as the fa,'e of ocean or the voice of the tempest : he only wrote from port, and told what things he had seen and done on shore, and what he had consumed in ardent drink. The letters were brief, which seemed as well, because if literary skill had been present to dress up effectively tlie subjects treated, a literary monument mighr, have been erected the like of which the world has never seen. It is, indeed, a most curious and remarkable circumstance, that even In realistic France the true course of the Prodigal has never been faithfully described. Now, the great advantage formerly possessed by the sailor — an advantage cruelly curtailed by the establishment of Homes and tlie introduction of Temperance — was that he could be, and was, a Prodigal at the end of every cruise, while the voyage itself was an agreeable interval provided for recovery, recollection, and anticipation. * Bob — uncle Bob — was a flyer,' said Harry. ' One should be proud of such an uncle. With Rob, and Bunker, and the bank- rupt Builder, I am indeed provided.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 225 There seemed notliing in the letters wliicli bore upon the question of his mother's property, and he was going to put them down again, when ho lighted upon a torn fragment on which he saw, in Bob's big handwriting, the name of his cousin Josephus, ' Josephus, my cousin, that he will ' — here a break in the con- tinuity — 'nd the safe the bundle' — another break — 'for a lark. Josephus is a Square-toes. I hate a man who won't drink. He will' — another break — 'if he looks there. Your health and song, ehipmet. R.C lie read this fragment two or three times over. What did it mean? Clearly nothing to himself. 'Josephus is a Square-toes.' Very liliely ; the Prodigal Bob was not; quite the contrary ; he was ft young man of extremely mercurial temperament. ' Josephus, my cousin, that he will . , . . nd the safe the bundle.' He put down the paper, and then, without waking the old man, he softly left the room and the place, shutting the door behind him. And then he forgot immediately the torn letter and its allusion to Josephus. He thought, next, that he would go to Bunker and put the question directly to him. The man might be terrified ; might show con- fusion; might tell lies. That would matter little. But if he showed his hand too soon, Bunker might be put upon his guard. Well, that mattered little. What Harry hoped was rather to get at the truth than to recover his houses. ' I want,' he said, finding his uncle at home and engaged in his office, drawing up bills — 'I want a few words of serious talk "with you, my uncle.' ' I am busy ; go away. I never want to talk to you. I hat© the very sight of your face.' He looked, indeed, as if he did, if a flushing cheek and an angry glare of the eyes are any sign. ' I am not going away until you have answered my questions. As to your hatred <^x your affection, that does not concern me at all. Now, will you listen, or shall I wait? ' 'To get rid of you the sooner,' Bunker growled, 'I will listen now. If I was twenty years younger, I'd kick you out.' 'If you wore twenty years younger, there might, it ia true, be a fight. Now then.' ' Well, get along. My time is valuable.' ' I have several times asked you what you got for me when you sold me. You have on those occasions allowed yourself to fall into a rage, which is really dangerous in so stout a man, I am not going to ask you that question any more, Mr. Bunker looked relieved. ' Because, you see, I know now what you got.* Mr. Bunker turned very pale. ' What do you know ? ' 'I know exactly what you got when I was taken away.' Mr. Bunker said nothing. Yet there was in his eyes a look as Q 226 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. if a ciitical moment, long expected, had at last arrived. And he waited. * When my mother died, and you became my guardian, I waa not left penniless.' * It's a lie. You were,' 'If I had been, you would have handed me over to your brother-in-law, Coppin the builder. But I had property.' * You had nothing.' * I had three houses. One of those houses is, I believe, that which has been rented — from you— by Miss Kennedy. I do not know yet where the other two are, but I shall find out.' ' You are on a wrong tack,' said his uncle. ' Now I know why you wouldn't go away ; you came here to ferret and fish, did you ? You thought you were entitled to property, did you? Ho! You're a nice sort o' chap to have house properly, ain't you? Ha! Ho!' But his laughter was not mirthful, * Let me point out to you,' Harry went on gravely, ' what it is you have done. The child whom you kept for a year or two was heir to a small estate, bringing in, I suppose, about eighty or a hundred pounds a year. We will say that you were entitled to keep that money in return for his support. But when that child was carried away and adopted, you said nothing about the property. You kept it for yourself, and you have received the rents year after year as if the houses belonged to you. Shall I go on, and tell you what judges and lawyers and police people call this sort of conduct?' * Where's your proofs ? ' asked the other, his face betraying his emotion. ' Where's your proofs ? ' ' I have none yet. I am going to search for those proofs.' 'You can't find them. There are none. Now, young man, you've had your say, and you can go. Do you hear ? You can go.' ' You deny, then, that the houses were mine ? ' ' If you'd come to me meek and lowly, as is your humble station in life, I would ha' told you the history of those houses. Yes, your mother had them, same as her brothers and her sister. Where are they now ? I've got 'em. I've got 'em all. How did I get 'em ? By lawful and honourable purchase. I bought 'em. Do you want proofs ? You sha'n't have any proofs. If you'd behaved humble, you should ha' seen those proofs. Now you may go away and do your worst. Do you hear ? You may do your worst' lie shook his fist in Harry's face; hia words were brave; but his voice was shaky and his lips were trembling. ' I don't believe you,' said Harry ; ' I am certain that you did not buy my houses. There was no one left to care for my interests, and you took those houses.' 'This is the reward,' said Mr. Bunker, 'for nussiu' of this child for nigh upon three years! Who would take an orphan ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 227 into his bosom ! But it was right, -and I'd do it agaiu. Yes ; I'd do it again.' ' I don't doubt you,' the ungrateful nephew replied, * especially if that other orphan had three substantial houses and there was nobody but yourself to look after him.' ' As for your proofs, go and look for them. "When you've found 'em, bring 'em to me. You and your proofs ! ' Harry laughed. * I shall find them,' ho said, ' but I don't know where or when. Meantime, you will go on, as you do now, thinking continually that they may be found ; you won't be able to sleep at nighty you will dream of police courts; you will let your thoughts run on handcuHk; you will take to drink; you will have no pleasure in your life ; you will hasten your end ; you will ' here he de- sisted, for Mb uncle, dropping into his chair, looked as if ho was about to swoon. 'Remember — I shall find these proofs — some day. A hundred a year for twenty years is two thousand pounds ; that's a large sum to hand over, and then there is the interest. Upon my word, my uncle, you will have to begin the world again.' CHAPTER XXXIII. ER. BUNKEK's letter. Two days after this, Angela received a very wonderful letter. It was addressed to Miss Messenger, and was signed Benjamin Bunker. It ran as follows : — * Honoured Miss, — Aa an old and humble friend of your late lamented grandfather, whose loss I can never recover from nor has it yet been made up to me in any way ' — Angela laughed — ' I venture to address you the following lines in secrecy and confidence knowing that what ought not to be concealed should be told in the proper quarter, which is you Miss and none other. * Everybody in these parts knows me ; everybody knows Bunker, your grandfathers right-hand man ; wherefore, what I write is no other design than to warn you and to put you on your guard against the deceitful and such as would abuse your confidingness, being but young as yet, and therefore ignorant of dodges, and easy come round. ' You have been come round, and that in such a shameful way that I cannot bear myself any longer, and umst take the liberty of telling you so, being an old and confidential adviser ; your grand- father used to say that even the Brewery wouldn't be where it ia now, if it hadn't been for me, not to speak of the house property which is LOW a profitable investment with rents regular and respectable tenants, whereas before I took it in hand, the houses q8 228 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. was out of repair, the rents backward and the tenants too often such as would bring discredit on any estate. I therefore beg to warn you against two persons — young, I am sorry to say, which makes it worse, because it is only the old who should be thus depraved — whom you have benefited and they are unworthy of it. ' One of them is a certain Miss Kennedy, a dressmaker, at least she says so. The other is, I write this with the blush of indig- nant shame, my own nephew, whose name is Harry Goslett.' * Bunker, Bunker ! ' murmured Angela, ' is this fair to your own tenant and your own nephew ? ' ' As regards my nephew, you have never inquired about him, and it was out of your kindness and a desire to mark your sense of ine that you gave him a berth in the Bi'ewery. That young man, !Miss, who calls himself a cabinet-maker and doesn't seem to know that a joiner is one thing and a cabinet-maker another, now does the joinery for the Brewery, and makes, I am told, as much as two pound a week, being a handy chap. If you had asked me first, I should have told you that he is a lazy, indolent, free and easy, disrespectful, dangerous young man. lie has been no one knows where : no one knows where he has worked, except that he talks about America ; he looks like a betting man ; I believe he drinks of a night; he has been living like a gentleman, doing no work, and I believe, though up to the present I haven't found out for certain, that he has been in trouble and knows what is a convict's feelings when the key is turned. Because he is such a disgrace to the family, for his mother was a Coppin and came of a respectable Whitechapel stock, though not equal to the Bunkers or the Messengers, I went to him and offered him five-and-twenty pound out of my slender stock to go away and never come back any more to disgrace us. Five-and-twenty pound I would have given to eave Messenger's Brewery from such a villain.' ' Bunker, Bunker — ' murmured Angela again. ' But he wouldn't take the money. You thought to do me a good turn and you done yourself a bad one. I don't know what mischief he has .already done in the Brewery and perhaps he ia watched; if so it may not yet be too late. Send hiui about his business. Make him go. You enn then consider some other way of making it up to me for all that work for your grandfather whereof you now sweetly reap the benefit. * The other case. Miss, is that of the young woman, Kennedy by name, the dressmaker.' ' What of her. Bunker ? ' asked Angela. 'I hear that you are glvin' her your custom, not knowing, maybe, the kind of woman she is nor the mischief she's about. She's got a house of mine on false pretences.' 'Ileally, Mr. Banker,' said Angela, 'you are too bad.' * Otherwise I wouldn't let her have it, and at tlie end of the jear out she goes. She has persuaded a lot of foolish girls, once ALL SORTS A^'D CONDITIONS OF MEN. 229 contented with their lowly lot and thankful for their wages and their work, nor inclined to grumble when hours was long and work had to be done. She has promised them the profits and meantime she feeds them up so that their eyes swell out with fat- ness, she gives them short hours and pends them out into the garden to play games. Games, if you please, and short hours for such as them. In the evening it's worse ; for then they play and sing and dance, having young men to caper about with them, and you can hear them half a mile up the Mile End Eoad so that it is a scandal to Stepney Green, once respectable, and the police wdll probably interfere. Where she came from, who she was, how she got her money, we don't know. Some say one thing, some say another, whatever they say it's a bad way. The worst is that when she smaslies as she must, because no ladies who respect virtue and humblemindeduess with contentment will employ her, is that the other dressmakers and shops will have nothing to do with her girls, so that what will happen to them, no one can tell. 'I thought it right. Miss, to give you this information, because it is certain that if you withdraw your support from these two un- deserving people, they must go away, which as a respectable Step- ney man, I unite in wishing may happen before long, when the girls shall go on again as before and leave dancing and singing to the rich and be humble and contented with the crust to which they were born. * And as regards the kindness you were meditating towards me, Miss, I think I may say that none of my nephews — one of whom is a Radical, and another a Captain in the Salvation Army — deserves to receive any benefits at your hands, least of all that villain who works in the Brewery. AVherefore, it may take the form of something for myself. And it is not for me to tell you. Miss, how much that something ought to be for a man in years, of respectable station and once the confidential friend of your grand- father, and prevented thereby from saving as much as he had otherwise a right to expect. * I remain, Miss, Your humble Servant, 'Benjamin Bunker.' 'This,' said Angela, 'is a very impudent letter. How shall we bring him to book for it ? ' When she learned, as she speedily did, the great mystery about the houses and the Coppin property, she began to understand the letter, the contents of which she kept to herself for the present. This was perhaps for the theory implied rather than stated in the letter, that both should be ordered to go ; for if one only was turned out of work, both would stay. This theory made her smile and blush, and pleased her, insomuch that she was not so angry as she might otherwise have been and should have been with the crafty double-dealer who wrote the letter. 230 ALL SOBTS AAI) COXDITIONS OF MEN. It happened that Mr. Bunker had business on Stepney Green, that morning, while Angela was reading the letter. She saw him from the -window, and could not resist the temptation of inviting him to step in. He came not in the least abashed, and with no tell-tale signal of confusion in his rosy cheeks. 'Come in, Mr. Bunker,' said Angela, 'Come in; I want five minutes' talk with you. This way, please, where we can be alone.' She led him into the refectory, because Daniel Fagg was in the drawing-room. ' I have been thinking, Mr. Bunker,' she said, 'how very, very fortunate I was to fall into such hands as yours, when I came to Stepney.' ' You were, Miss, you were. That was a fall, as one may say, which meant a rise.' ' I am sure it did, Mr. Bunker. You do not often come to see us, but I hope you approve of our plans.' * As for that,' he replied, ' it isn't my business. People come to me, and I put them in the way. How they run in the way is not my business to inquire. As for you and your girls, now, if you make the concern go, you may thank me for it. If you don't, why it isn't my fault.' * Very well put indeed, Mr. Bunker, In six months the first year, for which I prepaid the rent, will come to an end.' Mtwill' * AVe shall then have to consider a fresh agreement. I was thinking, Mr. Bunker, that, seeing how good a man you are, and how generous, you would, like to make your rent, like the wages of the girls, depend upon the profits of the business.' ' What ? ' he asked. Angela repeated her proposition. He rose, buttoned his coat, and put on his hat. * Rent depend on profits ? Is the girl mad ? Rent comes first and before anything else. Rent is even before taxes ; and as for rates— but you're mad. My rent depend on profits ? Rent, Miss, is sacred. Remember that.' * Oh ! ' said Angela. * And what is more,' he added, 'people who don't pay up get sold up. It's a Christian duty to sell 'em up. I couldn't let off even my own nephews.' ' As for one of them, you would like to sell him up, would you not, Mr. Bunker ? ' ' I would,' he replied truthfully, ' I should like to see him out of the place. You know what I told you when you came. Have nothing to do, I said, with that chap. Keep him at arm's length, for he is a bad lot. Now you see what he has brought you to. Singin', dancin', playin', laughiu', every night ; respectable ladies driven away from your shop ; many actually kept out of the place ; expenses doubled ; all through him. What's more — bankruptcy ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 23l ahead I Don't I know that not a lady in Stepney or Mile End conies here ? Don't I know that you depend upon your West End connection ? When that goefl, where are you ? And all for the sake of that pink and white chap ! Well, when one goes, the other '11 go too, I suppose. Ilent out of profits, indeed ! No, no, Miss, it '11 do you good to learn a little business even if you do get eold up.' * Thank you, Mr. Bunker. Do you know, I do not think you will ever have the pleasure of selling me up ? ' She laughed so merrily that he felt he hated her quite as much ns he hated his nephew. Why, six months before, no one laughed in Stepney at all ) and to think that anyone should laugh at him, would have been an impossible dream. * You laugh,' he said gravely, * and yet you are on the brink of ruin. Where's your character ? Wrapped up with the character of that young man. Where's your business? Drove away — by him. You laugh. Ah! I'm sorry for you, Miss, because I thought at one time you were a plain-spoken, honest sort of young woman : if I'd ha' known that you meant to use my house — mine — the friend of all the respectable tradesmen — for such wicked fads as now disgrace it, I'd never ha' taken you for a tenant.' * Oh ! yes, you would, Mr. Bunker.' She laughed again, but not merrily this time. * Oh I yes — you would. You forget the fittings and the furniture, the rent paid in advance, and the half- crown an hour for advice. Is there anything, I should like to know, that you would not do for half-a-crown an hour ? ' He made no reply. ' Why, again, do you hate your nephew ? What injury has he done you, that you should bear him such ill-will ? ' This, which was not altogether a shot in the dark, went straight to Mr. Bunker's heart. He said nothing, but put on his hat and rushed out. Clearly, these two between them would drive him mad. CHAPTER XXXIV. PROOFS IK PRINT. * It is quite finished now,' said Daniel Fagg, blotting the last page. When he began to live with the dressmakers, Angela, desirmg to find him some employment, had suggested that he should re- write the whole of his book, and redraw the illustrations. It was not a large book, even though it was stuffed and padded with readings of inscriptions and tablets. An ordinary writer would have made a fair copy in a fortnight. But so careful an author as Daniel, so anxious to present his work perfect and unassailable, 232 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. and 80 slow in the mere mechanical art of writing, wanted much more than a fortnight. His handwriting, like his Hebrew, had been acquired comparatively late in life : it was therefore rather ponderous, and he had never learned the art of writing half a word and leaving the other half to be guessed. Then there were the Hebrew words, which took a great deal of time to get right ; and the equilateral triangles, which also caused a considerable amount of trouble. So that it was a good six weeks before Daniel was ready with a fair copy of his manuscript. He was almost as happy in making this transcript as he had been with the original docu- ment, perhaps more so, because he was now able to consider his great discovery as a whole, to regard it as an architect may regard his finished work, and to touch up, ornament, and improve his translations. ' It is quite complete,' he repeated, laying the last page m its place and tapping the roll affectionately. ' Here you will find the full account of the two tables of stone and a translation of their contents, with notes. What will they say to that, I wonder ? ' 'But how,' asked Angela, ' how did the tables of stone get to the British Museum ? ' Mr. Fagg considered his reply for a while. * There are two ways,' he said, ' and I don't know which is the right one. For either they were brought here when we, the de- scendants of Ephraim, as everybody knows, lauded in England, or else they were brought here by Phrenician traders after the Cap- tivity. However, there they are, as anybody may see with the help of my discovery. As for the scholars, how can they see any- thing? Wilful ignorance, Miss, is their sin: pride and wilful ignorance. You're ignorant, because you are a woman, and it is your nature to. But not to love darkness ! ' ' No, Mr. Fagg. I lament my ignorance.' ' Then there's the story of David and Jonathan, and the history of Jezebel and her great wickedness, and the life and death of King Jehoshaplmt, and a great deal more. Now read forthe first time from the arrow-headed character — so called— by Daniel Fagg, self-taught scholar, once shoemaker in the colony of Victoria, Discoverer of the Primitive Alphabet and the Universal Language.' * That is indeed a glorious thing to bo able to say, Mr. Fagg.' ' But now it is written, what next ? ' ' You mean, how can you get it printed ? ' ' Of course, that's what I mean,' he replied almost angrily. ' There's the book, and no one will look at it. Haven't I tried all the publishers ? What else should I mean ? ' The old disappointment, kept under and forgotten during the excitement of rewriting the book, was making itself felt again. How much farther forward was he ? The work had been finished long before ; all he had done during the last six weeks was to write it afresh. 'I've only been wasting my time here/ he said querulously. ALL soars AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 2;38 *I oiiglit to Lave been up and about. I might have gone to Oxford, where, I'm told, there are j'oung men wlio would perliaps give me a hearing: or there's Cambridge, where they have never heard of my discovery. You've made me waste six weeks and more.' Angela forbore to a?k him how he would have lived during those six weeks. She replied softly : — • * Nay, Mr. Fagg : not wasted the time. You were over- worked : you wanted rest. Besides, I think we may find a plan to get this book published.' < What plan? How?' ' If you would trust the manuscript to my hands — yes ; I know well how precious it is, and what a dreadful thing it would be to lose it : but you have a copy, and you can keep that while I take the other.' ' Where are you going to take it ?' * I do not know yet. To one of the publishers, I suppose.' lie groaned. *I have been to every one of them. Not a publisher in London but has had the oifer of my book. They won't have it, any of them. Oh ! it's their loss, I know that— but what is it to me ? ' 'Will you let me try? Will you trust me with the manuscript ? ' He reluctantly and jealously allowed her to take away the precious document. When it was out of his hands, he tried to amuse himself with the first copy, but found no pleasure in it at all, because he thought contiuually of the scorn which had been hurled upon him and his discovery. He saw the heads of depart- ments, one after the other, receiving him politely, and listening to what he had to say: he saw them turning impatient, interrupting him, declining to hear any more, referring him to certain books in which he would find a refutation of his theories, and finally refusing even to see him. Never was discoverer treated with such contempt. Even the attendants at the Museum took their cue from their chiefs, and received his advances with scorn. Should they waste their time — the illiterate — in listening unprofitably to one whom the learned Dr. Birch and the profound Mr. Newton had sent away with contempt? Better sit in the spacious halls, bearing the wand of office, and allowing the eyelids to fall gently, and the mind to wander away among pleasant pastures where there was drink with tobacco. Then there were the people who had subscribed. Some of them were gentlemen connected with Australia : they had tossed him the twelve-and-sixpence in the middle of his talk, as if to get rid of him : some of them had subscribed in pity for his poverty : some persuaded by his impor- tunity. There was not one among them all, he reflected with humiliation, who subscribed because he believed. Stay, there was this ignorant dressmaker : one convert out of all to whom he had 234 ALL SORTj^ AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. explained his Discovery ! One — only one I There have been many religious enthusiasts, prophets, preachers, holders of strange doctrines, who have converted women so that they believed them inspired of heaven : yet these men made other converts, whereas he, Fagg, had but this one, and she was not in love with him, because he was old now, and no longer comely. This was a grand outcome of that Australian enthusiasm ! That day Mr. Fagg was disagreeable, considered as a com- panion. He found fault with the dinner, which was excellent, as usual ; he complained that the beer was thick and flat, whereas it sparkled like champagne, and was as clear as a bell ; he was cross in the afternoon, and wanted to prevent the child who sat in the drawing-room from practising her music j and he went out for his walk in a dark and gloomy mood. Angela let him have his querulous way, unrebuked, because she knew the cause of it. He was suffering from that dreadful hopeless anger which falls upon the unappreciated. He was like some poet who brings out volume after volume, yet meets with no admirers and remains obscure : he was like some novelist who has produced a masterpiece — which nobody will read; or like some actor, the foremost of his age — who depletes the house ; or like a dramatist from whose acted works the public fly ; or like a man who invents something which is to revolutionise things, only people prefer their old way. Good heavens ! is it impossible to move this vast inert mass called the world ? Why, there are men who can move it at their will, even by a touch of their little finger; and the Unappreciated, with all their eflforts, cannot make the slightest impression. This from time to time makes them go mad, and at such periods they are unpleasant persons to meet. They growl at their clubs, they quarrel with their blood relations, they snarl at their wives, they grumble at their servants. Daniel was having such a fit. It lasted two whole days, and on the second Kebekah took upon herself to lead him aside and reprove him for the sin of ingratitude, because it was very well known to ail that the man would have gone to the workhouse but for Miss Kennedy's timely help. She asked him sternly, what he had done to merit that daily bread which was given him without a mur- mur: and what excuse he could make for his bad temper and his rudeness towards the woman who had done so much for him. He had no excuse to make, because Rebekah would not have understood the true one. Wherefore, she bade him repent and reform, or he would hear more from her. Tliis threat frightened him, though it could not remove his irritation and depression. But on the third day sunshine and good cheer and hope — new hope and enthusiasm — returned to him. For Miss Kennedy announced to him, with many smiles, that a publisher had accepted his manuscript, and that it had already been sent to the printers. AJJ. SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 23R * He will publish it for you,' she said, ' at no cost to j'ourself. He will give you as many copies as you wish to have, lor presentation among your I'riends and among your subscribers — you will like to send copies to your subscribers, will you not ?' He rubbed his hands and laughed aloud. 'That,' he said, 'will prove that I did not eat up the subscriptions.' 'Of course.' Angela smiled, but did not contradict the pro- position. ' Of course, Mr. Fagg ; and if ever there was any doubt in your own mind about that money, it is now removed, because the book will be in their hands. And all they wanted was the book.' ' Yes — yes. And no one will bo able to say . . . you know what— will they?' * No, no. You will have proofs sent to you ' ' Proofs !' he murmured. • Proofs in print ! Will they send me proofs soon P ' 'I believe you will have the whole book set up in a few weelis.' * Oh ! The whole book — my book — set up — in print !' 'Yes; and if I were you, I would send an announcement of the work by the next mail to your Australian friends. Say that your discovery has at length assumed its final shape and is now ripe for publication, after being laid before all the learned societies of London, and that it has been accepted by Messrs. , the well-kuown publishers, and will be issued almost as soon as this announcement reaches Melbourne. Here is a slip that I have prepared for you.' He took it with glittering eyes and stammering voice. The news seemed too good to be true. _ 'Now, Mr. Fagg, that this has been settled, there is another thing which I should like to propose for your consideration. Did you ever hear of that great Roman who saved his country in a time of peril and then went back to the plough ?' Daniel shook his head, ' Is there any Hebrew inscription about him ? ' he asked. ' Not that I know of. "What I mean is this. When your volume is out, Mr. Fagg, when you have sent it — triumphantly • — to all the learned societies, and all your subscribers, and all the papers and everywhere, including your Australian frieiuls ; because the publisher will let you have as many copies as you please ; would it not be a graceful thing, and a thing for future historians to remember, that you left England at the moment of your greatest fame, and went back to Australia to take up your old — occupation ? ' Daniel had never considered the thing in this light, and showed no enthusiasm at the proposal. ' When your friends in Victoria prophesied fortune and fame, Mr. Fagg, they spoke out of their hopes and their pride in you. 236 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Of course I do not know much about tliese things— Low should I? Yet I am quite certain that it takes a long time for a learned discovery to make way. There are jealousies— you have experi- enced them — and unwillingness to admit new tbiugs— you have met with that too— and reluctance to unlearn old things— why, you have met with that as well.' ' I have,' he said, ' I have.' * As for granting a pension to a scholar, or a title, or anything of that sort, it is really never done, so that you would have to make your own living if you remained here.' ' I thought that when the book was published people would buy it.' Angela shook her head. ' Oh ! no. That is not the kind of book which is bought. Very few people know anything about inscriptions. Those who do will go to the British Museum and read it there. One copy will do for all.' Daniel looked perplexed. 'You do not go back empty-handed,' she said. 'You will have a fine story to tell of how the great scholars laughed at your discovery, and how you got about and told people, and they subscribed, and your book was published, and how you sent it to all of them, to show the mistake they had made, and how the English people have got the book now, to confound the scholars, and how your mission is accomplished, and you are home again to live and die among your own people. It will be a glorious return, Mr. Fagg. I envy you the landing at Melbourne, your book under your arm. You will go back to your old township ; you will give a lecture in the schoolroom on your stay in England and your reception ; and then you will take up your old place again and follow your old calling exactly the same as if you had never left it, but for the honour and reverence which people will pay you.' Daniel cooed like a dove. 'It may be,' the siren went on, ' that people will pay pilgrim- ages to see you in your old age. They will come to see the man who discovered the Primitive Alphabet and the Universal Lan- guage; they will say, "This is Daniel Fagg, the great Daniel Fagg, whose unaided intellect overset and brought to confusion all the scholars and showed their learning was but vain pretence ; who proved the truth of the Scriptures by his reading of tablets and inscriptions, and who returned, when he had finished his task, with the modesty of a great mind to his simple calling ! " ' 'I will go,' said Daniel, banging the table with his fist. 'I will go as soon as the book is readj.' ALL SORTS AND COXDITIONS OF MEN. 237 CHAPTER XXXV. 'then we'll keep COJirANY.' Aktek the cekbrated Debate on the abolition of the Lords, Dick Coppiu found he took, for the moment, a greatly diminished interest in burning political questions. He lost, in fact, con- fidence in himself, and went about with hanging head. The Sunday evening meetings were held as usual, but the hery voice of Dick the Radical was silent, and people wondered. This was the effect of his cousin's address upon him : as for the people, it had made them laugh, just as Dick's had made them angry; they came to the hall to get these little emotions, and not for any personal or critical interest in the matter discussed; and this was about all the effect produced by them. One evening the old Chartist who had taken the chair met Dick at the Club. ' Come out,' he said, ' come out and have a crack while the boys wrangle.' They wiilked from Redman's Lane, where the Club stands, to the quiet side pavement of Stepney Green, deserted now, because the respectable people were all in church, and it was too cold for the lounghig of the more numerous class of those who cannot call themselves respectable. The ex-Chartist belonged, like Daniel Fagg, to the shoemaking trade in its humbler lines. The connection between Leather and Socialism, Chartism, Radicalism, Atheism, and other things detri- mental to old institutions, has frequently been pointed out and need not be repeated. It is a reflecting trade, and the results of meditation are mainly influenced by the amount of knowledge the meditation begins with. In this respect, the Chartist of thirty rears ago had a great advantage over his successors of the present day, for he had read ; he knew the works of Owen, of Ilolyoake, and of Cobbett; he understood something of what he wanted and why he wanted it. The proof of which is, that they have got all they wanted and we still survive. When next the people really make up their minds that they want another set of things, they will probably get them, too. * Let us talk,' he said. ' I've been thinking a bit about that chap's speech the other night. I wanted an answer to it.' ' Have you got one ? * ' It's all true what he said. First of all, it's true. The pinch is just the same whether the Liberals are in or the Tories. Grovern- nient don't help us. Why should sve help them ? ' ' Is that all your answer ? ' 'AVait a bit, lad. Don't hurry a man. The chap was right. r> 238 ALL soars AND CONDITIONS OF MEIV. We ouglit to co-operate, and get all he said and a deal more. And once we do begin, mind you, there'll be astonishment. Because you see, Dick, my lad, there's work before us. But we must be educated. We must all be got to see what we can do if we like. That chap's clever, now. Though he looks like a swell.' ' He's got plenty in him ; but he'll never be one of us.' 'If we can use him, what does it matter whether he is one of us or not? Come to that, who is "us"? You don't pretend, before me, that you call yourself one of the common workmen, do you ? That does for the Club, but between ourselves Why, man, you and me, we're leaders; we've got to tljink for 'em. What I think is — make that chap draw up a plan, if he can, for getting the people to work together. For we've got all the power at last, Dick ; we've got all the power. Dont forget, when we old uns are dead and gone, who done it for you.' He was silent for a moment. Then he went on. ' We've got what we wanted — that's true — and we seem to be no better off. That's true, too. But we are better ofl'; because we feel that every num has his share in the rule of the nation ; that's a grand thing; we are not kept out of our vote; we don't see, as we used to see, our money spent for us without having a say ; that's a very grand thing which he doesn't understand ; nor you neither, because you are too young. Everything we get which makes us feel our power more is good for us. The chap was right, but he was wrong as well. Don't give up politics, lad.' ' What's the good if nothing comes ? ' 'There's a chance now for the working man such as he has never had before in all history. You are the lad to tako tliut chance. I've watched you, Dick, since you first began to come to the Club. There's life in you. Lord ! I watch the young fellows one after the other : they stamp and froth, but it comes to nothing : you're different: you want to be something better than a bellows — though your speech the other night came pretty nigh to the bellows kind.' ' Well — what is the chance ? ' 'The House, Dick. The working men will send you there if you can show them that you've got something in you. It isn't froth they want: it's a practical man with knowledge : you go on reading: go on speaking : go on debating: keep it up: get j^our name known: don't demean yourself: get reported and learn all that there is to learn. Once in the House, Dick, if you are not afraid ' * I shall not be afraid ' ' Humph ! well : we shall see — well : there's your chance. A working man's candidate ; one of ourselves : that's the card for you to play. But not so ignorant as your mates — eh ? able, if you want, to use the swells' sneerin' talk, so's to call a man a liar without sayiu' the words: to make him feel like a fool and a ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 239 whipped cur with just showiii' your white teeth. Learn thera ways, Dick. They'll be useful.' 'But if,' said the youug man, doubtfully, 'if I am to keep on debating, what subjects shall we take up at the Club ? ' * I should go in for practical subjucls. Say that the Club i-^ ready to vote for the abolition of the Lords and Church, and reform of the Land Laws, when the time comes, but it hasn't come yet. You haven't got the choice of subjects that we had. Lord ! what with Rotten Boroughs and the Black Book of Pen- sions, and younger sons and favouritism in the service — why, our hands were full.' * What practical subjects ? ' * Why, them as your cousin talked about. There's the wages of the girls ; there's food, and fish, and drink ; there's high rent ; there's a world o' subjects. You go and find out all about them. Give up the rest for a spell and make yourself master of all these questions. If you do, Dick, I believe your fortune is made.' Dick looked doubtful. It seemed disheartening to be sent back to the paltry matter of wages, prices, and so on, when he was burning to lead in something great. Yet the advice was sound. ' Sometimes I think, Dick,' the old man went on, ' that the working man's best friends would be the swells, if they could be got hold of. They've got uolhing to make out of the artisnn ; they don't run factories nor keep sliops ; they don't care, -bless you, how high his wages are; why should they? They've got their farmers to pay the rent, and their houses, and their money in the funds ; what does it matter to them ? They're well brought up too, most of them, civil in their manner, and disposed to be fiiendly if you're neither standoffish nor familiar, but know yourself and talk accordia'. 'If the swells sliould ever come to us, wc ought to go to them. Remember that, Dick. Very soon there will bo no more questions of Tory and Liberal, but only what is the best thing fur us. You play your game by the newest rules ; as for the old ones, they've seen their day.' Dick left him, but he did not return to the Club, He com- muned beneath the stars, turning over these and other matters in bis mind. Yes, the old man was right ; the old indignation times were over ; the long lists of crimes which the political agitator could bring against King, Church, Lords, and Commons, thirty, forty, fifty years ago, are useless now ; they only serve to amuse an audience not too critical : he was ashamed of what he had him- self said about the Lords ; such charges are like the oratory of an ex-Minister on the stump, finding no accusation too reckless to be hurled against his enemies. He was profoundly ambitious. To some men, situated like himself, it might have been a legitimate and sufficient ambition to recover by slow degrees and thrift, and in some trading way^ 240 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. the place in tlie middle class from whicli the Coppins had fallen. Not so to Dick Coppin. He cared very little about the former greatness of the Coppins, and the position once occupied by Coppin, the builder, his father, before he went bankrupt. He meant, secretly, something very much greater for himself; he ■would be a member of Parliament ; he would be a working man's member. There have already been half a dozen working men's members in the House; their success has not hitherto been marked, probably because none of them have shown that they know what they want, if indeed they want anything ; up to the last few days, Dick simply desired in the abstract to be one of them — only of course a red-hot Radical, an Irreconcilable. Now, however, he desired more ; his cousin's words and the Chartist's words fell on fruitful soil ; he perceived that to become a power in the House one must be able to inform the House on the wants, the programme of his constituents ; what they desire and mean to have. Dick always mentally added that clause, because it be- longs to the class of speech in which he had been brought up, * and we mean to have it.' You accompany the words with a flourish of the left hand, which is found to be more effective than the right for such purposes. They don't really mean to have it — whatever it may be — but with their audiences it ia necessary to put on the appearance of strength before there arises any confi- dence in strength. Disestablishers of all kinds invariably mean to have it, and the phrase is perhaps getting played out. Dick went home to his lodgings, and sat among his books, thinking. He was a man who read ; for the sake of being inde- pendent he became a teetotaller, so that, getting good wages, he was rich : he would not marry, because he did not want to be encumbered : he bought such books as he thouglit would be useful to him, and read them, but no others : he was a man of energy and tenacity, whose chief fault was the entire absence, as yet, of ej'mpathy and imagination. If these could be supplied in any way, Dick Coppin's course would be assured. For with them would come play of fancy, repartee, wit, illustration, and the graces as well as the strength of oratory. He went on Monday evening to see Miss Kennedy. He would find out from her, as a beginning, all that she could tell him about the wages of women. ' But I have told you,' she said, 'I told you all the first night you came here. Have you forgotten ? Then, 1 suppose I must tell you again.' The first time he was only bored with the story, because he did not see how he could use it for his own purposes. Therefore, he had forgotten the details. She told him the sad story of woman's wrongs, which go un- redressed while their sisters clamour for female suffrage, and make school boards intolerable by their squabbles. The women do but Q,ox>y the men j therefore, while the men neglect the things AZZ SORTS AND CONDITIONS OP MliN. 241 (\\i\i lie ready to their hand, and hope for thinpfs impossible, utidor new forms of Government, what wonder if the women do the like ? This time Dick listened, because he now understood that a practical use might be made out of the information. He was not a man of highly sensitive organisation, nor did he feel any in- dignation at the things Angela told him, seeing that he had grown up among these tilings all his life, and regarded the ine- qualities of wages and work as part of the bad luck of being born a woman. But he took note of all, and asked shrewd questions, and made suggestions. '11,' he said, * there's a hundred women asking for ten places, of course the governor '11 give them to the cheapest' * That,' replied Angela, * is a matter of course as things now are. But there is another way of considering the question. If we had a Woman's Trade Union, as we shall have before long, where there are ten places, only ten women should be allowed to apply, and just wages be demanded ! ' ' How is that to be done ? ' ' My friend, you have yet a great deal to learn.' Dick reddened, and replied rudely, that if he had, he did not expect to learn it from a woman. ' A great deal to learn,' she repeated gently ; ' above all, you have got to learn the lesson which your cousin began to teach you the other night — the great lesson of finding out what you want, and then getting it for yourselves. Governments are no- thino- : you must help yourselves ; you must combine.' He was silent. The girl made him angry, yet he was afraid of her, because no other woman whom he had ever met spoke as she did, or knew so much. ' Combine,' she repeated. * Preach the doctrine of combina- tion •, and teach us the purposes for which we ought to combine.' The advice was just what the cobbler had given. ' Oh, Mr. Coppin' — her voice was as winning as her eyes were kind and full of interest, — 'you are clever, you are persevering; you are brave ; you have so splendid a voice ; you have such a natural gift of oratory, that you ought to become — you must be- come — one of the leaders of the people.' Pride fell prone — like Dagon — before these words. Dick succumbed to the gracious influence of a charming woman. ' Tell me,' he said, reddening, because it is humiliating to seek help of a girl, * tell me what I am to do.' ' You are ambitious, are you not ? ' * Yes,' he replied boldly, ' I am ambitious. I don't tell them outside,' he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the Advanced Club, 'but I mean to get into the 'Ouse — I mean the House.' One of his little troubles was the correction of certain peculiarities of speech common among his class. It was his cousin who first directed his attention to this point. a 242 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' Yes ; there is no reason why you should not get into tha House,' said Anpela. 'But it would be a thousand pities if you Bhoiild get in yet.' ' Why should I wait, if they will elect me ? ' * Because, Mr. Coppin, you must not try to lead the people till you know whither you would lead them ; because you must not pretend to represent the people till you have learned their con- dition and their wants; because you must not presume to offer yourself till you are prepared with a programme.' ' Yet plenty of others do.' ' The}^ do ; but what else have they done ? ' ' Only tell me, then — tell me what to do. Am I to read Y ' No • you have read enough for the present. Rest your eyes from books ; open them to the world ; see things as they are. Look out of this window. What do you see ? ' * Nothing ; a row of houses ; a street ; a road.' 'I see, besides, that the houses are mean, dirty, and void of beauty : but I see more. I see an organ-player; on the kerbstone the little girls are dancing ; in the road tlie ragged boys are play- ing. Look at tlie freedom of the girls' limbs ; look at the careless grace of the children. Do you know how clever they are ? Some of them who sleep where they can, and live as tliey can, can pick pockets at three, go shop-lifting at four, plot and make conspi- racies at five : see how they run and jump and climb.' * I see them. They are everywhere. How can we help that? ' ' You would leave these poor children to the Government and the police. Yet I think a better way to redeem these little ones is for the working men to resolve together that they shall be taken care of, taught, and apprenticed. Spelling, which your cousin says constitutes most of the School Board education, does not so much matter. Take them__ofi' the streets and train them to a trade. Do you ever walk about the streets at night ? Be your own police, and make your streets clean. Do you ever go into the courts and places where the dock labourei-s sleep ? Have a committee for every one such street or court, and make them decent. When a gang of roughs make the pavement intolerable, you decent men step off and leave them to tlie policeman, if he dares interfere. Put down the roughs yourselves with a strong hand. Clear out the thieves' dens and the drinking-shops ; make rogues and vagabonds go elsewhere. I am always about among the people: they are full of sufferings which need not be; there are a great many workers — ladies, priests, clergymen — among them, trying to remove some of the suifering. But why do you not do this for yourselves ? Be your own almoners. I find everywhere, too, courage and honesty, and a desire for better things. Show them how their lot may bo alleviated.' 'But I don't know how,' he replied liumbly. ' You must find out, if you would be their leader. And you must have sympathy. Never was there yet a leader of the people »vho did not feel with them as they feel.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 243 This sayiiifT was too liard for the young man, who had, ho knew, felt hitherto only for himself. * You say what Harry says. I sometimes think ' He stopped short as if an idea had suddenly occurred to hini. 'Look here, is it true that you and Harry are keeping company.' 'No, we are not,' Angela replied, with a blush, ' Oh, I thought you were. Is it oiT, then? ' ' It never was — more — on — than it is at present, Mr. Coppin. <0h!' He looked doubtful. < Well,' he said, 'T suppose there is no reason why a girl should tell a lie about such a simpb thing.' He certainly was a remarkably rude young man. ' Either you are or you ain't. That's it, isn't it ? And you ain't ? ' ' We are not,' said Angela, with a little blush, for the facts of the case were, from one point of view, against her. ' Then, if you are not— I don't care— though it's against my rules, and I did say I would never be bothered with a woman. , . . Look here — you and me will ' 'Will what?' ' Will keep company,' he replied firmly. ' Oh, I know : it's a great chance for you ; but then, you see, you ain't like the rest of 'em, and you know things, somehow, that may be useful — though how you learned 'em, nor where you came from, nor what's your character — there — I don't care, we'll keep company ! ' 'Oh!' 'Yes: we'll begin next Sunday. Y'ou'll be useful to me, so that the bargain is not all on one side.' It was not till afterwards that Angela felt the full force of this remark. ' As for getting married, there's no hurry : we'll talk about that when I'm member. Of course, it would be silly to get married now.' ' Of course,' said Angeha. ' Let's get well up the tree first. Lord h elp you ! How coiild I climb, to say nothing o' you, with a round half-dozen o' babies at uiy Iieels ? ' 'IJut, Mr. Coppin,' she said, putting aside these possibilities, ' I am sorry to say that I cannot possibly keep company with you. There is a reason — I cannot tell you what it is — but you must put that' out of your thoughts.' Oh ! ' his foce fell, ' if you won't, you won't. Most girls jump at a man who's in good wages and a temperance man, and sought after, like me. But — there — if you won't, there's an end. I'm not going to waste my time cryiu' after any girl.' 'We will remain friends, Mr. Coppin?' She held out her hand. 'Friends? what's that? we might ha' been pals— I mean partners.' ' But I can tell you all I think ; I can advise you in my poor way still, whenever you please to ask my advice, even if I do not share your greatness. And believe me, Mr. Coppin, that I most earnestly desire to see you not only ia the House, but a real leader B 2 244 ALL SORTS AA^D CONBITtONS OF MEN: of the people, such a leader as tlie world has never yet beheld. To begin with, you will be a man of the very people.' ' Ay ! ' he said, ' one of themselves ! ' 'A man not to be led out of his way by flatterers.' * No,' he said, with a superior s^mile, ' no one, man or woman, can flatter me.' 'A man who knows the restless unsatisfied yearnings of the people, and what they mean, and has found out how they may be satisfied.' ' Ye— yes ! ' he replied, doubtfully, ' certainly.' * A man who will lead the people to get what is good for themselves and by themselves, without the help of Govern- ment.' And no thunders in the Commons ? No ringing denunciation of the Hereditary House ? Nothing at all that he had looked to do and to say? Call this a leadership ? But he thought of the Chartist and his new methods. By difi"erent roads, said Montaigne, we arrive at the same end. CHAPTER XXXVI. WHAT WILL BP, THE EI^D ? The end of the year drew near, the end of that last year of 'eighty- one, which, whatever its shortcomings, its burning heat of July and its wretched rain of August, went out in sweet and gracious sunshine, and a December like unto the April of a poet. For six months Angela had been living among her girls ; the place was become homelike to her; the workwomen were now her friends, her trusted friends ; the voice of calumny about her antecedents was silent, unless when it was the voice of Bunker; the Palace of Delight, whose meaning was as yet unknown and unsuspected, was rising rapidly, and, indeed, was nearly complete, a shell wRich had to be filled with things beautiful and delightful, of which Angela did not trust herself to speak. She had a great deal to think of in tJiose last days of the year 'eighty-one. The dressmaking was nothing ; that went on : there was some local custom, and more was pro- mised. It seemed as if, on the soundest principles of economj', it would actually pay ; there was a very large acquaintance made at odd times among the small streets and mean houses of Stepney : it was necessary to visit these people and to talk with them. Angela had nothing to do with the ordinary channels of charity ; she would help neither curate, nor sister of mercy, nor Bible- woman. Why, she said, do not the people stand shoulder to shoulder and help themselves ? To be sure, she had the great advantage over the professional visitors that she was herself only a work-woman, and was not paid for any services, And, as if there ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 245 was not already enougli to malie her anxious, there waa that lover of hers. Were she and Harry keeping company ? Dick Coppin asked this question, and Angela, not altogether truthfully, said that they were not. What else were they doing, indeed ? No word of love now ; had he not promised to abstain ? Yet she knew his past ; she knew what he had given up for her sake, believing her only a poor dressmaker— all for love of her — and she could not choose but let her heart go forth to so loyal and true a lover. Many ladies in many tales of chivalry have demanded strange services from their lovers , none so strange as that asked by Angela, when she ordered her lover not only to pretend to be a cabinet-maker and a joiner, but to ivorh at his trade and to Ike by it. Partly in self-reproach, partly in admiration, she watched him going and coming to and from the Brewery, where he now earned, thanks to Lord Jocelyn's intervention, the sum of a whole shilling an hour. For there was nothing in his bearing or his talk to show that he repented his decision ; he was always cheerful, always of good, courage : more, he was always in attendance upon her. It was he who thought for her, invented plans to make her evenings attractive, brought raw lads — recruits in the army of Culture — from the Advanced Club and elsewhere, and set them an example of good manners, and was her prime minister, her aide-de-camp, her chief vizier. And the end of it all ? Nay ; the thing itself being so pleasant, why hasten the end ? And if there was to be an end, could it not be connected with the opening of the Palace ? Yes, when the Palace was ready to open its gates, then would Angela open her arms. For the moment, it was the sweet twilight of love, the half-hour before the dawn, the sweet uncertainty when all was certainty. And as yet the Palace was only just receiving its roof ; the fittings and decorations, the organ, and the statues and all, had still to be put in. When everything was ready, . . . then • • • . then .... Angela would somehow, perhaps, find, words to bid her lover be happy if she could make him happy. There could be but one end. Angela came to Whitechapel, incognita, a princess disguised as a milkmaid, partly out of curi- osity, partly to try her little experiment for the good of the work- girls, with the gaiety and light heart of youth, thinking that before long she would return to her old -^l&cejjud as she had left it. But she°could not: her old views of life were changed; and a man had changed them; more than that, a man whose society, whose strength, whose counsel, had become necessary to her. ' Who,' she asked her- self, ' would have thought of the Palace, except— him ? Could I — could any woman ? 1 could have given away money; that is all: I could have been robbed and cheated: but such an idea, so grand, so simple — it is a man's, not a woman's. When the Palace is completed, when all is ready for the opening — then ' And tbeo the air became musical with the clang and clash of wedding 246 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. bells, up tlie scale, down the scale, in tLircls, in fiftlis, with triple bob-umjors, and the shouts of the people, and the triumphant strains of a Wedding March. How could there be any end but one? seeing that not only did this young man present himself nearly every evening at the drawing-room, when he was recognised as tlie Director of Cere- monies, or the Leader of the Cotillon, or the Deviser of Sports, from an acted Prorerbe to a Madrigal, but that, in addition, the custom was firmly established that he and Angela should spend thtir Sundays together ; when it rained they went to church to- gether, and had readings in the drawing-room in the afternoon, with perhaps a little concert in the evening of sacred music, to vrhich some of the girls would come. But if the day was sunny and bright there were many places where they might go, for the East is richer than the West in pretty and accessible country places. They would take the tram along the Mile End Road, past the delightful old church of Bow to Stratford, -with its fine Town Hall and its round dozen of churches and chapels — a town of fifty thousand people, and quite a genteel place, whose residents pre- serve the primitive custom of fetching the dinner beer themselves, from its native public-house, on Sunday after church. At Strat- ford there are many ways open if you are a good walker, as Angela was. You may take the Woodford Road, and presently turn to the right and find yourself in a grand old forest — only there is not much of it left — called Hainault Forest. When you have crossed the forest you get to Chigwell, and then if you are wise you will take another six miles, as Angela and Harry generally did, and get to Epping, where the toothsome steak may be found, or haply the simple cold beef not to be despised after a fifteen miles walk. And so home by train. Or you may take the northern road at Stratford, and walk through Leytonstone and Woodford, and leaving Epping Forest on the right, walk along the bank of the river Lea till you come to Waltham Abbey, where there is a church to be seen, and a cross, and other marvels. Or you may go still farther afield and take train all the way to Ware, and walk through country roads and pleasant lanes, if you have a map, to stately Hatfield, and on to St. Albans — but do not try to dine there, even if you are only one-and- twenty, and a girl. All these walks, and many more, were taken by Angela, with her companion, on that blessed day which should be spent for the good of body as well as soul. They are walks which are beautiful in the winter as well as in the summer : though the trees are leafless, there is an underwood faintly coloured with its winter tint of purple, and there are stretches of springy turf, and bushes hung with catkins ; and, above all, there was nobody in the Forest or on the roads except Angela and Harry. Sometimes the night fell on them when they were yet three or four miles from Epping : then, as they walked in the twilight, the trees on either hand silently glided past them like ghosts, and the mist rose and made things look shadowy and large, and the sense ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 2 17 of an endless pilgrimage fell upon them, as if tliey would always go on like tliis, side by side ; then their hearts would glow within them, and they would talk, and the girl would thiuk it no shame to reveal the secret tlioiights of her heart, although the man with her was not her accepted lover. As for her reputation, where was it ? Not gone, indeed, be- cause uo one, among her old friends, knew of these walks and this companionship ; but in grievous peril. Or, when the day was cloudy, tliere was the City. I declare there is no place which contains more delightful walks for a cloudy Sunday forenoon, when the clang of the bells has finished, and the scanty worshippers are in their place?, and the sleepy sextons have shut the doors, than the streets and lanes of the old City. You must go, as Harry did, provided with something of ancient lore, otherwise tlie most beautiful places will quite certainly be thrown away and lost for you. Take that riverside walk from Billingsgate to Blaekfriars. Why, here were the quays, the ports, the whole commerce of the City in the good old days. Here was Cold Iler- bergh, that great many-gabled house where Harry Prince of Wales * carried on ' with FalstafF and his merry crew ; here was Queeu- hithe; here Dowgate-with-Walbrook ; here Baynard's Castle, and close by the Tower of Montiichet ; also a little to the north a thousand places dear to the antiquary, though they have pulled down so much: there is Tower Royal, where Richard the Second lodged his mother : there is the church of AVhittington, close by the place where his college stood : there are the precincts of Paul's and the famous street of Chepe — Do people ever think what things have been done in Chepe ? There is Austin Friars with its grand old church, now given to the Dutch, and its quiet City square, where only a few years ago lived Lettice Langton, of whom some of us may have heard; there is the Tower Hill, on which was formerly the residence of one Alderman Medly- eott, guardian of Nelly Carellis : and west of Paul's there is the place where once stood the house of Dr. Gregory Shovel, who re- ceived the orphan Kitty Pleydell. But, indeed, there is no end to the histories and associations of the City, and a man may give his life profitably to the mastery and mystery of its winding streets. Here they would wander in the quiet Sunday forenoons, while their footsteps echoed in the deserted streets, and they could walk fearless in the middle of the road, wbile they talked of the great town and its million dwellers, who come like the birds in the morning and vanish like the birds in the evening. Or they would cross the river and wander up and down the quaint old town of Rotherhithe, or visit Southwark, the town of hops and malt and all kinds of strange things, or Deptford the Deserted, or even Greenwich ; and if it was rainy they would go to church. There are a great many places of worship about White- chapel, and many forms of creed, from that of the Baptist to that of the man with the Biretta ; and it would be difficult to select 248 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. one wLicH is more confident than another of possessing the real Philosopher's Stone, the thing for which we are always searching, the Whole Truth. And everywhere, church and chapel filled with the well-to-do and the respectable, and a sprinkling of the very poor. Eut of the working men— none. ' Why have they all given up religion ? ' asked Angela. ' Why should the working men all over the world feel no need of religion, if it were only the religious emotion ? ' Harry, who had answers ready for many questions, could find none for this. He asked his cousin Dick, but he could not tell. Personally, he said, he had something else to do, but if the women wanted to go to church they might, and so long as the parsons and priests did not meddle with him, he should not meddle with them. But these statements hardly seemed an answer to the question. Perhaps in Berlin or in I'aris they could explain more clearly how this strange thing has come to pass. CHAPTER XXXVn TRUTH "WITH PAITHFTJLNESS. To possess pure truth — and to know it — is a thing which affects people in two ways, both of them uncomfortable to their fellow- creatures. It impels some to go pointing out the purity of truth to the world at large, insisting upon it, dragging unwilling people along the road which leads to it, and dwelling upon the dangers which attend the neglect of so great a chance. Others it affects with a cahn and comfortable sense of superiority. The latter was Eebekah's state of mind : to be a Seventh Day Independent was only one degree removed from belonging to the Chosen People, to begin with : and that there is but one chapel in all England where the Truth reposes for a space, as the Ark of the Covenant reposed at Shiloh, ' in curtains,' is, if you please, a thing to be proud of ! It brings with it elevation of soul. There is at present, whatever there may once have been, no proselytising zeal about the Seventh Day Independents : they are, in fact, a torpid body: they are contented with the conviction — a very comforting one, and possessed by other creeds besides their own — that, sooner or later, the whole world will embrace their faith. Perhaps the Jews look forward to a day when, in addition to the Restoration which they profess to desire, all mankind will become proselytes in the Court of the Gentiles: it is something little short of this that the congregation of Seventh Day Indepen- dents expect in the dim future. What a splendid, what a mag- nificent field for glory — call it not vain-glory ! — does this conviction present to the humble believer! There are, again, so very few of them, that each one may feel himself a visible pillar of the Catholic ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 249 Church, bearing on his shoulders a perceptible and nieasuviible quantity of weight. Each is an Atlas. It is, moreover, pleasing to read the Holy Scriptures, especially the books of the l*r(i|)hets, as written especially for a Connection which numbers just one cliapel in Great Britain and seven in the United States. How grand is the name of Catholic applied to just one church ! Catholicity is as yet all to come, and exists only as a germ, or seedling ! The Early Christians may have experienced the same delight. liebekah, best and most careful of shopwomen and accountants, showed her religious superiority more by the silence of contempt than by zeal for conversion. When Captain Tom Coppin, for instance, was preaching to the girls, she went on with her tigures, casting up, ruling in red ink, carrying forward in methodical fashion, as if his words could not possibly have any concern with her: and when a church bell rang, or any words were spoken about other forms of worship, she became suddenly deaf and blind and cold. But she entreated Angela to attend their services. * We want evcryhodij to come,' she said : ' we only ask for a single hearing; come and hear my fiitlier preach.' She believed in the faith of the Seventh Day. As for her father— when a man is paid to advocate the cause of an eccentric or a ridiculous form of belief; when he has to plead that cause week by week to the same slender following, to prop up the limp, and to keep together his small body of believers; when he has to maintain a show of hopefulness, to strengthen the wavering, to confirm the strong, to encourage his sheep in confidence; when he gets too old for anything else, and his daily bread depends upon this creed and no other, — who shall say what, after a while, that man believes or does not believe ? Red-hot words fall from his lips, but they fall equally red-hot each week; his arguments are conclusive, but they were equally conclusive last week; his logic is irresistible, his encouragement is warm and glowing; but logic and encouragement alike are those of last week and many weeks ago — surely, surely there is no worse fate possible for any man than to preach, week by week, any form whatever of dogmatic belief, and to live by it ; surely nothing can be more deadly than to simulate zeal, to suppress doubt, to pretend certainty. But this is dangerous ground ; because others besides Seventh Day Independents may feel that they are upon it, and that beneath them there are quagmires. ' Come,' said Rebekah. < We want nothing but a fair hearing.' Their chapel was endowed, which doubtless helped the flock to keep together: it had a hundred and ten pounds a year belong- ing to it; and a little house for the minister, and there were scanty pew rents, which almost paid for the maintenance of the fabric and the old woman who cleaned the windows and dusted the pews. If the Rev. Percival Armitage gave up that chapel, he would have no means of subsistence at all. Let us not impute motives: no doubt he firmly believed what he taught j but his 2:0 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. wordft, like his creed, were stereotj^ped ; tliey had long ceased to be persuasive: they now served only to preserve. If Angela had accepted that invitation for any given day, there would have been, she knew very well, a sermon for the occasion, conceived, written, and argued out expressly for herself. And this she did not want. Therefore she said nothing at all of her intentions, but chose one Saturday when there was little doing, and she could spare a forenoon for her visit. The chapel of the Seventh Day Independents stands in Red- man's Lane, close to the Advanced Club House. It is a structure extremely plain and modest in design. It was built by an architect who entertained humble views — perhaps he was a Churchman — concerning the possible extension of the Connection, because the whole chapel if quite filled would not hold more than two hundred people. The front, or fajade, is flat, consisting of a surface of grey brick wall, with a door in the middle and two circular win- dows, one on each side. Over the door there are two dates — one of erection, the other of restoration. The chapel within is a well- proportioned room, with a neat gallery running round three sides, resting on low pillars and painted a warm and cheerful drab : the pews are painted of the same colour. At the back are two win- dows with semicircular arches, and between the windows stands a small railed platform with a reading-desk upon it for the minister. Beside it are high seats with cushions for elder?, or other ministers if there should be any. But these seats have never been occupied in the memory of man. The pews are ranged in front of the platform' and they are of the old and high-backed kind. It is a wonderful — a truly wonderful thing that clergymen, priests, ministers, padres, rabbis, and church architects, with church- wardens, sidesmen, vergers, bishops and chapel-keepers of all persuasions are agreed, whatever their other diiferences, in the unalterable conviction that it is impossible to be religious — that is, to attend services in a proper frame of mind — unless one is uncomfortable. Therefore we are offered a choice : we may sit in high-backed, narrow-seated pews, or we may sit on low-backed, narrow-seated benches; but sit in comfort we may not. The Seventh Day people have got the high-backed pew (which catches you in the shoulder-blade, and tries the back-bone, and aff'ects the brain, and causes softening in tlie long run), and the narrow seat (which drags the muscles and brings on premature paralysis of the lower limbs). The equally narrow, low-backed bench produces injurious effects of a different kind, but similarly pernicious. How would it be to furnish one aisle, at least, of a church with broad, low, and comfortable chairs having arms ? They should be reserved for the poor, who have so few easy-chairs of their own : rightly managed and properly advertised, they might help towards a revival of religion among the working classes. Above the reading platform in this little chapel, they have caused to be painted on the wall the Ten Commandments — the ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 251 fourth emphasised iu red — with a text or two bearing on tlieir distinctive doctrine : and in the corner is a door leading to a little vestry ; but, as there are no vestments, its use is not apparent. As for the position taken by these people, it is perfectly logical, and, in fiict, impregnable. There ^s no answer to it. They say, ' Here is the Fourth Commandment. All the rest you continue to observe. Why not this? AVhen was it repealed? And by whom?' If j'ou'put these questions to Bishop or Presbyter, he has no reply. Because that Law never has been repealed. Yet, as the people of the Connection complain, though they have reason and logic on their side, the outside world will not listen, and go on breaking the Commandment with light and unthinking heart. It is a dreadful responsibility — albeit a grand thing — to be in possession of so simple a truth of such vast importance, and yet to get nobody ever to listen. The case is worse even than that of JDaniel Fagg. Angela noted all these things as she entered the little chapel a short time after the service had commenced. It was bewilder- ing to step out of the noisy streets, where the current of Saturday morning was at ilood, into this quiet room with its strange service and its strange flock of Nonconformists. The thing, at first, felt like a dream : the people seemed like the ghosts of an unquiet mind. There were very few worshippers ; she counted them all : four elderly men, two elderly women, three young men, two girls, one of whom was Rebekah, and five boys. Sixteen in all. And standing on the platform was their leader. Rebekah's father, the Rev. Percival Armitage, was a shepherd who from choice led his flock gently, along peaceful meadows and in shady quiet places : he had no prophetic tire : he had evidently long since acquiesced in the certain fact that under him, at least, whatever it might do under others, the Connection would not greatly increase. Perhaps he did not himself desire an increase which would give him more work. Perhaps he never had much enthusiasm. By the simple accident of birth he was a Seventh Day Christian : being of a bookish and unambitious turn, and of an indolent habit of body, mentally and physically unfitted for the life of a shop, he entered the ministry : in course of time he got this chapel, where ho remained, tolerably satisfied with his lot in life, a simple, self-educated, mildly pious person, equipped with the phrases of his craft, and comforted with the consciousness of supe- riority and separation. He looked up from his book in a gentle surprise when Angela entered the chapel : it was seldom that a stranger was seen there : once, not long ago, there was a boy who had put his head in at the door and shouted ' Hoo !' and run away again : once there was a drunken sailor who thought it was a public-house, and sat down and began to sing and wouldn't go, and had to be shoved out by the united efforts of the whole small 252 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. con<_>-reg-ation — when lie was gone, tliey sang an extra liymn to restore a religious calm : but never a young lady before. Angela took her seat amid the wondering looks of the people, and the minister went on in a perfunctory way with his prayers and his hymns and his exposition. There certainly did seem to an out- sider a want of heart about the service, but that might have been due to the emptiness of tlie pews. When it came to the sermon, Angela thought the preacher spoke and looked as if the limit of endurance had at last almost arrived, and he would not much longer endure the inexpressible dreariness of the conventicle. It was not so: he was always mildly sad: he seemed always a little bored : it was no use pretending to be eloq^uent any more : fireworks were thrown away : and as for what he had to say, the congregation always had the same thing, looked for the same thing, and would have risen in revolt at the suggestion of a new thing. His sermon was neither better nor worse than may be heard any day in church or chapel ; nor was there anything in it to distinguish it from the sermons of any other body of Christians. The outsider left off listening and began to think of the congregation. In the pew with her was a man of sixty or so, ■with long black hair streaked with grey, brushed back behind his ears : he was devout, and followed the prayers audibly, and sang the hymns out of a manuscript music-book, and read the text critically : his face was the fiice of a bull-dog for resolution. The man, she thought, would enjoy going to the stake for his opinions : and if the Seventh Day Independents were to be made the National Established Church, he would secede the week after and make a new sect, if only by himself. Such men are not happy under authority : tlieir freedoni of thought is as the breath of their nostrils, and they cannot think like other people. He was ngt well dressed, and was probably a shoemaker or some such craftsman. In front of her sat a family of three : the wife was attired in a sealskin rich and valuable, and the son, a young man of one or two-and-twenty, had the dress and appearance of a gentle- man — that is to say, of what passes for such in common City parlance. AVhat did these people do in such a place ? Yet they were evidently of the religion. Tlien she noticed a widow and her boy : the widow was not young ; probably, Angela thought, she had married late in life : her lips were thin and her face was stern. ' The boy,' thought Angela, ' will have the doctrine administered with faithfulness.' Only sixteen altogether : yet all, except the pastor, seemed to be grimly in earnest and inordinately proud of their sect. It was as if the emptiness of their benches and their forsaken condition called upon them to put on a greater show of zeal, and to persuade themselves that the Cause was worth fighting for. The preacher alone seemed to have lost heart. But his people, who were accustomed to him, did not notice this despondency. Then Angela^ while the sermon went slowly on^ began to ALL SORTS AND CONBtTtOKS OP MEN. 253 ppeculate on the conditiona cf belonoino; to such a sect. First of all, with the apparent exception of the lady in sealskin and her husband and sou, the whole sixteen — perhaps another two or three were prevented from attending — were of quite the lower middle class ; they belonged to the great stratum of society whose ignorance is as profound as tlieir arguments are loud. 1 it the uncomfortableness of it ! They can do no work on the Saturday — 'neither their manservant nor their maidservant/ — tlieir shops are closed and their tools put aside. They lose a sixth part of the working time. The followers of this creed are as much separated from their fellows as the Jews. On the Sunday they may work if they please, but on that day all the world is at church or at play. Angela looked round again. Yes : the whole sixteen had upon their faces the look of pride; they were proud of being separated; it was a distinction, just as it is to be a Samaritan. "Wiio would not be one of the recipients, however few they be in number, of Truth ? And what a grand thing, what an inspirit- ing thinp it is to feel that some day or other, perhaps not to-day nor to-morrow, nor in one's lifetime at all, tlie whole world will rally round the poor little obscure banner, and shout altogether, with voice of thunder, the battle-cry which now sounds no louder than a puny whi&tle-pipe ! i'et, on the whole, Angela felt it must be an uncomfortable creed ; better to be one of the undistinguished crowd which flocks to the parish church and yearns not for any distinctions at all. Then the sermon ended and they sang another hymn — the collection in use was a volume printed in New York and compiled by the Committee of the Connection, so that there were, manifestl}', congregations on the other side of the Atlantic living in the same discomfort of separation. At the departure of the people Ilebekah hurried out first and waited in the doorway to greet Angela. ' I knew you would come some day,' she said, ' but oh ! I wish you had told me when you were coming, so that father might have given one of his doctrine sermons. What we had to-day was only one of the comfortable discourses to the professed members of the church which we all love so much. I am so sorry. Oh I he would convince you in ten minutes.' ' But, Rebekah,' said Angela, ' I should be sorry to have seen your service otherwise than is usual. Tell me, does the congre- gation of to-day represent all your strength.?' Tiebekah coloured. She could not deny that they were, numerically, a feeble folk. ' We rely,' she said, ' on the strength of our cause; and some day — oh ! some day — the world will rally round us. See, Miss Kennedy, here is father ; when he has said good-bye to the people' — he was talking to the lady in sealskin — * he will come and speak to us.' * I suppose,' said Angela, ' that this lady is a member of your chapel ? ' ' Yes,' Rebekah whispered ; ' oh 1 they are quite rich people — 254 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. the only rich people we have. They live at Leytonstone; they made their money in the bookljinding, and are consistent Chris- tians. Father' — for at this point Islv, Armitage left his rich followers in the porch, — 'this is Miss Kennedy of whom you have heard so much.' IMr. Armitage took her hand with a weary smile, and asked Rehekah if Miss Kennedy would come home with her. They lived in a small house next door to the chnpel. It was so small that there was but one sitting room, and this was filled with books. ' Father likes to sit here,' said Rehekah, ' by himself all day. He is quite happy if he is let alone. Sometimes, however, he has to go to Leytonstone.' * To the rich people? ' ' Yes.' Rebekah looked troubled. 'A minister must visit his flock, you know ; and if they were to leave us it would be bad for us, because the endowment is only a hundred and ten pounds a year, and out of that the church and the house have got to bo kept ia repair. However, a clergyman must not be dictated to, and I tell father he should go his own way and preach his own sermons. Whatever people say, Truth must not be hidden away as if we were ashamed of it. Hush ! here he is.' The good man welcomed Angela, and said some simple words of gratitude about her reception of his daughter. He had a good face, but he wore an anxious expression, as if something was always on his mind. And he sighed when he sat down at his table. Angela stayed for half an hour, but the minister said nothing more to her, only when she rose to go he murmured witli anotlicr heavy sigh, ' There's an afternoon service at three.' It is quite impossible to say whether he intended this announce- ment as an invitation to Angela, or whether it was a complaint, wrung from a heavy heart, of a trouble almost intolerable. CHAPTER XXXVIII. I AM THE DEESSMAKEK. Ix happened on this very same Saturday that Lord Jocelyn, feeling a little low, and craving for speech with his ward, resolved that he would pay a personal visit to him in his own den, where, no doubt, he would find him girt with a fair white apron and crownt d with brown paper, proudly standing among a lot of his brother workmen — glorious fellows !— and up to his knees in shavings. It is easy to take a cab and tell the driver to go to the Mile End Road ; had Lord Jocelyn taken more prudent counsel with himself, he would have bidden him drive straight to Messenger's ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN, 255 Brewery ; but lie pot down where the Whitechapel Road ends and tlie Mile End Road begins, thinking that he would find his way to the Brewery with the greatest ease. First, however, h(» asked the way of a lady with a basket on her arm ; it was, in fact, Mrs. Bormalai'k going a-niarketing, and anxious about the price of greens ; and he received a reply so minute, exact, and bewilder- ing, that he felt, as he plunged into the labyrinthine streets of Stepney, like one who dives into the dark and devious ways of the catacombs. First of all, of course, he lost himself; but as the place was strange to him, and a strange place is alwaj's curious, he walked along in great contentment. Notliing remarkable in the streets and houses, unless, perhaps, the entire absence of anything to denote inequality of wealth and position ; so that, he thought with satisfaction, the happy residents in Stepney all receive the same salaries and make the same income, contribute the same amount to the tax collectors and pay the same rent. A beautiful continuity of sameness; a divine monotony realising partially the dreams of the socialist. Presently he came upon a great building which seemed rapidly approaching completion; not a beautiful building, but solid, big, well proportioned, and constructed of real red brick, and without the ' Queen Anne ' conceits which mostly go with that material. It was so large and so well built that it was evidently intended for some speeiiil purpose; a purpose of magnitude and responsibility, requiring capital: not a factory, because the windows were large and evidently belonged to great lialls, and tliere were none of the little windows in rows which factories must have in the nature of things : not a prison, because prisons are parsimonious to a fault in the matter of external win- dows; nor a school — yet it might be a school; then — how should so great a school be built in Stepney? It might be a superior almshouse, or a union — yet this could hardly be. While Lord Jocelyn looked at the building, a working man lounged along, presumably an out-of-work working man, with his hands in his pockets and kicking stray stones in the road, which is a sign of the penniless pocket, because he who yet can boast the splendid shilling does not slouch as he goes, or kick stones in the road, but holds his head erect and anticipates with pleasure six half-pints in the immediate future. Lord Jocelyn asked that industrious idle, or idle industrious, if he knew the object of the building. The man replied that he did not know the object of the building; and to make it quite manifest that he really did not know, he put an adjective before the word 'object,' and another — that is. the same — before the word ' biTilding.' With that he passed upon his way, and Lord Jocelyn was left marvelling at the slender resources of our language which makes one adjective do duty for so many qualifications. Presently he came suddenly upon Stepney Church, which is a landmark cr initial point, like the man on the chair iu the maze of Hampton Court. Here he again asked his way, and 256 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. then, after finding it and losing it again about six times more, and being generally treated with contumely for not knowing so simple a thing, he found himself actually at the gates of the Brewery, ■which he might have reached in five minutes had he gone the shortest way, ' So,' he said, * this is the property of that remarkably beautiful girl, Miss Messenger; who could wish to start better? She is young; she is charming; she is queenly ; she is fabulously rich; she is clever; she is — ah! if only Harry had met her before he became an ass ! ' He passed the gate and entered the courtyard, at one side of which he saw a door on which was painted the word 'Office.' The Brewery was conservative; what was now a hive of clerks and writers was known by the same name and stood upon the same spot as the little room built by itself in the open court in which King Messenger I., the inventor of the Entire, had trans- acted by himself, having no clerks at all, the whole business of the infant Brewery for his great invention. Lord Jocelyn pushed open the door and stood irresolute : looking about him, a clerk advanced and asked his business. Lord Jocelyn was the most polite and considerate of men : he took off" his hat humbly, bowed, and presented his card. 'I am most sorry to give trouble,' he said; *I came to see ' 'Certainly, my lord.' The clerk, having been introduced to Lord Davenant, was no longer afraid of tackling a title, however prand, and would have been pleased to show his familiarity with the Great even to a Royal Highness. 'Certainly, my lord; if your lordship will be so good as to write your lordship's name ill the visitors' book, a guide shall take your lordship round the Brewery immediately.' ' Thank you, I do not wish to see the Brewery,' said the visitor. ' I came to see a — a — a young man who, I believe, works in this establishment: his name is Go.^lett.' 'Oh!' replied the clerk, taken aback, 'Goslett! can any one,' he asked generally of the room which he had just left, 'tell me whether there's a man working here named Goslett ? ' Josephus — for it was the juniors' room — knew and indicated the place and the man. 'If, my lord,' said the clerk, loth to separate himself from nobility, ' your lordship will be good enough to follow me, I can take your lordship to the man your lordship wants. Quite a com- mon man, my lord — quite. A joiner and carpenter. But if your lordship wants to see him ' He led Lord Jocelyn across the court, and left him at the door of Harry's workshop. It was not a great room with benches, and piles of shavings, and a number of men. Not at all : there were racks with tools, a bench, and a lathe : there were pieces of furniture about waiting ALL SORTS AND CUNBITIONS OF MEK 257 tepair, there was an unfinislied cabinet with delicate carved work, which Lord Jocelyn recognised at once as the handiwork of his boy; and the boy himself stood in the room, his coat oil' and his cull's turned up, contemplating the cabinet. It is one of the privileges of the trade, that it allows — nay, requires — a good deal of contemplation. Presently Harry turned his head and saw his guardian standing in the doorway. He greeted him cheerfully and led him into the room, where he found a chair with four legs, and begged him to sit down and talk. ' You like it, Harry ? Harry laughed. 'Why not?' he said. 'You see, I am in- dependent, practically. They pay me pretty well according to the work that comes in. Plain work, you see — ^joiner's work.' * Yes, yes, I see. But how long, my boy — how long ? ' ' Well, sir, I cannot say. Why not all my life ? ' Lord Jocelyn groaned. *I admit,' said Harr}^, 'that if things were different I should have gone back to you long ago. But now I cannot, unless ' 'Unless what?' ' Unless the girl who keeps me here goes away herself or bids me go Then you are really engaged to the dress — I mean, the young lady ? ' 'No, I am not. Nor has she shown the least sign of accepting me. Yet I am her devoted and humble servant.' ' Is she a witch — this woman ? Good heavens, Harry ! Can you, who have associated with the most beautiful and best-bred women in the world, be so infatuated about a dressmaker ? ' 'It is strange, is it not? But it is true. The thought of her fills my mind day and night. I see her constantly. There is never one word of love but she knows already, without that word.' ' Strange indeed ! ' repeated Lord Jocelyn, ' but it will pass You will awake, and find yourself again in your right mind Harry.' He shook his head. 'From this madness,' he said, 'I shall never recover. For it is my life, whatever happens, I am her servant.' ' It is incomprehensible,' replied his guardian. ' You were always chivalrous in your ideas of women. They are unusual in young men of the present day, but they used to sit well upon you. Then, however, your ideal was a lady.' ' It is a lady still,' said the lover, ' and yet a dressmaker. How this can be I do not know ; but it is. In the old days men became the servants of ladies. I know, now, what a good custom it was, and how salutary to the men. Petit Jehan de Saintr^ in his early days had the best of all possible training.' ' But if Petit Jehan had lived at Stepney ' 'Then there is another thing. The life here is useful.' ' You now tinker chairs and get paid a shilling an hour 258 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. Forjierly you made dainty carved work-boxes, nnd fans, and pretty ihiEfs for ladies, and got paid by their thanlvs. Wiiich is the more useful life ? ' ' It is not the work I am thinking of. It is the ... do you remember what I said the last time I ?aw you ? ' 'Perfectly. About your fellow-creatures, was it not? My dear Harry, it seems to me as if our fellow-men get on very well in their own way, without our interference.' ' Yes : that is to say— no : they are all getting on as badly as possible. And somehow I want, before I go away, to find out what it is they want — they don't know — and how they should set about getting'it, if it is to be got, as I think it is. You will not think me a prig, sir ? ' ' You will never be a prig, Harry, under any circunislancos. Does, then, the lady of your worship approve of this — this study of humanity ? ' ' Terfectly. If this lady did not approve of it, I should not bo engaged upon it.' 'Harry, will you take me to see this goddess of Stepney Green ? It is there, I believe, that she resides ? ' ' Yes, I would rather not — yet.' The young man hesitated for a moment. ' Miss Kennedy thinks I have always been a working man. I would not undeceive her j-et. I would rather she did not know that I have given up— for her sake— such a man as you, and such companionship as yours.' He held out both his hands to his guardian, and his eyes for a moment were dim. Lord Jocelyn made no reply for a moment. Then he cleared his throat and said he must go, and asked Harry rather pitcously if he could do nothing for him at all, and made slov/ly i'or the door. The clerk who had received the distinguished visitor was standing at the door of the office waiting for another glimpse of the noble and illustrious personage. Presently he came back and reported that his lordship had crossed th.e yard on the arm of the young man called Goslett, and that on parting with him he had shaken him by the hand and called him ' my boy.' Whereat many marvelled, and the thing was a stumbling-block, but .Tosephus said it was not at all unusual for members of his family to be singled out by the Great for high positions of trust, that "his own faUier had been churchwarden of Stepney, nnd he was a far-off cousin of Miss Messenger's, and that he could himself have been by this time superintendent of his Sunday school if it had not been for his misfortunes. Presently the thing was told to the Chief Accountant, who told it to the (Jhief Brewer ; and if there had been a Chief Baker, one knows not what would have happened. Lord Jocelyn walked slowly away in the direction of Stepney Green. She lived there, did she ? Oh ! and her name was .Miss Kennedy. Ah ! pnd a man l»y calling upon her might see her. Very good. He would call. He would say that he was tho ALL SORTS AND COXDITIOXS OF MEN. 259 g'uardian of Harry, and that lie took a warm interest in Iiini, and that the boy was pining away (whieli was not true), and that he called to know if Miss Kennedy, as a friend, could divine the cause (which was crafty). (,!uite a little domestic drama he made up in his own mind, whiLh would liave done beautifully bad it not been completely ishattered by the surprising tbiuga which happened, as will immediately be seen. Presently be arrived at Stepney Green, and stopped to look about him. A quiet, George-the-Third-loolcing pbice, v/itb many pood and solid bouses, and a narrow strip of garden running down tlie middle. In which of these houses did Miss Kennedy dwell ? There came along the asphalte walk an old, old man ; be was feeble, and tottered as he went; he wore a black silk stock and a buttoned-up frock-coat ; bis face was wrinkled and creased. It was, in fact, Mr. Maliphant going, rather late, because he had fallen asleep by the fire, to protect the property. Lord .Tocelyn asked him politely if bo would tell him where INTiss Kennedy lived. The patriarch looked up, langlied joyously, and shook his head. Then be said something, inaudibly, but Lis lips moved. And then, pointing to a large house on the right, he said aloud,— * Caroline Coppin's bouse it was. She that married Sergeant Goslctt. Mr. Messenger, whose prandmother was a Coppin and a good old Whitecbapel famil}', had the deeds. My memory is not so good as usual this morning, young man, or I could tell you who had the bouse before Caroline's father. l>ut I think it was old Mr. Messenger, because the young man who died the other day, and was only a year or two older than I, was born here himself.' Then be went on his way laughing and w'agging his head. 'That is a wonderful old man,' said Lord Jocelyn. * Caroline Coppin's house : that is Hari-y's mother's house. Pity she couldn't keep it for her son. The Seigeant was a thrifty man, too. Here is another native. Let us try him.' This time it was Daniel Fagg, and in one of his despondent moods, because none of the promised proofs had arrived. ' Can you tell me, sir,' asked Lord Jocelyn, ' where Misa Kennedy lives ? ' The ' native,' who had sandy hair and a grey beard and immense sandy eyebrows, turned upon him fiercely', shaking a long finger in his face as if it was a sword. ' Mind you,' he growled, ' ]\Iiss Kennedy's the only man among you. Talk of your scholars! Gar! Jealousy and envy! But I've remembered her. Posterity shall know her when the hea^ of the Egyptian department is dead and forgotten. 'Thank you,' said Lord Jocelyn, as the man left him. *I am likely to be forwarded at this rate.' He tried again. This time it happened to be none other than Mr, Bunkw. 82 260 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. The events of the la^t few weeks were prej'ing upon his mind, lie thought continually of handcuffs and piisons; he was nervous and agitated. But he replied courteously, and pointed out the house. ' Ah ! ' said Lord Jocelyn, ' that is the house which an old man whom I have just asked said was Caroline Coppin's.' ' Old man Y What old man ? ' Mr. Bunker turned pale. It seemed as if the atmosphere itself was full of dangers. "Ouse was wliose ? That 'ouse, sir, is mine — mine, do you hear? ' Lord Jocelyn described the old man. In fact, he was yet within sight. '1 know him,' said Mr. Banker. 'lie's mad, that old man — silly with age. Nobody minds him. That 'ouse, sir, is mine,' ' Oh ! and you ' — for Lord Jocelyn now recollected him — ' are Mr. Bunker, are you ? Do you not remember me P Think, man,' Mr. Banker thought his hardest; but if you do not remember a man, you might as well stand on your head as begin to think. 'Twenty years ago,' said Lord Jocelyn, 'I took away your nephew, who has now come back here.' ' You did — you did,' cried Bunker, eagerly. ' Ah ! sir, why did you let him come back here ? A bad business, a bad busi- ness ! ' • ' I came to see him to-day, perhaps to ask him why he stays here.' ' Take him away again, sir. Don't let him stay. Bocks ahead, sir ! ' Mr. Bunker put up his hands in warning. ' When I see youth going to capsize on virtue, it makes my blood, as a Christian man, to curdle. Take him away.' ' Certainly. It does you great credit, Mr. Bunker, as a Christian man, because curdled blood must be unpleasant. But — what rocks ? ' ' A rock. One rock, a woman, In that 'ouse, sir, she lives. Her name is Miss Kennedy. That is what she calls herself. She's a dressmaker by trade, she says, and a captivator of foolish young men by nature. Don't go anigh her. She may captivate ynu. Daniel Fagg made her an oiler of marringe, and he's sixty. lie confessed it to me. She tried it on with me, but a man of principles is proof. The conjurer wanted to marry her. My nephew, Dick Coppin, is a fool about her.' ' She must be a very remarkable woman,' said Lord Jocel^'n. ' As for that boy, Harry Goslett ' — Bunker uttered the name with an obvious effort — 'he's farther gone than all the rest put together. If it wasn't for her, he would go back to where he came from.' * Ah ! and where is that ? ' ' Don't you know, then ? You, the man who took him away ? Don't you know where he came from? Was it something very bad ? ' r ^ .oi^ i^t::j^v- 4 ^ ' " / am — the — tlie dressmaker." ' A J.L SORTS AND COSLITIOXS OF MISN. 261 There was a look of eager malignity about the mau's l\\ce; he wanted to hear somelliing bad about bi3 nephew. Lord Jocelyn encouraged liim. 'I'erliaps I know, perhaps I do not.' ' A disgraceful story, no doubt,' said Bunker, with a pleased emile. 'I dreaded the wor.^t when I saw him with his white hands and his sneerin' fieeriu' ways. 1 thought of Newgate and gaol-birds ; I did indeed, at once. Oh, prophetic soul ! AVell, now we know the worst ; and you liad better take him away before all the world knows it. I shan't talk, of course.' * Thank you, Mr. Bunker. And about this Miss Kennedy — is there anything against her, except that the men fall in love with her?' ' There is plenty against her that would astonish you. But I'm not the man to take away a woman's character. If all secrets were known we should tind what a viper we've been cherishing. At the end of her year out she goes of my 'ous3. Bag and baggage, Bhe goes. And wherever she goes that jjoy '11 go after her, unless you prevent it.' ' Thank you again, Mr. Bunker. Good morning.' Angela, just returned from her chapel, was sitting at the window of the workroom in her usual place. She looked out upon the green now and again. I'resently she saw Mr. Maliphant creep slowly along the pavement, and observed that he stopped and spoke to a gentleman : then she saw Daniel Fagg swinging his arms and gesticulating as he rehearsed to himself the story of his wrongs, and he stopped and spolie to the same man ; then slie saw Mr. Bunker walking moodily on his way : and he stopped too, and conversed with the stranger. Then he turned, and she saw his face. It was Lord Jocelyn Le Breton, and he was walking with intention towards her own door. She divined the truth in a moment. lie was coming to see 'the dressmaker' who had bewitched his boy. She whispered to Nell}' that a gentleman was coming Jo see her who must be shown upstairs ; she took refuge in the drawing- room, which was happily empty, and she awaited him with a beating heart. Slie heard his footsteps on the stairs. The door opened. She rose to meet him. * You here. Miss Messenger ? This is indeed a surprise.' * No, Lord Jocelyn,' she replied, confused, yet trying to speak confidently. ' In this house, if you please, I am not Miss Messen- ger; I am Miss Kennedy, the — the ' Now she remembered exactly what her next words would mean to him, and she blushed violently, ' I ftm — the — the dressmaker.' 262 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. CHAPTER XXXIX. THRICE HAPPY BOY. A MAN of the ■world at forty-five seldom feels surprised at any- liing, unless indeed, like Moliere, be encounters virtue in un- expected quarters. This, however, was a thing so extraordinary that Lord Jocelyn gasped. ' Pardon me, Miss Messenger,' he said, recovering himself, ' 1 ■was so totally unprepared for this — this discovery.' * No'w that you have made it, Lord Jocelyn, may I ask you most earnestly to reveal it to no one ? I mean, no one at all.' * I understand perfectly. Yes, Miss Messenger, I -will keep your secret, since it is a secret. I will tell it to none. But I ■would ask a favour in return, if I may.' ' What is that ? ' ' Take me further into your confidence. Let me know why you have done this most •wonderful thing. I hope I am not imper- tinent in asking this of you.' ' Not impertinent, certainly. And the thing must seem strange to you. And after ■what j-ou told me some time ago about — ' she hesitated a moment, and then turned her clear brown eyes straiglit upon his face—* about your ward, periiaps some explanation is due to you.' ' Thank you beforehand.' ' First, however, call me Miss Kennedy here ; pray — pray do not forget that there is no Miss Messenger nearer than Portmau Square.' * I will try to remember.' ' I came here,' she went on, ' last July, having a certain pur- pose and a certain problem in my mind. I have remained here ever since, working at that problem. It is not nearly worked out yet, nor do I think that in the longest life it could be worked out. It is a most wonderful problem. I'or one thing leads to another, and great schemes rise out of small, and there are hundreds of plans springing out of one — if I could only carry them out.' ' To assist you in carrying them out, you have secured the ser- vices of my ward, I learn.' ' Yes ; he has been very good to me.' ' I have never,' said Lord Jocelyn, ' been greatly tempted in the direction of phihinLhropy. But pray go on.' ' The first tiling I came to establish was an association of dress- makers, myself being one. That is very simple. I have started them with a house free of rent, and tlie necessary furniture — which I know is wrong, because it introduces an unfair advantage — and we divide all the money iu certoin proportions. That is one thing.' ALL SOETS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 2C3 * But-, my dear young lady, could you not have done tliis from Purtnian Square f ' ' I could, but not so well. To live here as a workwoman among other worlcwomen is, at least, to avoid the danger of being flattered, deceived, and paid court to. I was a most iusignificiint person wlieh I came. I am now so far advanced that a great many em- ployers of women's labour cordially detest me, and would like to Bee my association ruined.' ' Oh ! Lord Joeelyn ! ' slie went on, after a pause, 'you do not know, you cannot know, the dreadful dangers which a rich woman liaa to encounter. If I had come here in my own name, I should have been besieged by every plausible rogue who could catch my eiir for half an hour. I should have had all the clergy round me imploring help for their schools and their churches; I should have had every unmarried curate making love to me ; I should have paid ten times as much as anybody else ; and, worse than all, I should not have made a single friend. My sympathies, when- ever I read the parable, are always with Dives, because he must have been so flattered and worshipped before his pride became intolerable.' ' I see. All this you escaped by your assumption of the false < * Yes. I am one of themselves, one of the people; I have got my girls together : I have made them understand my project : they have become my fast and faithful friends: the better to inspire confidence, I even sheltered myself behind myself: I said Miss Messenger was interested in our success: she sends us orders: I went to the West End with things made up for her. Thanks, mainly to her, we are flourishing: we work for shorter hours and for greater pay than other girls : I could already double my staff if I could only, which I shall soon, double the work. We have recreation, too, and we dine together, and in the evening we have singing and dancing. My girls have never before known any happiness ; now they have learned the happiness of quiet, at least, with a little of the culture, and some of the things which make rich people happy. Oh ! would you have me go away and leave them, when I have taught them things of which they never dreamed before ? Should I send them back to the squalid house and the bare pittance again? Stay and take your lunche(?ii with us when we dine, and ask yourself whether it would not be better for me to live here altogether — never to go back to the West End at all — than to go away and desert my girls ?' She was agitated because she spoke from her heart. She went on without waiting for any reply : — ' If you knew the joyless lives, the hopeless days of these girls, if you could see their workrooms, if you knew what is meant by their long hours and their insufficient food, you would not wonder at my staying here ; you would cry shame upon the rich woman so seltish as to spend her substance in idle follies when she might have spent it upon her unfortunate sisters,' 264 ALL SOllTS AND CONDITIONS OF 3IEN. ' I think,' said Lord Jocelyn, ' that you are a very noble girl.' 'Then there is another scheme of mine; a project so great and generous— nay, I am not singing my own praises, believe me — that I can never get it out of my mind. This project, Lord Jocelyn, is due to your ward.' ' Harry was a ways an ingenious youth. But pray tell me what it is.' 'I cannot,' she replied; 'when I put the project into words, they seem cold and feeble. They do not express the greatness of it. They would not rouse your enthusiasm. I could not make you understand in any degree the great hopes I have of this enterprise,' ' And it is Harry's invention ? ' ' Yes — his. All I have done has been to find the money to carry it out.' ' That is a good part of any enterprise, however.' At this point a bell rang. 'That is the first bell,' said Angela, 'Now they lay down their work and scamper about — at least the younger onus do — for ten minutes before dinner. Come with me to the dining-room.' Presently the girls came trooping in, fifteen or so, with bright eyes and healthy cheeks. Some of them were pretty ; one, Lord Jocelyn thought, of a peculiarly graceful and delicate type, though too fragile in appearance : this was Nelly Sorensen. She looked more fragile than usual to-day, and there were black lines under her lustrous eyes. Another, whom Miss Kennedy called Rebekah, was good-looking in a diflerent way, being sturdy, rosy- cheeked, and downright in her manner. Another, who would otherwise have been quite common in appearance, was made beau- tiful— almost — by the patient look which had followed years of suffering ; she was a cripple : all their faces during the last few months had changed for the better : not one among them all bore the expression which is described by the significant words ' bold ' and ' common.' Six months of daily drill and practice in good manners had abolished that look at any rate. The dinner was perfectly plain and simple, consisting of a piece of meat with plenty of vegetables and bread, and nothing else at all. But the meat was good and well cooked, and the service was on fair white linen. Moreover, Lord Jocelyn, sitting down in this strange company, observed that the girls behaved with great propriety. Soon after they began, the door opened and a man came in. It was one of those to whom Lord Jocelyn had spoken on the green, the man with the bushy sandy eyebrows. He took a seat at the table and began to eat his food ravenously. Once he pushed his plate away as if in a temper, and looked up as if he was going to complain. Then the girl they called Rebekah — she came to dinner on Saturdays, so as to have the same advantages as tli*j ?est, thcugh she did no work on that day — held up a forefinger ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 2C5 and sliook it at lijm, and lie relapsed into silence. He was the only one who behaved badl}', and Miss Kennedy made as il" she had not seen. During the dinner the girls talked freely among themselves ■without any of the giggling and whispering which in some circles is considered good manners ; they all treated Miss Kennedy with great respect, though she was only one workwoman among tlie rest. Yet there was a great difference, and the girls knew it; next to her on her left sat the pretly girl whom she called Nelly. AVhen dinner was over, because it was Saturda}' there was no more work. Some of the giils went into the drawing-room to rest lor an hour and read : llebekah went home again to attend the afternoon service : some went into the garden, although it was December, and began to play lawn tennis on the asphalte ; the man with the eyebrows got up and glared moodily around from under those shnggy eyebrows, and then vanished. Angela and Lord Jocelyn remained alone. * You have seen us,' she said ; ' what do you think of us ?' '1 have nothing to say. And I do not know what to think.' ' Your ward is our right hand. We women want a man to work for us always. It is his business, and his pleasure too, to hflp us amuse ourselves. lie finds diversions ; he invents all kinds of things for us. Just now he is arranging tableaux and plays for Christmas.' 'Is it — is it— oh ! Miss — Kennedy — is it for the girls only ? ' ' That is dangerous ground,' she replied, but not severely. 'Do you think we had better discuss the subject from that point of view ? ' ' Poor boy ! ' said Lord Jocelyn. ' It is the point of view from which I must regard it.' She blushed again, and her beautiful eyes grew limpid. 'Do you think,' she said, speaking low — 'do you think I do not feel for him ? Yet there is a cause — a sentiment per- haps. The time is not quice come. Lord Jocelyn, be patient with me ! ' ' Y''ou will take pity on him ? ' 'Oh!' — she took the hand he offered her. 'If I can make him happy ' ' It not,' replied Lord Jocelyn, kis.-ing her hand, ' he would be the most ungrateful dog in all the world. If not, he deserves to get nothing but a shilling an hour for the miserable balance of his days. A shilling ? No : let him go back to his tenpence. My dear young lad}-, you have made me, at all events, the happiest of men ! No, do not fear : neither by word nor look shall liarry — shall any one — know what you have been so very, very good, BO generous, and so thoughtful as to tell me.' 'He loves me for mj'self,' she murmured. 'He does not know that I am rich. Think of that, and think of the terrible euspicions which grow up in every rich woman's heart when a man 2GG ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. makea lovo to her. Now I can never, never doubt bis bouesty. For uiy sake be bas given up so mucb ; for uiy sake— mine — ob I wby are men so good to women ? ' ' No,' said Lord Jocelyn. ' Ask wbat men can ever do tbat they sbould be rewarded witb tbelove and trust of sucb a woman as you ! ' Tbat la indeed a difficult question, seemg in wbat words tbe virtuous woman has been described by one who writes as if be ought to have known. As a pendant to tbe picture 'tis pity, 'lis great pity, tbat we have not tbe Eulogy of tbe Virtuous Man. But there never were any, perhaps. Lord Jocelyn stayed witb Angela all tbe afternoon. They talked of many things : of Ilarry'a boyhood ; of bis gentle and ready ways 5 of bis many good qualities; and of Angela herself, her hopes and ambitions ; and of tlieir life at Eornialack's. And Angela told Lord Jocelyn about hev j)rotc(/es, the claimants to the Davenant peerage, with the history of the 'Roag in Grain,' Satur- day Davenant; and Lord Jocelyn promised to call upon them. It was five o'clock when she sent him away, with permission to come again. Now this, Lord Jocelyn felt, as he came away, was tbe most satisfactory, nay, the most delightful day be bad ever spent. That lucky rascal, ILarry ! To think of this tremendous stroke of fortune ! To fall in love with tbe richest heiress in England : to have that passion returned : to be about to marry the most charming, tbe most beautiful, tbe sweetest woman that bad ever been made ! Happy, thrice bappy boy ! Wbat wonder, now, that be found tinkering cbairs, in company, so to speak, witb tbat incomparable woman, better than the soft divans of bis club or tbe dinners and dances of society ? ' Wbat had be, Lord Jocelyn, to offer tbe lad, in comparison with tbe delights of this strange and charming courtship ? CHAPTER XL. SWEET NELLY. In every love story there is always, though it is not always told, a secondary plot, tbe history of the man or woman who might have been left happy but for tbe wedding bells which peal for somebody else and end tbe tale. When these ring out, tbe hopes and dreams of some one else, for whom they do not ring, turn at last to dust and ashes. We are drawing near the church, we shall soon bear those bells. Let us spare a moment to speak of this tale untold, this dream of tbe morning doomed to disappoint- ment. It is only tbe dream of a foolish girl : she was young and ignorant: she was brought up in a school of hardship until tbe ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 267 tiaio wlion a gracious lady camo to rescue lier. Slio bad ex- perienced, outside tlio haven of rest where her father was safely sheltered, only the bullets of a bard and cruel world, filled Avith greedy taskmasters who exacted the uttermost farthing in work, and paid the humblest farthing for reward. More than this, she know, and her father knew, that when his time came for exchang- ing that haven for the cemetery, she would have to fight tlie hard battle alone, being almost a friendless girl, too shrinking and timid to stand up for herself. Therefore, after her rescue, at first she was in the Seventh Heaven ; nor did her gratitude and love towards her rescuer ever know any abatement. But there came a time when gratitude was called upon to contend with another feeling. From the very first Harry's carriage towards Nelly was marked by sympathetic interest and brotherly affection. lie really re- garded this pretty creature, with her soft and winning ways, as a girl whom he could call by her Christian uame, and treat as one treats a sweet and charming child. She was clever at learning — nobody, not even Miss Kennedy, danced better : she was docile : she was sweet-tempered, and slow to say or think evil. She pos- sessed naturally, Harry thought — but then he forgot that her father had commanded an East Indiamau — a refinement of tlioughtand manner far above the other girls; she caught re;idily the tone of her patron ; she became in a few weeks, this young- dressmaker, the faithful effigies of a lady under the instruction of Miss Kennedy, whom she watched and studied day by da}'. It was unfortunate that Harry continued to treat her as a child, because she was already a woman. Presently she began to think of him, to watch for him, to note his manner towards herself. Then she began to compare and to watch his manner towards Miss Kennedj\ Then she began to wonder if he was paying attention to Miss Kennedy, if they were engaged, if they had an understanding. She could find none. Miss Kennedy was always friendly to- wards him, but never more. He was always at her call, her faithful servant, like the rest of tiiem, but no more. Ifemember that the respect and worship with which she re- garded Miss Kennedy were unbounded. But Harry she did not regard as on the same level. No one was good enough for Mis3 Kennedy. And Harry, clever and bright and good as he seemed, was not too good for herself. They were a great deal together. All Nelly's evenings were spent in the drawing-room ; Harry was there every night; they read together ; thej'^ talked and danced and sang together. And though the young man said no single word of love, he was always thoughtful for her, in ways that she had never experienced before. B^low a certain level men are not thoughtful for women. The cheapeners of women's labour at the East End are not by any 2G8 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. means tlioug-btful towards them. No one had ever considered Nelly at all, except her father. Need one say more ? Need one explain how tender flowers of hope sprang np in this girl's heart and became her secret joy ? This made her watchful, even jealous. And when a chang& came in Miss Kennedy's manner — it was after her first talk with Lord Jocelyn — -Avhen Nelh' saw Iier colour heighten and her e^es }jrow brighter when Harry appeared, a dreadful pain seized upon her, and she knew, without a word being i-poken, that all was over for her. For what was she compared with this gloiious ■woman, beautiful as the day, sweet as a rose in June, full of ac- compli.-hments? How could any man regard her beside Miss Kennedy ? How could anj' man think of any other woman whea such a goddess had smiled upon him ? In some stories, a girl who has to beat down and crush the young blossoms of love, goes through a great variSty of perf )rm- auces, always in the same order. The despair of love demands that this order shall he followed. She therefore turns white ; slie throws herself on her bed, and weeps by herself, and miserably owns that she loves him; she tells the transparent fib to her sister or mother ; she has received a blow irom which slie will never recover ; if she is religious it brings her nearer Heaven; — all this we have read over and over again. Poor little Nelly knew nothing about her grander sisters in misfortune ; she knew nothing of what is due to self-respect under similar circumstances; she only perceived that she had been foolish, and tried to show as if that was not so. It was a make-believe of rather a sorry kind. When she was alone she reproached lierself ; when she was with Miss Kennedy she reproached herself ; when she was with Harry she reproached herself. Always lierself to blame, no one else, y what scatterer or what process ot scattering did Caroline lose her houses ? Meantime, Plarry did not feel himself obliged to hold his tongue upon the subject; and everybody knew, before long, tluit Bomething was going on likely to be prejudicial to Mr. Bunker. People whispered that Bunker was going to be caught ont ; ihia rumour lent to the unwilling agent some of the interest which attaches to a criminal. Some went so far as to say that tliey had always suspected him because he was so ostentatious in his honesty ; and this is a safe thing to say, because any person may be reason- ably suspected ; and if we did not suspect all the world, why the machinery of bolts and bars, Iceys and putont safes ? But it is the wise man who suspects the right person, and it is the justly proud man who strikes an attitude and says, * What did I tell you ? ' As yet, however, the suspicious were vague. Bunker, for liis part, though not generally a thin-skinned man, easily perceived that there was a change in the way ho was received and regarded; people looked at him with marked interest in the streets ; they turned their heads and looked after him ; they talked about him as he approached ; they smiled with meaning ; Josephus Coppin met him one day, and asked him why ho would not tell his nephew how he obtained those three houses, and what considera- tion he gave for them. lie began, especially of an evening, over brandy-aud-water, to make up mentally, over and over again, his own case, so that it might be presented at the right moment abso- lutely perfect and without a flaw ; a paragon among eases. Ilia nephew, wliom he now regarded with a loathing almost lethal, was iujpudent enough to go about saying that lie had got those houses unlawfully, was lie ? Very good ; he would have such law as is to be had in England for the humiliation, punishment, stamping out, and ruining of that nephew ; ay, if it cost him live hundred pounds, he would. He should like to make his case public ; ho was not afraid, not a bit ; let all the world know : the more tlie story was known, the more would his contemporaries admire his beautiful and exemplary virtue, patience, and modera- tion. There were, he said, with the smile of benevolence and the blush of modesty which so well become the good man, transac- tions, money transactions, between himself and his sister-in-law, especially after her marriage with a man who was a secret scatterer. These money matters had been partly squared by the transfer of the houses, which he took in part payment; the rest he forgave when Caroline died, and when, which showed his own ' goodness in an electric light, he took over the boy to bring him up to some honest trade, though he was a beggar. Where were the proofs of these transactions ? Unfortunately they were all 280 ALL SORTS AKB CONBITIONS OF MEN. destroyed by fire some years since, after having been carefully preserved, and docketed, and endorsed, as is the duty of every careful uifln of business. Now, by dint of repeating this precious story over and over again, the worthy man came to believe it entirely, and to believe that other people would believe it as well. It seemed, in fact, so like the truth, that it would deceive even experts, and pass for that priceless article. At the time when Caroline died, and the boy went to stay with him, no one asked any questions, because it seemed nobody's business to inquire into the interests of the child. After the boj' was taken away it gradually became known among the surviving members of the family that the houses had long before, owing to the profligate extravagance of the Sergeant — as careful a man as ever marched — passed into the hands of Bunker, who now had all the Coppin houses. Everything was clean forgotten by this time. And the boy must needs turn up again, asking questions. A young villain ! A serpent! Bathe should be paid out. A very singular accident prevented the 'paying out' quite in the sense intended by Mr. Bunker. It happened in this way. One day when Miss Messenger's cabinet-maker and joiner-in- ordinary, having little or nothing to do, was wandering about the Brewerj' looking about him, lazily watching the process of beer- making on a large and extensive scale, and exchanging the com- pliments of the season, which was near the new year, with the workmen, it happened that he passed the room in which Josephus had sat for forty years among the juniors. The door stood open, and he looked in, as he had often done before, to nod a friendly salutation to his cousin. There Josephus sat, with grey hair, an elderly man among boys, mechanically ticking off entries among the lads. His place was in the warm corner near the fire: beside him stood a large and massive safe: the same safe out of which during an absence of three minutes the country notes had been so mysteriously stolen. The story^, of course, was well known. Josephus's version of the thing was also well known ; everybody, further, knew thnt until the mystery of that robbery was cleared up, Josephus would remain a junior on thirty shillings a week; lastly, everybody, with the kindliness of heart common to our glorious humanity, firmly believed that Josephus had really cribbed those notes, but had been afraid to present them, and so dropped them into the fire or down a drain. It is truly remarkable to observe how deeply we respect, adore, and venerate virtue, insomuch that we all go about pretending to be virtuous ; yet how little we believe in the virtue of each other ! It is also remarkable to reflect upon the extensive fields still open to the moralist after all these years of preaching and exhorting. Now as Harry looked into the room, his eye fell upon the safe, and a curious thing occurred. The fragment of a certain ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 281 letter from Bob Coppin, in wliicli he sent a messaf^e by bis friend to bid cousin, Squaretoes Josepbus, quite suddenly and un- expectedly returned to bis memory. Further, the words assumed a meaninsjT. ' Josephns,' be said, stepping into the office, 'lend me a piece of pnper and a pencil. Thank you.' He wrote down tiie words, exactly as he recollected them, half destroyed by the tearing of the letter. .... ' Josephus, my cousin, that be will . . nd the safe the bundle .... for a larlc. Josephus is a Sqnaretoes. I bate a man who won't diink. He will .... if he looks there.' When lie had written these words down be read them over again, while tlie lads looked on with curiosity and some resent- ment. Cabinet-malcers and joiners have no business to swaggel about the oIKce of young gentlemen who are clerks in breweries, as if it were their own place. It is an innovation, a levelling of rank. ' Josephus,' Harry whispered, ' you remember your cousin, Bob Coppin ? ' 'Yes, but these are office hours; conversation is not allowed in the juniors' room.' He spoke as if be was still a boy, as indeed he was, having been confined to the society of boys, and having drawn the pay of a boy for so man}' years. 'Never mind rules. Tell me all about Bob.' 'He was a drinker and a spendthrift. That's enough about him.' Joseplius spoke iu a whisper, being anxious not to discuss the family diso-race among his fellow-clerks. ' Good. Were you a friend as well as a cousin of bis ?' 'No; I never was. I was respectable — in those days — and desirous of getting my character high for steadiness. I went to evening lectures, and taught in the Wesleyan Sunday schools. Of course, when the notes were stolen it was no use trying any more for character; that was gone : a young man suspected of stealing fourteen thousand pounds can't get any character at all. So I gave up attending the evening lectures, and left off teaching in the school and going to church and everything.' 'You were a great fool, Josephus. You ought to have gone on and fought it out. Now, then, on the day that you lost the money bad you seen Bob ? Do you remember ? ' 'That day?' the unlucky junior replied. 'I remember every hour as plain as if it was to-day. Yes, I saw Bob. He came to the office half an hour before I lost the notes; be wanted me to go out with him in the evening — I forget where — some gardens and dancing and prodigalities. I refused to go. In the evening I saw him again, and he did nothing but laugh while I was in misery. It seemed cruel, and the more I suflbred the louder he laughed.' ' Did you never see Bob again ? ' 282 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 'No ; he went away to sea, and he came home and went away flf^ain. But somehow I never saw him. It is twenty yenrs now. since he went away last, and was never heard of, nor liis ship. So of course he's dead long ago. But what does it matter about Bob ? And these are office hours, and there will really be things snid if we go on talking. Do go away.' Harry obeyed and left him. But he went straight to the office of the Chief Accountant, and requested an interview. The Chief Accountant sent word that he could communicate his business through one of the clerks. Harry replied that his business was of a nature which could not be communicated by a clerk, that it was very serious and important business, which must be imparted to the chief alone; and that he would wait his convenience in the outer office. Presently he was ushered into the presence of the great man. ' This is very extraordinary,' said the official. ' What can your business be which is so important that it must not be entrusted to the clerks? Now come to the point, young man. ]\Iy time is Valuable.' * I want you to authorise me to make a little examination in the junior clerks' room.' ' What examination p And why ? ' Harry gave him the fragment of the letter, and explained where he found it. 'I understand notliing. What do you learn from this frag- ment ? ' 'There is no date,' said Harry, 'but that matters very little. You will observe that it clearly refers to my cousin, Josephus Coppin.' ' That seems evident. Josephus is not a common name.' ' You know my cousin's version of the loss of those notes ? ' ' Certainly ; he said they must have been stolen during the two cr three minutes that he was out of the room.' ' Yes. Now — ' Harry wrote a few words to fill up the broken sentences of the letter — ' read that, sir.' 'Good heavens ! ' ' My cousin tells me too,' he went on, 'that this fellow, Bob Coppin, was in the oflice half an hour before the notes were missed : wliy, very likely he was at the time hanging about the place : and that in the evening when his cousin was in an agony of distress, Bob was laughing as if the whole thing was a joke.' 'Upon my word,' said the Chief, * it seems plausible.' 'We can try the thing at once,' said Harry. 'But I should like you to be present when we do.' ' Undoubtedly I will be present. Come, let us go at once. By the way, you are the young man recommended by Miss Mes- eenger, are you not ? ' ' Yes ; not that I have the honour of knowing Miss Messenger personally.' ALL SOBTS AND COXDTTIOXS OF ME.Y. 283 The Cliicf Accnuiitnnt liUighed. Caliinct-mnkers and joiners dlo not genevally know yoiin<^ ladies of position. But tins was such a remavkalily flieeky voung- ■v\'oikinnn, Tliey took with them four stout feHows from those who toss about tlie ca-^ks of beer. Tlie safe was one of the larger kind, standing three feet six inches high on a strong wooden box with an open front. It was in the corner next to .Josephus's seat: be- tween the back of tiie safe and the wall was a space of an inch or so. 'I must trouble yon to change your seat,' said the Chief Accountant to .Tosephus. ' We are about to move this safe.' Josephus rose, and the men presently with mighty efforts lugged, the great heavy tiling a foot or two from its place. ' Will you look, sir ? ' asked Harry. ' If there is anything there I should like yon, who know the whole story, to find it.' The Chief stooped over the safe and looked behind it. Every- body now was aware that something was going to happen, and though pens continued to be dipped into inkstands with zeal, and heads to be bent over desks with the dcA^'otion which always seizes a junior clerk in presence of his chief, all eyes were furtively turned to Josephus's corner. 'There is a bundle of papers,' he sr.id. 'Thank yon.' Harry picked thera up and placed them in his hands. The only person who paid no heed to the proceedings was the one most concerned. The Chief Accountant received them : a rolled bundle, not a tied-up parcel, and covered inch deep with black dust. Ho opened it and glanced at the contents. Then a strange and un- accountable look came into his eyes as he handed them to Josephus. ' Will you oblige me, Mr. Coppin,' he said, 'by examining these papers ? ' It was the first time that the title of Mr. had been bestowed upon Josephus during all the years of his long servitude. He was troubled by it; and he could not imderstand the expression in his chief's eyes : and when he turned to Harry for an explanation, he met eyes in which the same sympathy and pity were expressed : when he turned to the boys, his fellow- clerks, be was struck by their faces of wondering expectation. What was going to happen ? Recovering his presence of mind, he held out the dusty papers and shook the dust off them. Then he began slowly to obey orders and to examine them. Suddenly he began to tui-n them over with fierce eagerness. His eyes flashed ; he gasped. ' Come, Josephus,' said his cousin, taking his arm ; ' gently, gently. What are they — these papers ? ' The man laughed — an hysterical laugh. They are— ha ! ha ! — they are — ha ! ha ! ha I ' He did not 231 ALL SORTS AXD COXDITTOXS OF MEN. fini>li because his voice failed him, but he dropped into a chair with hi3 head ia his bauds. * They are country bank notes, and other papers,' said Harry, taking them from bis cousin's hands. He bad interpreted the missing words rightly. The Chief looked round the room. ' Young men,' he said solemnly, < a wonderful tbing has happened. After many years of imdeserved suspicion and unmerited punishment, Mr. Coppin's cbaracter is cleared at lasf. We cannot restore to him the years he has lost, but we can rejoice that his innocence is established.' ' Come, Josephus,' said Harry, ' bear your good fortune aa you have borne tbe bad. House yourself.' The senior junior clerk lifted his head and looked around. His cheeks were white : his eyes were filled with tears : his lips were trembling. ' Take your cousin home,' said the Chief to Harry, ' and then come back to my office.' Harry led Josephus, unresisting, liome to the Boarding-house. * We have had a shock, Mrs. Bormalack. Nothing to be alarmed about, quite the contrary. The bank notes have been found after all these years, and my cousin has earned his promotion and recovered his character. Give him some brandy-and-water and make him lie down for a bit.' For the man was dazed. He could not understand as yet what had happened. Harry placed him in the arm-chair and left him to the care of the landlady. Then he went back to the Brewery. The Chief Brewer was with the Chief Accountant, and they were talking over what was best to be done. They said very kind things about inielligence, without which good fortune and lucky finds are wasted ; and they promised to represent Harry's conduct in a proper light to Miss Messenger, who would be i.nmediately communicated with. And Josephus would at once receive a very substantial addition to his paj', a better position, and more re- sponsible work. ' May I suggest, gentlemen,' said Harry, 'that a man who is fifty-five, and has all bis life been doing the simple work of a junior, may not be found equal to more responsible work ? ' 'That maybe the case.' ' My cousin, when the misfortune happened, left off taking any interest in things. I believe he has never opened a book or learned anytliing in all these years.' ' Well, we shall see.' A workman was not to be taken into counsel. ' There is, however, something here which seems to con- cern vourself. Your mother was one Caroline Coppin, was she not?' 'Yes.' * Then these papers, which were deposited by some persons unknown with Mr. Mpssenger, most likely for greater cave, and placed in the safe by him, belong to you, and I hope will prove of value to you.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 285 Harry took tliem without mucli interest, and came away. In the evening Jotephiis held a recejition. All his contem- poraries in the Brewery, the men who entered with himself; all those who had passed over his head, all those with whom he had been a junior in the Brewer}^, called to congratulate him. xVt the moment he felt as if this universal sympathy fully made up for nil his sufferings of the pa?t. Nor was it until the morning tliat he partly perceived the truth, that no amount of sympathy would re- store his vanished youth and give him what he had lost. But he will never quite understand this ; and he looked upon himself as having begun again from the point where he stopped. When tluj reception was over and the last man gone, he began to talk about his future. 'I shall go on ngain with the evening course,' he said, 'just where 1 left it off. 1 remember we were having Monday for book- keeping by single and double entry, Tuesday for French, Thursday for arithmetic — we were in mixed fractions, — and Friday for Euclid. Then I shall take up my class at the Sunday school again, and I shall become a full Church member of the Wesleyan Con- nection. For though my father was once churchwarden at Stepney Church, I always favoured the Wesleyans myself.' He talked as if he was a boy again, with all his life before him; and, indeed, at the moment he thought he was. CHAPTER XLIII. on, MY PEOPnETIC SOtTL ! Hakey thought nothing about the papers which were found among the notes that evening, because he was wholly enizaged in the contemplation of a man who had suddenly gone back thirtj'-five years in his life. The grey hairs, thin at the top and gone at the temples, were not, it is true, replaced by the cuily brown locks of youth, though one thinks that Josephus must always have been a straight-haired young man. But it was remaikable to hear that man of hfty-tive talking as if the years had rolled backwards, and he could take up the thread of life where he had dropped it so long ago. He spoke of his evening lectures and his Sunday school with the enthusiasm of a boy. Pie would study — work of that sort always paid: he would prepare his lessons for the school beforehand, and stand well with the superintendent : it was good for men in business offices, he said, to bave a good character with the superintendent. Above all, he would learn French and book- keeping, with mensuration, gauging, and astronomy, at the Beau- mont Institute. All these things would come in useful, some time or the other, at the Brewery ; besides, it helps a man to be con- sidered studious in his habits. He became, in fact, in imagination 286 ALL sours AND CONBITIOXS OF MEN. a young man once more. And because in the old days when he had a character to earn, he did not smoke tobacco, so now he for- got that former solace of the day, his evening' pipe. ' The Brewery,' he said, ' is a splendid thinj^ to get into. You can rise: you may become — ah! even Chief Accountant: you may look forward to draw over a thousand a year at the Lrewery, if you are steady and well conducted, and get a good name. It is not every one, mind you, gets the chance of such a service. And once in, always in. That's the pride of the Brewery. _No turning out : there you stay, with your salary always rising, till you die.' In the morning, the exultation of spirits was exchanged for a corresponding depression. Josephus went to the Brewery, know- ing that he should sit on that old seat of his no longer. He went to look at it : the wooden stool was worn black- : the desk was worn black : he knew every cut and scratch in the lid at wliich he had written so many years. There were all the books at wliich he had worked so lung : not hard work, nor work requiring thought, but simple entering and ticking olf of names, which a ni:iu can do mechanically — on summer afternoons, with the window open uud an occasional bee buzzing in from Ilainault Forest, and the sweet smell of the vats and the drowsy rolling of the ma- chinery — one can do the work half asleep and never make any mistake. Now he would have to undertake some different kind of work, more responsible work : he wonld have to order and direct : he would have a chair instead of a stool, and a table instead of a desk. So that he began to widi that he had in the old days gone farther in his studies — but he was always slow at learning— before the accident happened ; and to wonder if anything at all remained of the knowledge he had then painfully acquired, after all these years. As a matter of fact, nothing remained. Josephus had become perfectly, delightfully, inconceivably stupid. He had forgotten everything, and could now learn nu new thing. Tending the decision of Miss Messenger, to whom the case was referred, they tried him with all sorts of simple work — correspondence, answer- ing letters, any of the things which require a little intelligence. Jolephus could do nothing. He sat like a helpless boy and looked at the documents. Then they let him ulune, and for a while he came every day, sat all day long, half asleep, and did nothing, and was much less' happy than when he had been kept at work from nine o'clock in the morning till six o'clock at night. When Harry remembered the packet of papers placed in liis hand, which was on the following morning, he read them. And the effect of his reading was that he did not go to work that morning at idl. lie was not a lawyer, and the principal paper was a legal Instrument, the meaning of which it took him some little time to make out. ' IJum— hum — um— why can't they write plain English ? "I ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 287 give to my said trustees Joliu Skeltuu aud Beiijaiiiiti iJuiiker the Ihree freehold houses as follows that called number twenty-nine ou Stepney Green forty-live in Beaumont Square and twenty-thvee in Redman's How npr)n trust to apply the rents and incouie of the same as in their absolute discretion they may thiidi tit for the maintenance education and benelit of the said Caroline until she be twenty-one years old or until she marry and to invest from time to time tlie acciimulatious of such rents and income as is hereiiito- fore provided and to apply the same when invested iu all respects as I direct concerning the last above-mentioned premises And when the said Caroline shall attain the pge of twenty-one or shall marry I direct my said trustees to p.'iy to her the said rents and income and the income of the accuniulation of the same if any during her life by four equal qmirtcrly payments for her sole and separate use free from the debts and ei)gagcmenta of any husband or husbands she may marry and I direct that ciu the death of the said Caroline my said trustees shall hold and stand possessed of aH the said premises for such person or persons and in such manner in all respects as the said Caroline shall by deed or will appoint And iu default of such appointment and so "far as the same shall not extend upon trust" — and so on — and so on.' Harry read this document with a sense, at first, of mystili- cation. Then he read it a second time, and began to understand it. 'The houses,' he said, 'my mother's houses, are hers, free from any debts contracted by her husband: they are vested in trustees for her behalf: she could not sell or part with them. And the trustees were John Skelton and Beujainin Bunker. John Skulton — gone to Abraham's bosom, I suppose. Ijenjamin Bunker — wliere will he go to ? The houses were tied up— settled — entailed.' He read llie docviment right through for the third time. 'So,' he said. 'The house at number twenty-nine Stepney Green. That is the house which Bunker calls his own ; the house of the Associated Dressmakers; and it's mine— mine.' He clenched his fist and looked dangerous. ' Then the house at twenty-three Redman's Row, and at ibrty-five Beaumont Square. Two more houses. Also mine. And BuuliHr, the peifidious Bunker, calls them all his own ! What shall be done to Bunker ? ' 'Next,' he went on, after rea^Hng tlie document agam, 'Bunker is a fraudulent trustee, and his brother trustee too, unices he has gone dead. Of that there can be i-io doubt whatever. That virtuous and benevok'nt lUinkcr was my mother's trustee — and mino. And he calmly appropriates the trust to hiG own uses — Uncle Bunk-er ! Uncle Bunker ! 'I knew from the beginning that there was something wrong. First, I thought he had taken a sum of money from Lord Jocelyn. Then I found out that he had got possession of houses in a 288 ALL SORTS AND CONBITIONS OF MEN. mysterious manner. And now I find that he was simply the trustee. Wicked Uncle Bunker ! ' Armed with this precious document, he put on his hat and walked straight off, resolution on his front, towards his uncle's office. He arrived just when Mr. Bunker was about to start on a daily round among liis houses. By this frequent visitation he kept up the hearts of his tenants, and taught them tlie menning of necessity; so that they put by their money and religiously paid the rent. Else ^'Pray,' said Harry, 'be so good as to take off your hat, and sit down and have five minutes' talk with me.' ' No, sir,' said Bunker, ' I will not. You can go away, do you hear ? Be off: let me lock my office and go about my own busi- ness.' ' Do take off your hat, my uncle,' ' Go, sir, do you hear ? ' * Sit down and let us talk — my honest — trustee ! ' ]Mr. Bunker dropped into a chair. In all the conversations and dramatic scenes made up in his own mind to account for the possession of the houses it Lad never occurred to him that the fact of bis having been a trustee would come to light. All were dead, except himself, who were con- cerned with that trust : he had forgotten by this time that there wns any deed : by ignoring the trust he simplified, to his own mind, the transfer of the houses : and during all these years he had almost forgotten the obligations of the trust. ' Wliat do you mean ? ' he stammered. ' Virtuous uncle ! I mean that I know all. Do you quite understand me ? I mean really and truly all. Yes : all'that there is to know : all that you hide away in your own mind and think that no one knows.' ' What — what — what do a'ou know ? ' ' First I know which the houses are — I mean, my houses — my motlier's houses. The house in Stepney Green that you have let to Miss Kennedy is one ; a house in Beaumont Square — do you wish to know the number ? — is another ; and a house in Redman's Itow — and do you M-ant to know the number of that ? — U the third. You have collected the rents of those houses and paid those rents to your own account for twenty years and more.' ' Go on. Ijet us hear what you pretend to know. Suppose they were Caroline's houses, what then ? ' He spoke with sm attempt at bounce; but he was pale, and his eyes were unsteadv. ' This next. These houses, man of probity, were not my mother's property to dispose of as she pleased.' * Oh, whose were they, then ? ' ' They were settled upon her and her heirs after her ; and the property was placed in the hands of two trustees : yourself, my praiseworthy ; and a certain John Skelton, of whom I know no- thing. Presumably, he is dead ' ' ^i'/M.J'c.l ^ Air. Bunker dropped into a chair.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 289 Mr. Bunker made no reply at all. But bis cLeek {^rew paler. 'Shall I rept'Rt this statement, or is that enough for you?' asked Harry. 'The situation is pretty, though perhaps not novel: the heir has gone away, probably never to come back again ; the trustee sole surviving, no doubt receives the rents, fleir comes back. Trustee swears the houses are his own. When the trustee is brought before a court of law and convicted, the judge says that the case is one of peculiar enormity, and must be met by trans- portation for five-and-twenty years; five — and — twenty — years, my Patriarch ! think of that, in uniform and with short hair.' Mr. Bunker said nothing. But by the agitation of his fingers it was plain that he was thinking a great deal. * I told you,' cried Harry. ' I warned you, some time ago, that you must now begin to think seriously about handcuifs and. prison, and men in blue. The time has come, now, when, unless you make restitution of all that you have taken, action will be taken, and you will realise what it is that people think of the fraudulent trustee. Uncle Bunker, my heart bleeds for you.' ' Why did you come here ? ' asked his uncle, piteousl3\ * Why did you come here at all ? We got on very well without you — very well and comfortably, indeed. This seemed a feeble sort of bleat. But, in fact, the Bunker's mind was for the moment prostrated. He had no sound resistance left, ' I offered you,' he went on, ' twenty-five pounds — to go. I'll double it — there. I'll give you fifty pounds to go, if you'll go at once. So that there will be an end to all this trouble.' * Consider,' said Harry, * there's the rent of Miss Kennedy's house — sixty-five pounds a year for that: there's the house in Beaumont Square — fifty for that; and the house in Redman's Row at five-and-twenty at least; comes to a hundred and forty pounds a year, which you have drawn, my precious uncle, for twenty-one years at least. That makes, without counting interest, two thou- sand nine hundred and forty pounds. And you want to buy me oil" for fifty pounds ! ' * Not half the money — not half the money,' his uncle groaned. ' There's repairs and painting — and bad tenants : not half the money. 'W^e will say, then,' lightly replied his nephew, as if nine hundred were a trifle, ' we will say two thousand pounds. Tho heir to that property has come back: he says, " Give me my houses and give me an account of the discharge of your trust." Now ' — Harry rose from the table on which he had been sitting — ' let us have no more bounce : the game is up. I have in my pocket- here,' he tapped his coat pocket, ' the original deed itself. Do you want to know where it was found ? Behind a safe at the Brewery, where it was hidden by your brother-in-law. Bob Coppin, with all the country notes which got Josephus into a mess. As for the date, I will remind you that it was executed about thirty-five Tears ago, whou my mother was still a girl and unmarried, and 290 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF 3IEN. you bad recently married lier sister. I have tlie deed here. What IS more, it has been seen by the Chief Accountant at the Brewery, who gave it me. Bunker, the game is up.' He moved towards the door. 'Have you anything to say before I go? I am now going straight to a lawyer.' * What is the — the — lowest Oh ! good Lord ! — the very lowest figure that you will take to square it ? Oh ! be merciful ; I am a poor man, indeed a very poor man, though they think me warm. Yet I must scrape and save to get along at all.' ' Two thousand,' said Harr3% ' Make it fifteen hundred. Oh ! fifteen hundred to clear olT all scores, and then you can go away out of the place ; I could borrow fifteen hundred.' * Two thousand,' Harry repeated. * Of course, besides the houses, which are mine.' ' Besides the houses ? Never. You may do your worst. You may drag your poor old uncle, now sixty years of age, before the courts, but two thousand besides the houses ? Never ! ' He banged the floor with his stick, but his agitation was betrayed by the nervous tapping of the end upon the oilcloth which followed the first hasty bang. ' No bounce, if you please.' Harry took out his watch. ' I will give you five minutes to decide ; or, if your mind is already made up, I will go and ask advice of a lawyer at once.' * I cannot give you that sum of money,' Bunker declared : ' it is not that I would not; I would if I could. Business has been bad : sometimes I've spent more than I've made ; and what little I've saved I meant always for you — I did indeed. I said, I will make it up to him. He shaft have it back with ' ' One minute gone,' said Harry relentlessly. * Oh ! this is dreadful. Why, to get even fifteen hundred I should have to sell all my little property at a loss ! and what a dreadful thing it is to sell property at a loss ! Give me more time to consider, only a week or so, just to look round.' * Three minutes left,' said Harry the hardened. * Oh ! oh ! oh ! ' He burst into tears and weeping of genuine grief, and shame, and rage. ' Oh ! that a nephew should be found to persecute his uncle in such a way ! Where is your Christiuu charity ? Where is forgiving and remitting ? ' ' Only two minutes left,' said Harry, unmoved. Then Bunker fell upon his knees : he grovelled and implored pardon ; he offered one house, two houses, and twelve hundred pounds, fifteen hundred pounds, eighteen hundred pounds. ' One minute left,' said Hiu-ry. Then be sat down and wiped the tears from his eyes, and in pood round terms — in Poplar, Limehouse, Shadwell, Wappiug, and Katcliff Highway terms — he cursed his nephew and the houses and the trust, aad all that therein lay, because before the tempta- ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 291 tion came lio was an honest man, wlioreas cow he should never be •able to look Stepney in the face a^ain. ' Time's up,' said Harry, putting on his hat. In face of the inevitable, Mr. JJunker showed an immediate cliaiige of front, lie neither prayed, nor wept, nor swore. He became once more the complete man of business, lie left the stool of humiliation, and seated himself on his own Windsor chair before his own table. Here, pen in hand, he seemed as if he was dic- tating rather than accepting terms. * l)on't go,' he said. ' I accept.' * Very good,' Harry replied. ' You know what is best for yourself. As for me, I don't want to make more fuss than is neces- sary. You know the terms P ' ' Two thousand down ; the three houses ; and a complete dis- charge in full of all claims. Those are the conditions.' ' Yes, those are the conditions.' * 1 will draw up the discharge,' said Mr. Bunker, ' and then no one need be any the wiser.' Harry laughed. This cool and business-like compromise of felony pleased hiui. ' You may draw it up if you like. But my opinion of your ability is so great, that I shall have to show the document to a solicitor for his approval and ndniiiation.' Mr. Bunker was disconci rte 1. He had hoped — that is, thought — he saw his way j but ue\er mind. He quickly recovered, and said, with decision, — ' Go to Lawyer Pike in the Mile End Road.' ' Why ? Is the Honourable I'ike a friend of yours ? ' ' No, he isn't ; that is why I want you to go to him. Tell him that you and 1 have long been wishing to clear up these accounts, and that you've agreed to take the two thousand with the houses.' Mr. Bunker seemed now chiefly anxious that the late deplorable ecene should be at once forgotten and forgiven. ' He said the other day that I was nothing better than a common grinder and oppressor. Now, when he sees what an honourable trustee I am, he will be sorry he said that. You can tell everybody if you like: Why, what is it? Here's my nephew comes home to me and says, Give me my houses, I say, Trove your title. Didn't I say so ? How was I to know that he was my nephew ? Then the gentleman comes who took him away, and says, He is your long- lost nephew; and I say, Take your houses, young man, with the accumulations of the rent hoarded up for you. ^^'hy, you can tell everybody that story.' ' I will leave you to tell it, Bunker, your own way. Every- body will believe that way of telling tlie story. What is more, I will not go out of my way to contradict it.' ' Very good, then. And on that understanding I withdraw all the harsh things I may have said to you, nephew. And we cau be good friends again.' V2 292 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. < Certainly, if you like,' said Harry, and fairly ran away for fear of being called upon to make more concessions. 'It's a terrible blow ! ' The old man sat down and wiped his forehead. ' To think of two thousand down ! But it mi^^ht have been much worse. Ah! it might have been very ,_ very much ■worse. I've done better than I expected, when he said he had the papers. The young man's a fool — a mere fool. The houses let for 150/. a year, and they have never been empty for six months together ; and the outside repairs are a trifle, and I've saved it all every year. Ha ! now a hundred and fifty pounds a year for twenty years and more, at compound interest only five per cent., is close on 5,000/. I've calculated it out often enough to know. Yes, and I've made five per cent, on it, and sometimes six and seven, and more, with no losses. It might have been far, far worse. It's come to 7,000/. if it's a penny. And to get rid of that awful fear and that devil of a boy with his grins and his sneers at 2,000/., why, it's cheap, I call it cheap. As for the houses, I'll get them back, see if I don't.' CHAPTER XLIV. A FOOL AND HIS MONET. Mr. Pike, the solicitor of the Mile End Hoad, does not belong to the story — which is a pity, because he has many enviable quali- ties—further than is connected with Harry's interview with him. He read the documents and heard the story from beginning to end. When he had quite mastered all the details he began mildly to express astonishment and pity that any young man could be such a fool. This was hard, because Harry really thought he had done a mighty clever thing. ' You have been taken in, sir,' said Mr. Pike, * in a most barefaced and impudent manner. Two thousand pounds ! Why, the mere rent alone, without counting interest, is three thousand. Go away, sir ; find out this fraudulent impostor, and tell him that you will have nothing to do with him short of a full account and complete restitution.' ' I cannot do that,' said Harry. 'W^hynot?' * Because I have passed my word.' * I think, young man, you said you were a cabinet-maker — though you look something better.' ' Yes, I belong to that trade.' 'Since when, may I ask, have cabinet- makers been so puncti- lious as to their promises ? ' ' The fact is,' said Harry gravely, ' we have turned over a new leaf, and are now all on the side of truth and honour.' ' Humph ! Then there is nothing- to do but to give the man a ALL SORTS AND COXDITIOKS OF MEN. 203 receipt in fall und a discLarge. You are of age ; you can do thia if you like, Siiall I draw it up for you, and receive the money, and take over the houses ? ' • ••••• This was settled, therefore, and in this way Harry became a rich man, with houses and money in the funds. As for Bunker, he made the greatest mistake in his life when he sent his nephew to Mr. Pike. He should have known, hut he was like the ostrich when he runs his head into the sand, and believes from the secure retreat that he is invisible to his hunters. For his own Tersion of the incident was palpably absurd : and, besides, Mr. Pike heard Harry's account of the matter. There- fore, though Bunker thought to heap coals of fire upon his enemy's head, he only succeeded in throwing them under his feet, which made him kick — ' for who can go upon hot coals and his feet not be burned ? ' The good man is now, therefore, labouring under a cloud of prejudice which does not seem to lift, though perhaps he will live it down. Other events have happened since, which have operated to his prejudice. Everybody knows how he received his nephew; what wicked things he said everywhere about him ; and what rumours he spread about Miss Kennedy : everybody knows that he had to disgorge houses — actually, houses — which he had appropriated. This knowledge is common property : and it is ex- tremely unpleasant for Mr. Bunker when he takes his w.alks abroad to be cruelly assailed by questions which hit harder than any brickbat: they are hurled at him by working men and by street bojs. * Who stole the 'ouse ? ' for instance, is a very nasty thing to be said to a gentleman who is professionally connected with house property. I know not how this knowledge came to be so generally known. Certainly Harry did not spread it abroad. People, however, are not fools, and can put things together : where the evil-doings and backslidings of their friends are concerned they are surprisingly sharp. Now when the ownership of the house in Stepney Green became generally known, there immediately sprang up, as always happens on occasions of discovery, rooting out of facts, or exposure of wickedness, quite a large crop of old inhabitants ready to declare that they knew all along that the house on Stepney Green was one of those belonging to old Mr. Coppin. He bought it, they said, of Mr. Messenger, who was born there ; and it was one of three left to Caroline, who died young. Who would believe that Mr. Bunker could have been so wicked .P Where is faith in brother man since so eminent a professor of honesty has fallen ? Mr. Bunker suffers, but he suffers in silence; he may be seen any day in the neighbourhood of Stepney Green, still engaged in his usual business : people may talk behind his back, but talk breaks no bones : they don't dare talk before his face : though he has lost two thousand pounds, there is still money left — he feels that he is a warm man, and has money to leave behind him : it 294 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. will be s.aid of him that he cut up well. Warmth of all kinds comforts a man ; but he confesses with a pang that he did wrong to send his nephew to that lawj^er, who took the opportunity, when he drew up the discharge and receipt, of giving him au opinion— unasked and unpaid for — as to his conduct in connection with the trust. There could be no mistake at all about the mean- ing and force of that opinion. And, oddly enough, whenever Mr. Ikmker sees the Queen's omnibus— that dark-painted vehicle, driven by a policeman — pass along the road, he thinks of Mr. Pike, and that opinion returns to his memory, and he feels just exactly as if a bucket of cold water was trickling down his back by the nape of the neck. Even in warm weather this is disagree- able. And it shoAvs that the lawyer must have spoken very strong words indeed, and that although Mr. Bunker, like the simple ones and the scorners, wished for none of the lawyers' counsel, unlike them he did not despise their reproof. Yet he is happier, now tiiat the blow has fallen, than he was while he was awaiting it and dreaming of handcuffs. We anticipate : but wo have, indeed, seen almost the last of Mr. Bunker. It is sad to part with him. But we have no choice. In the evening Harry went as usual to the drawing-room. He stayed, however, after the girls went away. There was nothing unusual in his doing so. * Girls in my position,' said the dress- maker, 'are not tied by the ordinary rules.' To-night, however, he had something to say. ' Congratulate me,' he cried, as soon as they were alone. * I have turned out, as the story-books say, to be the heir to vast sums of money.' Angelu turned pale. She was reassured, however, on learning the extent of the heritage. * Consider my romantic story,' said Harry. 'Instead of finding myself the long-lost heir, strawberry-mark and all, to an earldom, I am the son of a Sergeant in the Line. And then, just as I am getting over the blow, I find myself the owner of three houses and two thousand pounds. "What workman ever got two thousand pounds before? There was an under-gardener I knew,' he went on meditatively, ' who once got a hvmdred : he called it a round hundred, I remember. He and his wife went on the Hospitable Drink for a fortnight : then they went to hospital for a month with Trimmings : and then went back to work — the money all gone — and joined the Primitive Methodists. Can't we do some- thing superior in the shape of a Burst, or a Boom, for the girls, with two thousand pounds ? ' ' Tell me,' said Angela, ' how you got it.' He narrated the whole story, for her instruction and amuse- ment, with some dramatic force impersonating Bunker's wrath, terror, and entreaties, and final business-like collapse. ' So that,' said Angela, ' you are now a man of property, and will, I suppose, give up the work at the Brewery.' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 295 * Do you tliinlc I should ? ' * I do not like to see any man idle, and — ^ she hesitated — 'especially you.' ' Thank you/ said Harry. ' Then I remain. The question of the two thousand pounds — my cool Two Thousand — I am the •winner of the Two Thousand — in reserve. As for this house, however, decided steps must be taken. Listen, Queen of the Mystery of Dress ! You pay Bunker sixty-five pounds a year or so for the rent of this house ; that is a good large deduction from the profits of the Association. I have been thinking, if you approve, that I will have this house conveyed to you in trust for the Association. Then you will be rent-free,' * But that is a very, very generous offer. You really wish to give us this house altogether for ourselves ? ' ' If you will accept it.' * You have only these houses, and you give us the best of them. Is it right and just to strip yourself? ' ' How many houses should I have P Now there are two left, and their rent brings in seventy pounds a year, and I have two tliousand pounds which will bring in another eighty pounds a year. I am rich — much too rich for a common cabinet-maker.' * Oh ! ' she said, * what can we do but accept ? And how shall we show our gratitude ? But, indeed, we can do nothing.' * I want nothing,' said Harry. ' I have had so much happiness in this place that I can want for nothing. It is for me to show my gratitude.' ' Thank you,' she replied, giving him her hand. He stooped and kissed it, but humbly, as one who accepts a small favour gratefully and aaks for no more. They were alone in the drawing-room ; the fire was low ; only one lamp was burning ; Angela was sitting beside the fire; her face was turned from him. A mighty wave of love was mounting in the young man's brain ; but a little more, a very little more, and he would have been kneeling at her feet. She felt the danger; she felt it the more readily because she was so deeply moved her- self. "What had she given the girls, out of her abundance, com- pared with what he had given, out of his slender portion ? Her eyes filled with tears. Then she sprang to her feet and touched his hand again. * Do not forget your promise,' she said. * My promise ? Oh ! how long ' 'Patience,' she replied, 'Give me a little while — a little while — only — and ' ' Forgive me,' he said, kissing her hand again. ' Forgive me.' ' Let me go,' she went on. ' It is eleven o'clock.' They put out the lamp and went out. The night was clear and bright. ' Do not go in just yet,' said Harry. ' It is pleasant out here, and I think the stars are brighter than they are at the West End.' * Everything is better here,' said Angela, * than at the West 296 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. End. Here we have hearts, and can feel for each other. Here wa are all alike — workmen and workwomen together.' 'You are a prejudiced person. Let us talk of the Palace of Delight — your dream.' * Your invention,' said Angela, * Won't my two thousand go some way to starting it ? Perhaps, if we could just start it, the thing would go on of its own accord. Why, see what you have done with your girls already.' ' But I must have a big Palace — a noble building, furnished with everything that we want. No, my friend, we will take your house because it is a great and noble gift, but you shall not sacri- fice your money. Yet we will have that Palace, and before long. And when it is ready ' ' Yes, when it is ready.' 'Perhaps the opening of the Palace will be, for all of ug, the beginning of a new happiness.' * You speak in a parable.' *No,' she said, 'I speak in sober earnestness. Now let me go. Remember what I say : the opening of the Palace may be, if you will — for all of us ' * For you and me ? ' 'For — ^yes — for you — and for me. Good night.* CHAPTER XLV. lADZ DAYESTANT'S DINNER PARTY, Lady Davenant had now been in full enjoyment of her title in Portman Square, where one enjoys such things more thoroughly than on Stepney Green, for four or live weeks. She at first en- joyed it so much that she thought of nothing but the mere plea- sure of the greatness. She felt an uplifting of heart every time she walked up and down the stately stairs ; another every time she sat at the well-furnished dinner-table ; and another when- ever she looked about her in the drawing-room. She wrote copious letters to her friend Aurelia Tucker during these days. She explained with fulness of detail, and in terms calculated to make that lady expire of envy, the splendour of her position ; and, for at least five weeks, she felt as if the hospitality of Miss Messenger actually brought with it a complete recognition of the claim. Her husband, not so sanguine as herself, knew very well that the time would come when the Case would have to be taken up again and sent in to the proper quarter for examination. Meantime he was resigned, and even happy. Three square meals a day, each of them abundant, each a masterpiece of art, were enough to satisfy that remarkable twist which, as her ladyship was persuaded, one knows not on what grounds, had always been ALL SORTS AND CONBITIOXS OF MEN. 297 a distinguishing mark of tbe Davenants. Familiarity speedily reconciled him to the presence of the footmen; he found in the library a most delightful chair in wliich he could sleep all the morning ; and it pleased hiin to be driven through the streets in a luxurious carriage under soft warm furs, in which one can take the air and get a splendid appetite without fatigue. They were seen about a great deal. It was a part of Angela's design that they should, when the time came for going back Again, seem to themselves to have formed a part of the best society in London. Therefore she gave instructions to her maid that her visitors were to go to all the public places, the theatres, concerts, exhibitions, and places of amusement. The little American lady knew so little what she ought to see and whither she ought to go, that she fell back on Campion for advice and help. It was Campion who suggested a theatre in the evening, the Exhibition of Old Masters or the Grosvenor Gallery in tlie morning, and Regent Street in the afternoon ; it was Campion ■who pointed out the recognised superiority of Westminster Abbey, considered as a place of worship for a lady of exalted rank, over a chapel up a back street, of the B.iptist persuasion, to which at her own home Lady Davenant had belonged. It was Campion who went with her and showed her the shops, and taught her the delightful art of spending her money — the money 'lent' her by Miss Messenger — in the manner becoming to a peeress. She was so clever and sharp, that she caught at every hint dropped by the lady's-maid ; she reformed her husband's ideas of evening dress; she humoured his weaknesses; she let him keep his eyes wide open at a farce or a ballet on the under- etanding that at a concert or a sermon he might blamelessly sleep through it : she even began to acquire rudimentary ideas on the principles of Art. *I confess, my dear Aurelia,' she wrote, 'that habit soon renders even these marble halls familiar. I have become per- fectly reconciled to the splendour of English patrician life, and now feel as if I had been born to it. Tall footmen no longer frighten me, nor the shouting of one's name after the tliealre. Of course the outwai-d marks of respect one receives as one's due, when one belongs, by the gift of Providence, to a great and noble house.' This was all very pleasant ; yet Lady Davenant began to yearn for somebody, if it was only Mrs. Bormalack, with whom she could converse. She wanted a long chat. Perhaps Miss Kennedy or Mrs. Bormalack, or the sprightly Mr. Goslett, might be induced to come and spend a morning with her, or a whole day, if only they would not feel shy and frightened in so splendid a place. Meantime some one 'connected with the Press' got to hear of a soi-disant Lord Davenant who was often to be seen with his wife in boxes at theatres and other places of resort. He heard, this intellectual connection of the Press, people asking each other 298 ALL SOIiTS AND CONDTTIOiYS OF MEN. who Lord Davenant was; lie inquired of the Red Book, and re- ceived no response ; he thereupon perceived that here was an opportunity for a sensation and a mystery. He found out wliere Lord Davenantwas livinpfjbygTeat good luck — itwas through taking a single four of whisky in a bar frequented by gentlemen in plush; and lie proceeded to call upon his lordship and to interview him. The result appeared in a long commimiqiic wliich attracted general and immediate interest. The journalist set forth at length and in the most graphic manner the strange and romantic career of the Condescending Wheelwright ; he showed how the discovery was made, and how, after many years, the illustrious pair had crossed the Atlantic to put forward their claim : and how they were offered the noble hospitality of a young lady of princely for- tune. It was a most delightful godsend to the paper in which it appeared, and it came at a time when the House was not sitting, and there was no wringle-wrangle of debates to furnish material for the columns of big type which are supposed to sway the masses. Tlie other papers therefore seized upon the topic .and had leading articles upon it, in which the false Demetrius, the pretending Paloeologus, Perkin Warbeck, Lambert Simnel, George Psalman- azar, the Languishing Nobleman, the Earl of Mar, the Count of Albany, with other claims and claimants, furnished illustrations to the claims of the Uavenants. The publicity given to the Case by these articles delighted her ladyship beyond everything, while it abashed and confounded her lord. He saw in it the beginning of more exertion, and strenuous efforts after the final recognition. And she cnrefully cut out all the articles and sent them to her nephew Nicholas, to her friend Aurelia Tucker, and to the editor of the Canaan City Express with her compliments. xVnd she felt all the more, in the midst of this excitement, that if she did not have some one to talk to she must go back to Stepney Green and spend a day. Or she would die. It was at this juncture that Campion, perhaps inspired by secret instructions, suggested that her ladyship must be feeling a little lonely, and must want to see her friends. Why not, she said, ask them to dinner ? A dinner party, Lady Daven ant reflected, would serve not only to show her old friends the reality of her position, but would also please them as a mark of kindly remembrance. Only, she reflected, dinner at Stepney Green had not the same meaning that it pos- sesses at the West End. The best dinner, in that locality, is that which is most plentiful, and there are no attempts made to decorate a table. Another thing, dinner is taken universally between one o'clock and two. ' I think, Clara Martha,' s dd his lordship, whom she consulted on this affair of state, ' that at any time of day such a Feast of Belteshazzar as you will give them will be grateful; and they may call it dinner or supper, whichever they please.' Thereupon Lady Davenant wrote a letter to Mrs. Bormalack inviting the whole party. She explained that they had mot with ALL SO UTS AND fOXDITIONS OF MEX. 209 tlie most splendid hospitality from Miss Messenger, in whose Iionse tliciy were still staying; that they had become piiblic character-t, and had been the subject of discussion in the papers^ which caused them to be much stared at and followed in the streets, and in theatres and concert-rooms; that they were both convinced that their Case \vould soon be triumphant ; that they frequently talked over old friends of Stepney, and regretted that the distance be- tween them was so great — though distance, she added kindly, cannot divide hearts ; and that, if jNlrs. Bormalack's party would come over together and dine with them, it would be taken as a great kindness, both by herself and by his lordship. She added Ihat she hoped they would all come, including Mr. Fagg and old INIr. Maliphant, and Mr. Josephus, 'though/ she added with a little natural touch, 'I doubt whether Mr. Maliphant ever gave me a thought ; and Mr. Josephus was always too much occupied with his own misfortunes to mind any business of mine. And, dear Mrs, Bormalaek, please remember that when we speak of dinner we mean w^hat you call supper. It is exactly the same thing, only served a little earlier. We take ours at eight o'clock instead of nine, Ilis lordship desires me to add that he shall be extremely disappointed if Mr. Goslett does not come ; and you will tell Miss Kennedy, whose kindness I can never forget, the same from me, and that she must bring Nelly and Rebekah and Captain Sorensen.' The letter was received with great admiration. Josephus, who had blossomed into a completely new suit of clothes of juvenile cut, declared that the invitation did her ladyship great credit, and that now his misfortunes were finished he should be rejoiced to take his place in society, Harry laughed, and said that of course he would go. * And you. Miss Kennedy ? ' Angela coloured. Then she said that she would try to go. 'And if Mr. Maliphant and Daniel only go too,' said Harry, *we shall be as deliglitful a party as were ever gathered together at one dinner-table.' It happened that about this time Lord Jocely/i remembered the American claimants, and his promise to call upon them. He there- fore called, and was received with the greatest cordiality by her little ladyship, and with wondrous affability, as becomes one maa of rank towards another, by Lord Davenant. It was her ladyship who volubly explained their claim to him, and the certainty of the assumption that their Timothy Clitheroe was the lost heir of the same two Christian names ; her husband only folded his fat hands over each other, and from time to time wagged his head. ' You are the first of my husband's brother peers,' she said, * who has called upon us. We shall not forget this kindness from your lordship,' 'But I am not a peer at all,' he explained; 'I am only a younger son with a courtesy title, I am quite a small personage.' 300 ALL SOirrS AXD COXDITIGXS OF MEN. ' Wliicli makes it all tlie kinder,' said her ladyship; 'and T must say that, grand as it is in this big house, one does get tired of hearin' no voice but your own — and my husband spends a good deal of his time in the study. Oh ! a man of great literary attainments, and a splendid mathematician. 1 assure your lord- ship not a man or a boy in Canaan City can come near him in algebra ' ' Up to a certain point, Clara Martha/ said her husband, mean- ing that there might be lofty heights in science to which even he himself could not soar. ' Quadratic equations, my lord.' Lord Jocelyn made an original remark about the importance of scientific pursuits. ' And since you are so friendly,' continued her ladyship,' ' I will venture to invite your lordship to dine with us.' ' Certainly. I shall be greatly pleased.' * We have got a few friends coming to-morrow evening,' said her ladyship, rather grandly. ' Friends from Whitechapel.' Lord Jocelyn looked curious. 'Yes, Mr. Josephus Coppin and his cousin Mr. Goslett, a sprightly young man who respects rank.' ' lie is coming, is he ? ' asked Lord Jocelyn, laughing. ' And then there is Miss Kennedy ' ' She is coming too ? ' He rose with alacrity. ' Lady Dave- nant, I shall be most happy to come, I assure you.' It was most unfortunate that next day Miss Kennedy had such a dreadful headache, that she found herself prevented from go'ng with the rest. This was a great disappointment, and at the last moment old Mr. Maliphant could not be found, and they had to start without him. How they performed the journey, how Harry managed to let most of the party go on before, because of his foolish pride, which would not let him form one of a flock all going out together, and how he with Captain Sorensen and Nelly came on after the rest, may be passed over. When he got to Portman Square, he found the first detacli- ment already arrived, and, to his boundless astonisl)raent, his guardian. Lady Davenant, arrayed in her black velvet and the jewels which Angela gave her, looked truly magnificent. Was it possible, Mrs. Bormalack thought, that such a transformation could be effected in a woman by a velvet gown ? She even looked tall. She received her friends with unatfected kindness, and introduced them all to Lord Jocelyn. * Mrs. Bormalack, your lordship, my former landlady, and always my very good friend. Professor Climo, your lordship, the famous conjurer. And I'm sure the way he makes things dis- appear makes you believe in magic. Mr. Fagg, the great scholar; of whom, perhaps, your lordship has heard. Mr. Josephus Coppin, ■who has been unfortunate.' Lord Jocelyn wondered what that meant. ' Miss Piebekah Hermitage, whose father is minister of ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 301 the Seventh Day Independents, and a most respectable Connection, tbougli small in number. Captain Sorensen, your lordship, who comes from theTrinityalmshou.se, nnd Nelly his daughter: and Mr. Goslett. And I think that is all; and. the sooner they let us have dinner the better.' Lord Jocelyn shook hands with everybody. When it came to Harry, he laughed, and they both laughed, but they did not say why. ' And where is Miss Kennedy ? ' a:?ked her ladyship. And there were great lamentations. ' I wanted your lordship to see Miss Kennedy. Oh, there's nobody like Miss Kennedy, is there, Nelly ? ' ' Nobody,' said Nelly. ' There can be nobody like Miss Ken- nedy.' Lord Jocelyn was struck with the beauty of this girl, whom he remembered seeing at the Dressmakery. He began to hope that she would sit npxt to him at dinner. * Nobody half so beautiful in all Stepney, is there ? ' ' Nobody half so good,' said Rebekah. Then the dinner was announced, and there was confusion in going down, because nobody would go before Lord Jocelyn, who, therefore, had to lead the way. Lord Davenant offered his arm to Mrs. Bormalack, Harry to Nelly, and Captain Sorensen to llebekah. The Professor, Mr. Fagg, and Josephus came last. ' To be sure,' said Mrs. Bormalack, looking about her, thankful that she had put on her best cap, ' magnificence was expected, as was your lordship's due, but such as this — no, young man, I never take soup miless I've made it myself, and am quite sure — such as this, my lord, we did not expect.' She was splendid in her beautiful best cap, all ribbons and bows, with an artificial dahlia in it of a far-off fashion — say, the Forties ; the sight of the table, with its plate and flowers and fruit, filled her with admiration, but, as she now says, in recalling that stupendous feed, there was too much ornament, which kept her mind off the cooking, so that she really carried away no new ideas for Stepney use. Nelly did sit next to Lord Jocelyn, who talked with her,iind found that she was shy until he touched upon Miss Kennedy. Then she waxed eloquent, and told him marvels, forgetting that he was a stranger who probably knew and cared nothing about Miss Kennedy. But Nelly belonged to that very numerous class which believes its own affairs of the highest interest to the world at large, and in this instance Miss Kennedy was a subject of the deepest interest to her neighbours. Wherefore he listened while she told what had been done for the workgirls by one woman, one of themselves. Opposite, on Lady Davenant's left, sat Captain Sorensen. In the old days the captains of Eastludiamen were not unacquainted with great men's tables, but it was long since he had sat at such a feast. Presently Lord Jocelyn began to look at him curiouslJ^ ' Who is the old gentleman opposite ? ' he whispered to Nelly. ' That is my father ; he was a Captain once, and commanded a great ship.' 802 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. *I thought so/ said Lord Jocelya. *1 remember him, but he has forgotten me.' Next to the Capt;iin sat liebekah, loi>kiug prepared for any fate, and not unduly uplifted by the splendour of the scene. But for her, as well as for nearly all who were present, the word dinner will henceforth have a new and exalted meaning. The length of the feast, the number of things ofl'ered, the appointments of the table, struck her imagination ; she thought of Belshazzar and of Herod; such as the feast before her were those feasts of old : she tasted the champagne, and it took away her breath ; yet it seemed good. Mr. Goslett seemed to think so too, because he drauk so many glasses. So did the others, and, being unexperienced in wine, they drank with more valour than discretion, so that they began to talk loud ; but that was not till later. ' Do people — rich people — alwjiys dine like this ? ' asked Nelly of her neighbour. ' Something like this; yes; that is, some such dinner, though simpler, is always prepared for them.' ' I was thinking,' she said, * how differently people livti). I would rather live in our way — with Miss Iveunsdy — than in so much grandeur.' ' Grandeur soon becomes a matter of habit. But as for Miss Kennedy, you cannot live always with her, can you ? ' < Why not ? ' ' Weil, she may marry, you know.' Ntdly looked across the table at Harry. ' I suppose she will ; we all of us hope she will, if it is to stay with us; but that need not take her away from us.' ' Do you know Miss Messenger ? ' 'No,' said Nelly; 'she has been very kind to us; she is our best customer ; she sends us all sorts of kind messages, and presents even ; and she sends us her love and best wislies ; I think she must be very fond of Miss Kenno(l_y. She promises to come some day and visit us. Whenever I tliink of Miss Mes.'^enger, I think, somehow, that slie must be like Miss Kenned}'; only I cannot un- derstand Miss Kennedy being rich and the owner of a great house.' When tlie ladies retired, at length, it berame manifest that Josephus had taken more wine than was good for him. He laughed loudly; he told everybody that he was going to begin all over again, classes and lectures and everything, including the Sunday school and the church membership. The Professor, who, for his part, seemed indisposed for conversation, retained the mastery over his fingers, and began to prepare little tricks, and presently con- veyed oranges into I,ord Davonant's coat tails without moving from his chair. And Daniel Fagg, whose cheek was flushed, and whose eyes were sparkling, rose from his chair and attacked Lord Jocelyn, note-book in hand. ' Is your lo'ship,' he began, with a perceptible thickness of ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MKN. 303 epeedi-— Loul Jocelyn recognised lilm as the niau whom li'^ bad assisted at Stepney Green, and who subsequently took dinner with the girls — 'is your lo'sbip int'rested in Hebrew sehriptious ?' ' Very much indeed,' said Lord Jocelyn, politel}^ * 'Low me to put your lo'sbip's name down for schription, twelve-aud-six ? Book will come out next mouth, Miss Ken'dy eays so.' Tut up your book, Daniel,' said Harry steruly, 'and sit down.' * I want — show — his lo'ship — a Hebrew schription.' He sat down, however, obediently, and immediately fell fast asleep. Said Lord Jocelyn to Captain Soreusen, — ' I remember you, Captain, very well indeed, but you have for- gotten me. Were you not in command of tlio "Sussex" in the year of the Mutiny ? Did you not take me out v.ith the 120th ? ' * To be sure— to be sure I did ; and I remember your lord.>liip very well, and am very glad to find you remember me. You •were younger then.' ' I was ; and how goes it with you now. Captain ? Cheerfully as of old ? ' 'Ay, ay, my lord. I'm in the Trinity Almshouse, and my daughter is with Miss Kennedy, bless her ! Therefore I've nothing to complain of.' 'May I call upon you, some day, to talk over old times ? You used to sing a good song in those days, and play a good tune, and dance a good dance.' ' Come, my lord, as often as you like,' he replied in great good humour. ' The cabin is small, but it's cosy, and the place is hard to get at.' 'It is the queerest dinner I ever had, Harry,' Lord Jocelyn whispered. ' I like your old Captain and his daughter. Is the bard-hearted dressmaker prettier than Nelly?' ' Prettier ! why, there is no comparison possible.' ' Yet Nelly hath a pleasing manner.' ' Miss Kennedy turns all her girls into ladies. Come and see her.' ' Perhaps, Harry, perhaps ; when she is no longer hard-hearted j when she has named the happy day.' _' This evening,' said Lady Davenant, wben they joined her, ' will be one that I never can forget. For I've had my old friends round me, who were kind in our poverty and neglect ; and now I've your lordship too, who belongs to the new time. So that it is a joining together, as it were, and one don't feel like stepping out of our place into another quite different, as I shall tell Aurclia, who says she is afjaid that splendour may make me forget old friends ; whereas there is nobody I should like to have witli us this niniu nt better than Aurelia. But perhaps she judges others by hersell'.' * Lor!' cried Mrs, Bormalack, 'to hear your ladyship go on I It's like an angel of goodness.' 804 ALL SORTS AXD CONDITIONS OF MEN. 'And the oulj' thing that vexes me — it's enough to spoil it all — is that Miss Kennedy couldn't come. Ah ! my lord, if you had only seen Miss Kennedy ! Kebekah and Nelly are two good girls and pretty, but you are not to compare with Miss Kennedy — are you, dears ? ' They both shook their he.ads and were not offended. It was past eleven when they left to go home in cabs: one contained the sleeping forms of Josephus and Mr. Fagg; the next contained Captain Sorensen and Nelly, with Harry. The Pro- fessor, who had partly revived, came with Mrs. Bormalack and Rebekah in the last, 'You seemed to know Lord Jocelyn, Mr. Goslett/ said the Captain. ' I ought to,' replied Harry simply ; ' he gave me my education.' * He was always a brave and generous officer, I remember,' the Captain went on. ' Yes, I remember him well ; all the men would have followed him everywhere. Well, he says he will come and see me.' ' Then he will come,' said Harrj^, ' if he said so.' ' "Very good j if he comes, he shall see Miss Kennedy too.' CHAPTER XLVI. THE END OF THE CASE. This dinner, to which her ladyship will always look back with the liveliest satisfaction, was the climax, the highest point, so to speak, of her greatness, which was destined to have a speedy fall. Angela asked Lord Jocelyn to read through the papers and advise. She told him of the Professor's discovery, and of the book which had belonged to the wheelwright, and everything. Of course, the opinion which he formed was exactly that formed by Angela herself, and he told her so. ' I have asked them to my house,' Angela wrote, ' because I want them to go home to their own people with pleasant recol- lections of their stay in London. I should like them to feel, not that their claim had broken down, and tliat they were defeated, but that it had been examined, and was held to be not proven. I should be very sorry if I thought that the little lady would cease to believe in her husband's illu-^trious descent. Will you help me to make her keep her faith as far as possible, and go home with as little disappointment as possible?' ' I will try,' said Lord Jocelyn. He wrote to Lady Daveiiant that he had given careful con- sideration to the Case, and had taken opinions, which was also true, because he made a lawyer, a herald, and a peer all read the docimients, and write him a letter on the subject. He dictated ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN^ 305 all three letters, it is true ; but there is generally something to conceal in this world of compromises. lie went solemnly to I'ortmau Square bearing these precious documents with him. To Lady Davonant his opinion was the most important step which had yet occurred in the history of the claim : she placed her husband in the hardest arm-chair that she rould find, with strict injunctions to keep broad awake; and she had a great array of pens and paper laid out on the table in order to look busiue.ss-like. It must be owned that the good feeding of the last two months, with carriage exercise, had greatly increased his lordship's tendency to sleep and inaction. As for the Case, he had almost cea^^ed to think of it. The Case meant worry, copying out, writing and re- writing, hunting up facts, and remembering ; when the Case was put awny he could give up his mind to break- fast, lunch, and dinner. Never had the present moment seemed 60 delightful to him. Lord Jocelyn wore an expression of great gravity, as befitted the occasion. In fact, he was entrusted with an exceedingly delicate mission : he had to tell these worthy people that there was not the slightest hope for them: to recommend them to go home again ; and though the counsel would be clothed in sugared words, to renounce for ever the hope of proving their imaginary claiin. But it is better to be told these things kindly and sympa- thetically, by a man with a title, than by any coarse or common lawyer. ' Before I begin' — Lord Jocelyn addressed himself to the lady instead of her husband — 'I would ask if you have any relic at all of that first Timothy Clitheroe who is buried in your cemetery at Canaan City?' 'There is a book,' said her ladyship. ' Here it is.' She handed him a little book of songs, roughly bound in leather; on the (itle-page was written at the top 'Satturday,' and at the bottom 'Dawenant.' Lord Jocelyn laid the book down and opened his case. First, he reminded tliem that Miss Messenger in her first letter had spoken of a possible moral, rather than legal, triumph; of a possible failure to establish the claim before a committee of the House of Peers to whom it would be referred. This, in his opinion, was the actual difficulty: he had read tlie Case as it had been carefully drawn up and presented by his lordship — and he compli- mented the writer upon his lucid and excellent style of drawing up of facts — and he had submitted the Case for' the opinion of friends of his own, all of them gentlemen eminently proper to form and to express an opinion on such a subject. He held the opinions of these gentlemen in his hands. One of them was from Lord de Lusignan, a nobleman of very ancient descent. His lordship wrote that there were very strong grounds for supposing it right to in- vestigate a case which presented, certainly, very remarkable coin- cidences, if nothing more : that further investigations ought to be 306 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. made on the spot ; and that, if this Timothy Clitheroe Davenanl turned out to be the lost heir, it would be another romance in the history of the Peerage. And his lordship concluded by a land expression of hope that more facts would be discovered in support of tlie claim. •'You will like to keep this letter,' said the reailer, giving it to Lady Davenant. She was horribly pale and trembled, because it seemed as if everything was slipping from her. 'The other letters,' Lord Jocelyn went on, 'are to the sanie effect. One is from a lawyer of great eminence, and the otber is from a herald. You will probably lilce to keep them too, when I have read them.' Lady Davenant took the letters, which were cruel in their kindness, and the tears came into her eyes. Lord Jocelyn went on to say that researches made in their interest in the' parish registers had resulted in a discovery which might even be made into an argument against the claim. There was a foundling child baptised in the church in the same year as the young heir; he received the name of the village with tlie day of the week on which he was found for Christian name ; that is to say, he was called Saturday Davenant. Then, indeed, his lordship became very red, and her ladj-sliip turned still paler, and both looked guilty. Saturday Davenant ! the words in the book. Suppose they were not a date and a name, but a man's v/hole name instead ! 'He left the parish,' said Lord Jocelyn, 'and was reported to have gone to America.' Neither of them spoke. His lordship looked slowly around the room, as if expecting that everything, even the solid mahogany of the library shelves, would vanish suddenly awaj'. And he groaned, thinking of the dinners which wovdd soon be things of the golden past. 'But, my friends,' Lord Jocelyn went on, 'do not be downcast. There is always the possibility "of new facts turning up. Your grandfather's name may have 'been really Timothy Clitheroe, in which case I have very" little doubt that "he was the missing heir; but he may, on the other hand, have been the Saturday Davenant, in which case he lived and died with a lie on his lips, whicli one would be sorry to think possible.' 'Well, sir— if that is so — what do you advise that we should do now?' asked the grandson of this mystery. He seemed to have become an American citizen again, and to have shaken off the aristocratic manner. ' What I should advise is this. You will never, most certainly never, get recognition of your claim without stronger evidence than you at present otl'er. On the other hand, no one will refuse to admit that you have a strong case. Therefore I would advise you to go home to your own people, to tell them what has happened — how your case was taken up and carefully considered by com-" ALL SORTS. AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 307 petent autlioiilies' — here lie iinnied npain the lawyer, the herald, and tlie peer — ' to show tiiem their opinions, and to say that you have couio bade for fiiilhcr evidence, if you cnn find any, which will connect you beyond a doubt with the lost heir.* 'That is good advice, sir,' said the clniniant. 'No, Clara Martha, for once 1 will have my own way. The connection is the weak point ; we must go homo and make it a strong point, el?e we had better stay there, I said, all along-, that we ought not to have come. Nevertheless, I'm glad we came, Clara Martha. I sha'n't throw it.in your teeth that we did come. I'm grateful to you for making us come. We've made good friends here, and seen many things which we shouldn't ollierwise have seen. And the thought of this house and the meals we've had in it — such breakfasts, such luncheons, such dinners — will never leave us, I aui sure.' Lady Davenant could say nothing. She saw everj'thing torn from her at a rough blow — her title, her consideration, the envy of her fellow-citizens, especially of Aurelia Tucker. She put her handkerchief to her eyes and sobbed aloud. * You should not go back as if you were defeated,' Lord Jocelyn went on in sympathy with the poor little woman, ' You are as much entitled to the rank you claim as ever. INfore: your case has been talked about ; it is known : should any of the anti- quaries who are always grubbing about pnrish records find any pcrap of inforinalion which may help, he will make a note of it for 3'ou. When you came you were friendless and unknown. Now the press of England has tal^en you up: your story is romantic : we are all interested in you, and desirous of seeing you succeed. Ileforc you go you will write to tlie papers stating why you go, and what you hope to find, AH these letters and papers and proofs of the importance of your claim should be kept and shown to vour friends.' ' We feel mean about going baclr, and that's a fact,' said his lordship. ' Slill, if we must go back, wliy, we'd better go back with drums and trumpets than sneak back ' ' Ah !' said his wife, 'if you'd only shown that spirit from the beginning, Timothy ! ' Pie collapsed. * If we go back,' she continued thoughtfully, ' I suppose there's some sort of work we can find, between us. Old folks hadn't ouglit to work like the young, and I'm sixty-five, and so is my husband. But She stopped, with a sigh. 'I am empowered by Miss ^lessonger,' Lord Jocelyn went on, with great softness of manner, ' to make you a little proposition. She thinks that it would be most desirable for you to have your hands free while you make those researches which may lead to the discoveries we hope for. Now, if you have to waste the day in work you will never be able to make any research. Therefore Miss Messenger proposes — if you do not niiud — if you will accept X 2 308 ALL SORTS ANt> CONDITIONS OF MUN. — an annuity on your joint lives of six hundred dollars. You may be thus relieved of all anxiety about your personal wants. And Miss Messenger begs only that you may let this annuity appear the offering of sympathising English friends.' * But we don't know Miss Messenger,' said her ladyship. * Has she not extended her hospitality to you for two months and more ? Is not tb-^i a proof of the interest she takes in you ? ' ' Certainly it is. Why — see now — we've been living here so long, that we've forgotten it is all Miss Messenger's gift.' * Then, you will accept ? ' * Oh, Lord Jocelyn, what can we do but accept ? ' _ * And with grateful hearts,' added his lordship. * Tell her that. "With grateful hearts. They've a way of serving quail in her house, that ' He stopped and sighed. • • • • < They have returned to Canaan City; they live in simple sufficiency. His lordship, when he is awake, has many tales to tell of London. His friends believe Stepney Green to be a part of May-fair, and Mrs. Bormalack to be a distinguished though untitled ornament of London society; while as for Aurelia Tucker, who fain would scoff, there are her ladyship's beautiful and costly dresses, and her jewels, and the letters from Lord Jocelyn Le Breton and the rich Miss Messenger, and the six hundred dollars a year drawn monthly, which proclaim aloud that there is some- - thing in the claim. These are things which cannot be gainsaid. Nevertheless, no new discoveries have yet rewarded his lord- ship's researches. CIL^TER XLVn. THE PALACE OF DELIGHT. During this time the Palace of Delight was steadily rising. Before Christmas its walls were completed and the roof on. The°n began the painting, the decorating, and the fittings. And Angela was told that the building would be handed over to her, complete according to the contract, by the first of March. The building was hidden away, so to speak, in a corner of vast Stepney, but already rumours were abroad concerning it, and the purpose for which it was erected. They were conflicting rumours. No one knew at all what was intended by it ; no one had been within the walls ; no one knew who built it. The place was situated so decidedly in the very heart and core of Stepney, that the outside public knew nothing at all about it, and the rumours ■were confined to the small folk round it. So it rose in their midst without being greatly regarded. No report or mention of ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 309 it came to Harry's ears, so that lie knew nothing of it, and sus- pected nothing, any more than he suspected Miss Kennedy of being some other person. The first of March in this present year of grace 1882 fell upon a Wednesday. Angela resolved that the opening day should be on Thursday, the second, and that she would open it herself: and then another thought came into her mind; and the longer sh& meditated upon it, the stronger hold did the idea take upon her. The Palace of Delight was not, she said, her own conception : it was that of the man — the man she loved. AVould it not be generous, in giving this place over to the people for whom it was built, to give its real founder the one reward which he asked ? Never any knight of old had been more loyal : he obeyed in the spirit as well as the letter her injunction not to speak of love , not only did he refrain from those good words which he would fain have uttered, but he showed no impatience, grumbled not, had no fits of sulking : he waited, patient. And in all other things he did her behest, working with a cheerful heart for her girls, always ready to amuse them, always at her service for things great and small, and meeting her mood with a ready sympathy. One evening, exactly a fortnight before the proposed opening day, Angela invited all the girls and, with them, her faithful old Captain, and her servant Harry, to follow her, because she had a Thing to show them. She spoke with great seriousness, and looked overcome with the gravity of this Thing. What was she going to show them ? They followed, wondering, while she led the way to the church, and then turned to the right among the narrow lanes of a part where, by some accident, none of the girls belonged. Presently she stopped before a great building. It was not lit up, and seemed quite dark and empty. Outside, the planks were not yet removed, and they were covered with gaudy advertise- ments, but it was too dark to see them. There was a broad porch above the entrance, with a generously ample ascent of steps like unto those of St. Paul's Cathedral. Angela rang a bell and the door was opened. They found themselves in an entrance hall of some kind, imperfectly lighted by a single gas jet._ There were three or four men standing about, apparently waiting for them, because one stepped forward, and said, — * Miss Messenger's party ? ' ' We are Miss Messenger's party,' Angela replied. 'Whoever we are,' said Harry, *we are a great mystery to ourselves.' * Patience,' Angela whispered. ' Part of the mystery is going to be cleared up.' 'Light up, Bill,' said one of the men. Then the whole place passed suddenly into daylight, for it waa lit by the electric globes. Jt "was a lofty vestibule. On either side were cloak-rooms; 310 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. opposite were entrance doors. But what was on tbe other tide ot these entrance-rooms none of them could guess, ' My friend,' said Angela to Ilarr}', * this place should be yours. It is of your creation.' 'What is it, then?' ' It is your Palace of Delight. Yes : nothing short of that. ^Yill you lead me into your Palace ? ' She took his arm, while he marvelled greatly, and asked himself what this miglit mean. One of the men then opened the doors, and they entered, followed by the wondering girls. They fonnd themselves in a lolty and very spacious hall. At the end was a kind of throne — a red velvet divan, semicircular tinder a canopy of- red velvet. Statues stood on either side : be- hind them was a great organ : upon the walls were pictures. Above the pictures were trophies in arms, tapestry carpets, all kinds of beautiful things. Above the entrance was a gallery for musicians; and on either side were doors leading to places of which they knew nothing. Miss Kennedy led the way to the semicircular divan at tlio end. She took the central place, and motioned the girls to arrange themselves about her. The effect of this little group sitting by themselves and in silence at the end of the great hall was very strange and wonderful. 'My dears,' she said after a moment — and the girls saw that her eyes were full of tears — 'my dears, I have got a wonderful etoiy to tell you. Listen. ' There was a girl, once, who had the great misfortune to bo born rich. It is a thing which many people desire. She, how- ever, who had it, knew what a misfortune it might become to her. For the possessor of great wealth, more especially if it be a woman, attracts all the designing and wicked people in the world, all the rogues and all the pretended philanthropists to her, as wasps are attracted by honey; and presently, by sad experience, fche gets to look on all mankind as desirous only of robbing and . deceiving her. This is a dreadful condition of mind to full into, because it stands in the way of love and friendship and trust, and all the sweet confidences which make us hapjiy. ' This girl's name was Messenger. Now, when she was quite yovmg she knew what was going to happen, unless she managed somehow difl'erently from other women in her unhappy position. And she determined as a first step to get rid of a large quantity of her wealth, so that the cupidity of the robbers might be diverted. ' Now, she had a humble friend — only a dressmaker — who, for reasons of her own, loved her, and would have served her if she could. And this dressmaker came to live at the East End of London. ' And she saw that the girls who have to work for their bread are treated in such a way that slavery would be a better lot ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 311 for most of tliein. For they luive to work twelve hours in the day, and sometimes uiore : they sit iu close, hot rooms, poisoned by ptis : tliey get uo change of position as tljo day goes on: they have uo holiday, uo respite, save on Sunday: they draw miserable wages, and tliey are indillerently fed. So that slie thought one good thing IMiss Messenger could do was to help those girls; and this was how our Association was founded.' * But we shall thank you, all the same,' said Kelly. 'Then another thing happeued. There was a young — gentle- man,' Angela went on, 'staying at the East End too. lie called himself a working man, said he was the son of a Sergeant in ti)e army, but everybody knew he was a gentleman. This dress- maker made his acquaintance, and tfilked with him a great deal. lie was full of idea^, and one day he proposed that we shouhl have a Palace of Deliglit. It would cost a great deal of money ; but they talked as if they liad that sum, and more, at their dis- posal. They arranged it all: they provided for everything. AVliea the scheme was fully drawn up, the dressmaker took it to Miss Messenger. Oh, my dear girls ! this is the Palace of Delight, It is built as they proposed ; it is finished j it is our own ; and here is its inventor.' She took Harry's hand. He stood beside her, gazing upon her impassioned face ; but he was silent. ' It looks cold and empty now, but when you see it on the opening day ; when you come here night after night ; when you get to feel the place to be a part, and the best part, of your life, tlien remember that what Miss Messenger did was nothing compared with what this — this young gentleman did. For he invented it.' ' Now,' she said, rising — they were all too much astonished to make a«y demonstration — * now let us examine the building. This Hall is your great Reception Iloom. You will use it for the ball nights, when you give your groat dances : a thousand couples may dance hero without crowding. On wet days it is to be the playground of the cliildren. It will hold a couple of thousand, without jostling against each other. There is the gallery for the music, as soon as you have got any.' She led the way to a door on the right. * This,' she said, 'is your Theatre.' It was like a Ilomau theatre, being built in the form of a semicircle, tier above tier, having uo distinction in places, save that some were nearer the stage and some farther off. 'Here,' she said, 'you will act. Do not think that players will be found for you. If you want a theatre you must find your own actors. If you want an orchestra you must find your own for your theatre, because in this place everything will be done by yourselves.' They came out of the Theatre. There was one other door on that side of the Hall. ' This,' said Angela, opening it, ' is the Concert Room. It has 312 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. an organ and a piano and a platform. When j'ou Lave got people who can play and sing you will give concerts.' They crossed the Hall. On the other side were two more great rooms, each as big as the Theatre and the Concert Room. One was a gymnasium, fitted up with bars and ropes and paralloi rods and trapezes. 'This is for the young men,' said Angela. 'They will be stimulated by prizes to become good gymnasts. The other room is the Library. Here they may come, when they please, to read and study.' It was a noble room, fitted with shelves and the beginning of a great library. ' Let us go upstairs,' said Angela. Upstairs the rooms were all small, but there were a great many of them. Thus there were billiard-rooms, card-rooms, rooms with chess, dominoes, and backgammon tables laid out, smoking-rooms for men alone, tea and cotfee rooms, rooms where women could sit by themselves if they pleased, and a room where all kinds of refreshments were to be procured. Above these was a second floor, which was called the School. This consisted of a great number of quite small rooms, fitted with desks, tables, and what- ever else might be necessary. Some of these rooms were called music-rooms, and were intended for instruction and practice on dilFerent instruments. Others were for painting, drawing, sculp- ture, modelling, wood-carving, leather-work, brasswork, em- broidery, lacework, and all manner of small arts, 'In the Palace of Delight,' said Angela, 'we shall not be like a troop of revellers, thinking of nothing but dance and song and feasting. We shall learn something every day; we shall all belong to some class. Those of us who know already will teach the rest. And oh ! the best part of all has to be told. Everything in the Palace will be done for nothing, except the mere cleaning and keeping in order. And if anybody is paid anything, it will be at the rate of a working man's wage — no more. For this is our own Palace, the club of the working people ; we will not let anybody make money out of it: we shall use it for ourselves, and we shall jiake our enjoyment by ourselves, ' All this is provided in the deed of trust by which Miss Messenger hands over the building to the people. There are three trustees. One of these, of course, is you — Mr. Goslett.' 'I have been so lost in amazement,' said Harry, 'that I have been unable to speak. Is this, in very truth, the Palace of Delight that we have battled over so long and so often ? ' 'It is none other. And you are a trustee to carry out the intentions of the founder — yourself,' They went downstairs again to the great Hall, ' Captain Sorensen,' Angela whispered, ' will you go home with the girls ? I will follow in a few minutes,' ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 313 Harry and Angela were left behind ia the Hall. She called the man in charge of the electric light, and said something to him. Then he went away and turned down the Uglit, and they were standing in darkness, save for the bright moon whicli shone through the windows and fell upon the white statues and made them look like two ghosts themselves standing among rows of other ghosts. * Harry,' said Angela. 'Do not mock me,' he replied, 'I am in a dream. This is not real. The place ' ' It is your own Palace of Delight. It will be given to the people in a fortnight. Are you pleased with your creation ? ' * Pleased ? And you ? ' ' I am greatly pleased. Harry' — it was the first time she had called hiui by his Christian name, — 'I promised you — I promised I would tell you — I would tell you— if the time should come ' ' Has the time come ? Oh, my dear love, has tlie time come ? ' ' There is nothing in the way. But oh! — Harry — are you in the same mind ? No — wait a moment.' She held him by the wrists ; ' Remember what you are doing. Will you choose a life- time of work among working people? You can go back, now, to your old life; but — perhaps — you will not be able to go back, then.' ' I have chosen, long ago. You know my choice — oh ! love — my love.' ' Then, Harry, if it will make you happy — are you quite sure it will ? — you shall marry me on the day when the Palace is opened.' • ••••• * You are sure,' she said presently, ' that you can love me, thougli I am only a dressmaker ? ' * Could I love you,' he replied passionately, * if you were any- thing else ? ' o * You have never told me,' he said presently, ' your Christian name.' ' It is Angela.' 'Angela ! I should have known it could have been no other. Angela, kind Heaven, surely, sent you down to stay awhile with me. If in time to come you should be ever unhappy with me, dear, if you should not be able to bear any longer with my faults, you would leave me and go back to the heaven whence you came.' • ••••• They parted, that night, on the steps of Mrs. Bormalack'3 dingy old boarding-house, to both so dear. But Harry, for half the night, paced the pavement, trying to calm the tumult of his thoughts. ' A life of work — with Angela — with Angela ? Why, how small, how pitiful seemed all other kinds of life in which AngeUi, was not concerned ! ' 814 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MUN. CHAPTER XLVin. MY lADY S^rEET. Mt story, alas ! has come to nn eud, accordinfj' to the nature of all earthly tilings. The love vow8 are exchanged, the girl has given herself to the man — rich or poor. My frieuda, if you come to think of it, no girl is so rich that she can give more, or so poor that she can give less, than herself; and in love one asks not for more or less. Even the day is appointed, and nothing is going to happen which will prevent the blessed wedding bells from ringing, or the clergyman from the sacred joining together of man and of maid, till death do part them. What more to tell? We ouglit lo drop the curtain while the moonlight pours through tlie windows of the silent Palace upon the lovers, while the gods and goddesses, nymphs, naiads, and oreads in marble look on in sympathetic joy. They, too, in tlie far-off ages, among the woods and springs of Jlellas, lived and loved, though their forests know them no more. Yet, because this was no ordinary marriage, and because we are sorry to part with Angela before the day when she begins her wedded life, we must fain tell of what passed in that brief fortnight before the Palace was opened, and Angela's great and noble dream became a reality. There was, first of all, a grcal deal of business to be set in order. Angela had interviews with her lawyers, and settlements had to be drawn up about which JIarry knew nothing, though ho would have to sign them ; then there were the trust deeds for the Palace. Angela named Harry, Dick Coppin, the old Chartist, now her firm and fast friend, and Lord Jocelyn, as joint trustees. They were to see, first of all, that no one got anything out of the Palace unless it might be workmen's wages for work done. They were to carry out tlie spirit of the house in making the place sup- port and feed itself, so that whatever amusements, plays, dances, interludes, or mummeries, were set afoot, all might be by the people themselves for themselves; and they were to do their utmost to keep out the discordant elements of politics, religion, and party controversy. AH the girls knew by this time that Miss Kennedy was to bo married on the second of March — the day when the Palace was to be opened. They also learned, because the details were arranged and talked over every evening, that the opening would be on a ■very grand scale indeed. Miss Messenger herself was coming to band it over in person to the trustees on behalf of the people of Stepney and Whitchapel. I'here was to be the acting of a play in the new theatre, a recital on the new organ, the performance of a concert in the new concert-room, playing all the evening long by a military band, some sort of general entertainment, and the wholo ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 315 was to be terminated by ut you could not deceive a man who's had bis quarter-deck "full of ladies. The only question in my mind was wliy you did it.' ' You did not think tliat what Bnnker said was true — did you, Captain Sorensen ? ' ' Nay,' he replied. * Bunker never liked you ; and how I am to thank you enough for all you've done for my poor girl ' 'Thank me by continuing to be my dear friend and adviser,' .«aid Angela. ' If I thought it would pleasure you to live out of this place ' ' No, no,' said the Captain, ' I could not take your money ; any one may accept the provision of the asylum and bo grateful.' 'T knew you would say so. Stay on, then, Captain Sorensen. And as regards Nelly, my dear and ibnd Nelly '^ It needs not to tell what she said and promised on behalf of Nelly. And at the house the girls were trying on the new white frocks and white bonnets in which they were to go to the wedding. They were all bridesmaids, but Nelly had the post of honour. CHAPTER XLIX. ' UPROUSE TE THEN", MY MERKT, MERRY MEN.' At nine iu the morning Harry presented himself at the house, no longer his own, for the signing of certain papers. The place wai closed for a holida\', but the girls were already assembling in the ehow-room, getting their dresses laid out, trying on their gloves, and chattering like birds up in the branches on a fine spring niorn- Ing. He found Angela sitting with an elderly gentleman — none ' '•'•Do you ddibej'ately choose a life of work and atnbitioti — zvith — perhaps — poverty / " ' ALL SORTS AN'D CONDITIONS OF MEN. 310 other tlum llie senior pjirtner in llie firm of her solicitors. ITe had a quantity of documents on tlie table before him, and ns Ilany opened the door he lieard these remarkable words :^ ' So the young man does not Imow — even at the eleventh hour ! ' "What it was he would learn, IJarry cared not to inquire. Tie had been told that there was a secret of some sort which lie would learn in the course of the day. 'Tliese papers, Harry,' said his bride, 'are certain documents which you have to'sign, connected witli that little fortune of wliich I told you.' *I hope,' said ITarry, 'that the fortune, whatever it is, has been all settled upon yourself absolutely.' 'You will find young gentleman,' said the solicitor gravely, ' that ample justice — generous justice — has been done you. Very well, I will say no more.' ' Do you want me to sign v,'ithout reading, Angela? ' ' Tf you will so far trust me.' lie took the pea and signed where he was told to sign, with- out reading one word. If he had been ordered to sign away \\u life and liberty, he would have done so blindly and cheerfully at Angela's bidding. The deed was signed, and the act of signature was witnessed. So that was done. There now remained only the ceremony. While the solicitor, who evidently disliked the whole proceeding, as irregular and dangerous, was putting up the papers, Angela took her lover's hands in hers, and looked into his face with her frank and searching look. 'You do not repent, my poor Harry? ' < Repent ? ' ' You might have done so much better : you might have married a lady ' The solicitor, overhearing these words, sat down and rubbed his nose with an unprofessional smile. ' Shall I not marry a lady P ' ' You might have found a rich bride: you might have led a lazy life, with nothing to do, instead of which — oh ! Harry, there is* still time. We are not due at the church for half an hour yet. Think, Do you deliberately choose a life of work and ambition — with — perhaps — poverty ? ' At this point the solicitor rose from his chair and walked softl/ to the window, where he remained for live minutes looking out upon Stepney Greeii. with his back to the lovers. If Ilarr}' had been watching him, he would have remarked a curious tremuloua movement of the shoulders. 'There is one thing more, Harry, that I have to ask you.' 'Of course, you have only to ask me, whatever it is. Could I refuse you anything, who will give me so much ? ' Their fingers were interlaced, their eyes were looking into each other. No j he could refuse her nothing. 320 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. ' I give you much ? Oh ! Harrv — what is a woman's gift of herself?' Harry restrained himself. The solicitor might be sympathetic ; but, on the whole, it was best to act as if he was not. Law has little to do with Love: Cupid has never yet been represented with the long gown. ' It is a strange request, Harry. It is connected with my — my little foolish secret. You will let me go away directly the service is over, and you will consent not to see me again until the evening, when I shall return. You, with all the girls, will meet me in the porch of the Palace at seven o'clock exactly. And, as JNIiss Messenger will come too, you will make your — perhaps your last appearance — my poor boy — in the character of a modern English gentleman in evening dress. Tell your best man that he is to give his arm to Nelly: the other girls will follow two and two. Oh, Harry, the first sound of the organ in your Palace will be your own Wedding March : the first festival in your Palace will be in your own honour. Is not that what it should be ? ' * In your honour, dear, not mine. And Miss Messenger ? Are we to give no honour to her who built the Palace ? ' ' Oh ! yes — yes — yes.' She put the question by with a careless gesture. ' But anyone who happened to have the money could do such a simple thing. The honour is yours because you invented it.' ' From your hands, Angela, I will take all the honour that you please to give. So am I doubly honoured.' There were no wedding bells at all : the organ was mute : the Parish Cburch of Stepney was empty : the spectators of the marriage were Mrs. Bormalack and Captain Sorensen, besides the girls and the bridegroom, and Dick his best man. The Captain in the Salva- tion Army might have been present as well ; he had been asked, but he was lying on the sick bed from which he was never to rise again. Lord and Lady Davenant wore there : the former sleek, well contented, well dressed in broadcloth of the best ; the latter agitated, restless, humiliated, because she had lost the thing she came across the Atlantic to claim, and was going home, after the splendour of the last three mouths, to the monotonous levels of Canaan City. Who could love Canaan City after the West End T>f London ? What woman would look forward with pleasure to the dull and uneventful days, the local politics, the chapel squabbles, the little gatherings for tea and supper, after the enjoyment of a carriage and pair, and unlimited theatres, operas, and concerts, and footmen, and such dinners as the average American, or the average Englishman either, seldom arrives atseeing, even in visions ? Sweet content was gone : and though Angela meant well, and it was kind of her to afi"ord the ambitious lady a glimpse of that great world into which she desired to enter, the sight — even this Pisgah glimpse — of asocial Paradise to which she couLl never belong, de- stroyed her peace of mind, and she will for the rest of her life lie ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 321 on a rock deploring. Not so lier husband : Lis future is assured ; be can eat and drink plentifully ; be can sleep all the morning un- disturbed ; be is relieved of the anxieties connected with bi3 Case : and though the respect due to rank is not recognised in the States, be has to bear none of its responsibilities, and has altogether abandoned the Grand Manner. At the same time, as one who very nearly became a British Peer, his position in Canaan City is enormously raised. They, then, were in the church. They drove thither, not in Miss Messenger's carriage, but with Lord Jocelyn. They arrived a quarter of an hour before the ceremony. When the curate who was to perform the ceremony arrived, Lord Jocelyn sought him in the vestry and showed him a special licence by which it was pronounced lawful, and even laudable, for ILarry Goslett, bachelor, to take unto wife Angela Marsden Messenger, spinster. And at sight of that name did the curate's knees begin to tremble, and his hands to shake. 'Angela Marsden Messenger? Is it, then,' he asked, 'the great heiress ? ' 'It is none other,' said Lord Jocelyn. 'And she marries my ward — here is my card — by special licence.' * But — but — is it a clandestine marriage ? ' ' Not at all. There are reasons why Miss Messenger desires to be married in Stepney. With them we have nothing to do. She has, of late, associated herself with many works of bene- volence, but anonymously. In fact, my dear sir ' — here Lord Jocelyn looked profoundly knowing — ' my ward, the bridegroom, has always known her under another name, and even now does not know whom he is marrying. When we sign the books, we must, just to keep the secret a little longer, manage that he shall write his own name without seeing the names of the bride.' This seemed very irregular in the eyes of the curate, and at first he was for referring the matter to the rector, but finally gave in, on the understanding that he was to be no party to any concealment. And presently the wedding party walked slowly up the aisle, and Harry, to his great astonishment, saw his bride on Lord Jocelyn's arm. There were cousins of the Messengers in plenty who should have done this duty, but Angela would invite none of them. She came alone to Stepney ; she lived and worked in the place alone ; she wanted no consultation or discussion with the cousins ; she would tell them when all was done ; and she knew very well that so great an heiress as herself could do nothing but what is right, when one has time to recover from the shock, and to settle down and think things over. No doubt, though we have nothing to do with the outside world in this story, there was a tremendous rustling of skirts, shaking of hands, tossing of curls, wagging of tongues, and up- Y 322 ALL SORTS AND CONDITLONS OF MEN. lifting of hands, the next morning when Angela's cards were received, and the news was in all the papers. And there was Buch a run upon interjections that the vocabulary broke down, and people were fain to cry to one another in foreign tongues. For thus the announcement ran: — • On Thursday, March 20, at the Parish Church, Stepney, Harry, son of the late Samuel Goslett, Sergeant in the 120th Regiment of the Line, to Angela Marsden, daughter of the late John ]\Iarsden Messenger, and granddaughter of the late John Messenger, of Portman Square and Whitechapel.' This was a.pretty blow among the cousins. The greatest heiress in England, whom they had hoped would marry a duke, or a marquis, or an earl at least, had positively and actually married the son of a common soldier — well, a non-commissioned officer — the same thing. What did it mean? What coxdd \% mean ? Others, who knew Harry and his story, who had sympathy with him on account of his many good qualities; who owned that the obscurity of his birth was but an accident shared with him by many of the most worthy, excellent, brilliant, useful, well-bred, delightful men of the world ; rejoiced over the strange irony of Fate which had first lifted this soldier's son out of the gutter, and then, with apparent malignity, dropped him back again, only, however, to raise him once more far higher than before. For, indeed, the young man was now rich — with his vats and his mashtubs, his millions of casks, his Old and his Mild and his Bitter, and his Family at nine shillings the nine-gallon cask, and his accumulated millions, ' beyond the potential dream of avarice.' If he chooses to live more than half his time in Whitechapel, that is no concern of anybody's ; and if his wife chooses to hold a sort of court at the abandoned East, to surround herself with people unheard of in society, not to say out of it, why should she not ? Any of the Royal princes might have done the same thing if they had chosen and had been well advised. Further, if, between them, Angela and her husband have estab- lished a superior Aquarium, a glorified Crystal Palace, in which all the shows are open, all the performers are drilled and trained amateurs, and all the work actually is done for nothing ; in which the management is by the people themselves, who will have no interference from priest or parson, rector or curate, philanthropist or agitator ; and no patronage from societies, well-intentioned young ladies, meddling benevolent persons and officious promoters, starters, and shovers-along, with half an eye fixed on heaven and the remaining eye and a half on their own advancement ; if, in fact, they choose to do these things, why not ? It is an excellent way of spending their time, and a change from the monotony of society. Again, it is said that Harry, now Harry Messenger, by the provision of old John Messenger's will, is the President, or the ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 323 Chairman, or the Honorary Secretary, in fact, the spring and stay and prop, of a new and most formidable Union or Association, which threatens, unless it bo nipped in the bud, very considerable things of the greatest importance to the country. It is, in fact, a League of Working Men for the Promotion and Advancement of their own interests. Its Prospectus sets forth that, having looked ia t-aiu, among the candidates for the House of Commons, for any representative who had been in the past, or was likely to be in the future, of the slightest use to them in the House ; having found that neither Conservatives, nor Liberals, nor Padicals, have ever been, or are ever likely to be, prepared with any real measure which should in the least concern themselves and their own wants ; and fully recognising the fact that in the Debates of the House the interests of labour and the duties of Government towards the labouring classes are never recognised or understood ; the working men of the country hereby form themselves into a General League or Union, which shall have no other object whatever than the study of their own rights and interests. The question of wages ■will be left to the ditierent Unions, except in such cases where there is no Union, or where the men are inarticulate (as in the leading case, now some ten years old, of the gas stokers), through ignorance and drink. And" the immediate questions before the Union will be, first, the dwelling-houses of the working men, which are to be made clean, safe, and healthy ; next, their food and drink, which are to be unadulterated, pure, and genuine, and are to pass through no mere hands than is necessary, and to be distributed at the actual cost price without the intervention of small shops; next, instruction, for which purpose the working men will elect their own School Boards, and burn all the foolish reading books at present in use, and abolish spelling as a part of education, and teach the things necessary for all trades; next, clothing, which will be made for them by their own men work- ing for themselves, without troubling the employers of labour at all ; next, a newspaper of their own, which will refuse any place to political agitators, leaders, partisans, and professional talkers, and be devoted to the questions which really concern working men, and especially the question of how best to employ the Power which is in their hands, and report continually what is doing, what must be done, and how it must be done. And lastly, emigration, so that in every family it shall be considered necessary for some to go, and the whole country shall be mapped out into "diitricts, and only a certain number be allowed to remain. Now, the world being so small as it is, and Englishmen and Scotchmen being so masterful that they must needs go straight to the front and stay there, it cannot but happen that the world will presently — that is, in two generations, or three at the most — be overrun with the good old English blood : whereupon until the round earth gets too small, which will not happen for another ten thousand years or so, there will be the purest, most delightful, t2 321 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. and most heavenly Millennium. Eich people may come into it if they please, but they will not be wanted : in fact, rich people will die out, and it will soon come to be considered an unhappy thing, as it undoubtedly is, to be born rich. Lastly, the Union will devote part of its energies to the con- sideration of how life may be made happy. • • « • • t • ' Whose daughters ye are,' concluded the curate, closing his book, 'as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement.' He led the way into the vestry, where the book lay open, and sitting at the table he made the proper entries. Then Harry took his place and signed. Now, behold ! as he took the pen in his hand. Lord Jocelyn artfully held blotting- paper in readiness, and in such a manner as to hide the name of the bride : then Angela signed : then the witnesses. Lord Jocelyn and Captain Sorensen. And then there were shakings of hand and kissings. And before they came away the curate ventured timidly to whisper congratulations, and that he had no idea of the honour — — And then Angela stopped him, and bade him to her wedding feast that evening at the new Palace of Delight. Then Lord Jocelyn distributed largess, the largest kind of largess, among the people of the church. But it surely was the strangest of weddings. For when they reached the church door the bride and bridegroom kissed each other, and then he placed her in the carriage, in which the Davenants and Lord Jocelyn also seated themselves, and so they drove off. ' We shall see her again to-night,' said Harry. ' Come, Dick, ■we have got a long day to get through^seven hours. Let us go for a walk. I can't sit down : I can't rest : I can't do anything. Let us go for a walk, and wrangle.' They left the girls and strode away, and did not return until it was past six o'clock, and already growing dark. The girls, in dreadful lowness of spirits, and feeling as flat as 80 many pancakes, returned to tl\eir house and sat down with their hands in their laps, to do nothing for seven hours. Did one ever hear that the maidens at a marriage — do the customs of any country present an example of such a thing — returned to the bride's house without either bride or bridegroom ? Did one ever hear of a marriage where the groom left the bride at the church door, and went away for a six hours' walk ? As for Captain Sorensen, he went to the Palace and pottered about, getting snubbed by the persons in authority. There was still much to be done before the evening, but there was time ; all would be done. Presently he went away ; but he, too, was rest- less and agitated : he could not rest at home : the possession of the secret, the thought of his daughter's future, the strange and un- looked-for happiness that had come to him in his old age — these ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN 325 things agitated him ; nor could even his fiddle bring him any con,- eolation ; and the peacefulness of the Almshouse, which generally soothed him, this day irritated him. Therefore he wandered about, and presently appeared at the House, where he took dinner with the girls, and they talked about what would happen. The first thing that happened was the arrival of a cart — a spring cart — with the name of a Regent Street firm upon it. The men took out a great quantity of parcels aud brought them into the show-room. All the girls ran down to see what it meant, because on so great a day everything, said Nelly, must mean something. ' Name of Armitage ? ' asked the man. * This is for you, Miss. — Name of Sorensen ? This is for you.' And so on, a parcel for every one of the girls. Then he went aAvay, and they all looked at each other. * Hadn't you better,' asked Captain Sorensen, ' open the parcels, girls ? ' They opened them. ' Oh h ! ' Behold ! for every girl such a present as none of them had ever imagined ! The masculine pen cannot describe the sweet things which they found there ; not silks and satins, but pretty things ; with boots, because dressmakers are apt to be shabby in the matter of boots ; and with handkerchiefs and pretty scarves and gloves and serviceable things of all sorts. More than this : there was a separate parcel tied up in white paper for every girl, and on it, in pencil, * For the wedding supper at the Palace of Delight.' And in it gauze, or lace, for brides- maids' head-dress, and white kid gloves, and a necklace with a locket, and inside the locket a portrait of Miss Kennedy, and out- side her Christian name, Angela, Also for each girl a little note, ' For , with Miss Messenger's love ; ' but for Nelly, whose parcel was like Benjamin's mess, the note was, ' For Nelly, with Miss Messenger's kindest love.' 'That,' said Eebekah, but without jealousy, 'is because you were Miss Kennedy's favourite. "Well ! Miss Messenger must be fond of her, and no wonder ! ' ' No wonder at all,' said Captain Sorensen, And nobody guessed. Nobody had the least suspicion. While they were all admiring and wondering Mrs. Bormalack ran over breathless. ' My dears ! ' she cried, * look what's come ! ' Nothing less than a beautiful black silk dress, 'Now go away, Captain Sorensen,' she said; 'you men are only hindering. And we've got to try on things. Oh ! good gra- cious ! To think that Miss Messenger would remember me, of all people in the world ! To be sure, Mr. Bormalack was one of her collectors, and she may have heard about me ' ' No,' said Eebekah, * it is through Miss Kennedy ; no one has been forgotten who knew her.' 326 ALL SORTS AXB CONDITIONS OF MEN. At seven o'clock that evening the great hciU of the Palace was pretty vrell filled with guests. Some of them, armed with white wands, acted as stewards, and it was understood that on the arrival of Miss Messenger a lane was to be formed and the procession to the dais at the end of the hall was to pass through that lane. Outside, in the ve--tibule, stood the wedding partv waiting: the bridegroom with his best man, and the bridesmaids in their white dresses, flowiug gauze and necklaces, and gloves, and flowers — a very sweet and beautiful bevy of girls ; Harry for the last time in his life, he thought with a sigh, in evening dress. "Within the hall there were strange rumours flying about. It was said that Miss Messenger herself had been married that morning, and that the procession would be for her wedding; but others knew better: it was Miss Kennedy's wedding ; she had married Harry Goslett, the man they called Gentleman Jack ; and Miss Kennedy, everybody knew, was patronised by Miss Messenger. At ten minutes past seven, two carriages drew up. From the first of these descended Harry's bride, led by Lord Jocelyn; and from the second the Davenants. Yes, Harry's bride. But whereas in the morning she had been dressed in a plain white frock and white bonnet like her brides- maids ; she was now arrayed in white satin, mystic, wonderful, with white veil and white flowers, and round her white throat a necklace of sparkling diamonds, and diamonds in her hair. Harry stepped forward witli beating heart. ' Take her, boy,' said Lord Jocelyn proudly. ' But you have married — not Miss Kennedy at all — but Angela Messenger.' Harry took his bride's hand in a kind of stupor. What did Lord Jocelyn meaii ? 'Forgive me, Harry,' she said, ' say you forgive me.' Then he raised her veil and kissed her forehead before them all. But he could not speak, because all in a moment the sense of what this would mean poured upon his brain in a great wave, and he would fain have been alone. It was Miss Kennedy indeed, but glorified into a great ladv; oh!— oh— MISS MESSENGER! The girls, frightened, were shrinking together ; even Eebekah was afraid at the great and mighty name of Messenger. Angela went among them, and kissed them all with words of encouragement. ' Can you not love me, Nelly,' she said, ' as well when I am rich as when I was poor ? ' Then the chief officers iu the Brewery advanced, offering congratulations in timid accents, because they knew now that Miss Kennedy the dressmaker, of whom such hard things had been sometimes said in their own presence and by their own wives, was no other than the sole partner in the i3rewery, and that her husband had worked among them for a daily wage. What did these things mean ? They made respectable men afraid. One person there was, however, who at sight of Miss ALL SORTS AXD CONDITIO XS OF ME.Y. 327 Messenger, for whom he was waiting -witli anxious heart, having a great desire to present his own case of unrewarded zeal, turned pale, and broke through the crowd with violence and fled. It was Uncle Bunker. And then the stewiirds appeared at the open doors, and tho procession was formed. First the stewards themselves — being all clerks of the Brewery — walked proudly at the head, carrying their white wands like rifles. Next came Harry and the bride, at sight of whom the guests shouted and roared : next came Dick Coppin with Nelly, and Lord Jocelyn with Rebekah, and the Chief Brewer with Lady Davenant, of course in her black velvet and wax paint, and Lord Davenant with Mrs. Bormalack, and the Chief Accountant with another bridesmaid, and Captain Sorensen with another, and then the rest. Then the organ burst into a Wedding March, rolling and pealing about the w.alls and roof of the mighty hall, and amid its melodious thunder, and the shouts of the wedding guests, Harry led his bride slowly through the lane of curious and rejoicing faces, till they reached the dais. When all were arranged, with the bride seated in the middle, her husband standing at her right and the bridesmaids grouped behind them. Lord Jocelyn stepped to the front and read in a loud voice part of the deed of gift, which he then gave with a profound bow to Angela, who placed it in her husband's hands. Then she stepped forward and raised her veil, and stood before them all, beautiful as the day, and with tears in her eyes. Yet she spoke in firm and clear accents which all could hear. It was her first and last public speech ; for Angela belongs to that rapidly diminishing body of women who prefer to let the men do all the public speaking. * My dear friends,' she said, ' my kind friends : I wish first that you should clearly understand that this Palace has been invented and designed for you by my husband. All I have done is to build it. Now it is yours, with all it contains. I pray God that it may be used worthily, and for the joy and happiness of all. I declare this Palace of Delight open, the property of the people, to be administered and governed by them and them alone, in trust for each other.' This was all she said, and the people cheered again, and the organ played ' God save the Queen.' With this simple ceremony was the Palace of Delight thrown open to the world. What better beginning could it have than a wedding party ? What better omen could there be than that the Palace, like the Garden of Eden, should begin with the happiness of a wedded pair? At this point there presented itself, to those who drew up the programme, a ^rave practical difliculty. It was this. The Palace 328 ALL SOETS AA^B CONDITIONS OF MEN. could only be declared open in the Great Hall itself. Also, it could be only in the Great Hall that the banquet could take place. Now, how were the fifteen hundred guests to be got out of the way and amused while the tables were laid and the cloth spread ? There could not be, it is true, the splendour and costly plate and epergnes and flowers of my Lord Mayor's great dinner, but ornament of some kind there must be upon the tables ; and even with an army of drilled waiters it takes time to lay covers for fifteen hundred people. But there was no confusion. Once more the procession was formed and marched round the hall, headed by the band of the Guards, visiting first the gymnasium, then the library, then the concert-room, and lastly the theatre. Here they paused, and the bridal party took their seats. The people poured in : when every seat was taken the stewards invited the rest into the concert-room. In the theatre a little sparkling comedy was played : in the concert- room a troupe of singers discoursed sweet madrigals and glees. Outside, the waiters ran backwards and forwards as busy as Dio- genes with his tub, but more to the purpose. When, in something over an hour, the performances were finished, the stewards found that the tables were laid, one running down the whole length of the hall, and shorter ones across the hall. Everybody had a card with his place upon it : there was no confusion, and while trumpeters blared a welcome, they all took their places in due order, Angela and her husband sat in the middle of the long table ; at Angela's left hand was Lord Jocelyn, at Harry's right Lady Davenant. Opposite the bride and bridegroom sat the Chief Brewer and the Chief Accountant. The bridesmaids spread out right and left. All Angela's friends and acquaintancesof Stepney Green were there, except three. For old Mr, Maliphant was sitting as usual in the boarding house, conversing with unseen persons and laughing and brandishing a pipe ; and with him Daniel Fagg sat hugging his book. And in his own office sat Bunker, sick at heart. For he remembered his ohicious private letter to Miss Messenger, and he felt that he had, indeed, gone and done it. The rest of the long table was filled up by the clerks and superior officers of the Brewery : at the shorter tables sat the rest of the guests, including even the draymen and errand-boys. And so the feast began, while the band of the Guards played for them. It was a royal feast, with the most magnificent cold sirloins of roast beef and rounds of salt beef, legs of mutton, saddles of mutton, haunches of mutton, loins of veal, ribs of pork, legs of pork, great hams, huge turkeys, capons, fowls, ducks, and geese, all done to a turn ; so that the honest guests fell to with a mighty will, and wished that such a wedding might come once a month at least, with such a supper. And Messenger's beer, as much as ALL SORTS AND CONDITIOXS OF MEN: 329 yon pleased, for everybody. At a moment like this, would one, even at the IIip:li Table, venture to ask, to say nothing of wishing, for aupht but Messenger's beer ? After the hacked and mangled remains of the first course were removed there came puddings, pies, cakes, jellies, ices, blanc- mange, all kinds of delicious things. And after this was done, and eating was stayed, and only the memory left of the enormous feed, the Chief Brewer rose and pro- posed in a few words the health of the bride and bridegroom. lie said that it would be a lasting sorrow to all of them that they had not been present at the auspicious event of the morning ; but that it was in some measure made up to them by the happiness they had enjoyed together that evening. If anything, he added, could make them pray more heartily for the happiness of the bride, it would be the thought that she refused to be married from her house in the West End, but came to Stepney among the workmen and managers of her own Biewery, and preferred to celebrate ber wedding feast in the magnificent hall which she had given to the people of the place. And he had one more good thing to tell them. Miss Messenger, when she gave that precious thing, her hand, retained her name. There would still be a Mes- senger at the head of the good old House. Harry replied in a few words, and the wedding cake went round. Then Dick Coppin proposed success to the Palace of Delight. * Harry,' whispered Angela, ' if you love me, speak now, from your very heart.' He sprang to his feet, and spoke to the people as they had never heard any yet speak. After telling them what the Palace was, what it was meant to be, a place for the happiness and recreation of all ; how they were to make their own amusements for themselves ; how there were class-rooms where all kinds of arts and accomplishments would be taught ; how, to ensure order and good behaviour, it was necessary that they should form their own volunteer police ; how there were to be no politics and no controversies within those walls, and how the management of all was left to committees of their own choosing, he said, — * Friends all, this is, indeed, such a thing as the world has never yet seen. You have been frequently invited to join together and combine for the raising of wages : you are continually invited to follow leaders who promise to reform land laws, when you have no land and never will have any ; to abolish the House of Lords, in which you have no part, share, or lot ; to sweep away a Church which does not interfere with you ; but who have nothing — no, nothing to offer you, out of which any help or advantage will come to you. And you are always being told to consider life as a long period of resignation under inevitable suffering ; and you are toli to submit your reason, your will, yourselves, to authority, and all will be well with you. No one yet has given you the chancis of Z 330 ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF NEN. maliin^ yourselves happy. In this place you will find, or you -will make for yourselves, all the things which make the lives of the rich happy. Here }0u will have music, dancing, singing, acting, painting, reading, games of skill, games of chance, companionship, cheerfulness, light, warmth, comfort — everytliing. When these things have been enjoyed for a time they will become a necessity for you, and a part of the education for your young people. They will go on to desire other things which cannot be found by any others for you, but wliich must be found by yourselves and for yourselves. My wife has placed in your hands the materials for earthly joy : it lies with you to learn how to use them : it lies ■with you to find wluit other things are necessary ; how the people •who have all the Power there is, must find out what they want, and help themselves to it, standing shoulder to shoulder by means of that Power: how those enemies are not the rich, whom your brawlers in Whitechapel Road ignorantly accuse, but quite another kind— and you must find out for yourselves who these are. It is not by setting poor against rich, or by hardening the heart of rich against poor, that you will succeed : it is by independence and by knowledge. All sorts and conditions of men are alike. As are the vices of the rich, so are your own ; as are your virtues, so are theirs. But, hitherto, the rich have had things which you could not get. Now all that is altered: in the Palace of Delight we are equal to the richest : there is nothing which we, too, cannot have : what they desire we desire ; what they have we shall have : we can all love ; we can all laugh ; we can all feel the power of music; we can dance and sing; or we can sit in peace and medi- tate. In this Palace, as in the outer world, remember that you have the Power. The time for envy, hatred, and accusations has gone by : because we working men have, at last, all the Power there is to have. Let us use it well. But the Palace will be for joy and happiness, not for political wrangles. Brothers and sisters, we will no longer sit down in resignation : we will take the same joy in this world that the rich have taken. Life is short for us all : let us make the most of it for ourselves and for each other. There are so many joys within our reach; there are so many miseries which we can abolish. In this house, which is a Temple of Praise, we shall all together continually be thinking how to bring more sunshine into our lives, more change, more variety, more happiness.' A serious ending; because Harry spoke from his heart. _ As he took his seat in deep silence, the organ broke forth again and played, while the people stood, the grand Old Hundredth Psalm. 'a serious ending to the feast ; but Life is serious. • • * • • • Ten minutes later the bride rose, and the band played a joyful march, while the wedding procession once more formed and marched down the hall, and the people poured out into the streets ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN. 331 to cbeer, and Angela and her husband drove away for their honeymoon. The Palace of Delight is in working order now, and Stepney is already transformed. A new period began on tbe opening night for all who were present. For the first time they under- stood that life may be happy : for the first time they resolved that they would find out for themselves the secret of happiness. The angel with the flaming sword has at last stepped from the gates of the earthly Paradise, and we may now enter therein and taste, unreproved, of all the fruits except the apples of the Tree of Life —which has, indeed, been removed, long since, to another Place. LOXDOS' : PEIKTED B? 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