a eee SITY OF VIRGINIA LIB / sii X0041 23421Ra cs SEE PADRNPRL? NOY ES CAP LALN dD ARR Ye THE PHANTOM: SHIiE FHE “DOG FIEND OLA PODEID.S THE POACHER THE AUTHOR’S COP VRIGHT EDITION LONDON GEORGE WOU tae) oe AND SONS THe BROADWAY, LUDGATE BROOME STR PEs NEW YORK: 410‘loge Pianaom Ss a1p BY CAPTAIN. MARRY Aik AUTHOR OF ‘' PETER SIMPLE, ETC, AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION LONDON EEORGE ROUTLEDGE ADMD SONS Tur Broapway, LUDGATE NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET.aor t CHAPTER: £, ABOUT the middle of the snteenth century in t outskirts of t small but fort 1 tow of ‘Terne , Situated on the right bank o the Schelct, and n y opp » the islan ol W | .. t] ere W sto en in adva of a few other « m hun tenements a sma Dut co ex bu t ac aqaing | k : the } ulling taste of the time. ‘The outsid front had )] years kK, been. p | of a ( po ge, the w \ and shutters o a \ d green ‘To about ee feet above the Suriace of the earth, was faced alternately with blue and lite t \ small garden, of about two rod ff our measure of land TO le 1 t ed f and t S litt | ) was I flanked bya lo of privet, and encircled by f of wa le to be leaped With ease. O hat ] of t hic] W in front of t cot 1001 1sma al nat i th < ted |] l har for t of Dp ng But the co f I ty which the cottage i been decorated, had now faded : mpt of rapid decay w evident in the na I >. Ra in and othe! wooden p the tenem nt, and many of the white and blue tiles had fallen down, and had not been replaced. That1 care had once been bestowed upc this little tenement, was as evident as that latterly it had been equally neglected. he inside of the cottage, both on tl basement and the floor above, was divided into two larger rooms in front, and two smaller behind; the rooms in front could only be called large in comparison with the other two, as they were little more than twelve feet Square, with but one window toeach. The ated to the smaller he upper floor was, as appropri bedrooms; on the lower, th e two rooms were now wu ed only as a washhouse and a lumber-room: while one of the larger was fitted up as a kitchen, and furnished with dressers, on which the metal utensils for cookery shone clean and polished as silver. PHANTOM Che 1 f was rupulously neat : but the furniture, well as the utensils, were scanty | b ls of the floor were of a pure white, and so clean that you might have laid anything down without fear of soil A strong deal table, two wooden-seated chairs, and a nall easy couch, which had n removed from ol were all the m« tained. The ot the bedrooms upstairs ae ich t roon her front room had been fitted l DI yveapies wh up as aparlour ; but what might be the style of its furniture was now unknown, for no eye had beheld the contents ofthat room for nearly seven- 1u1 which it h id been h even to the inmates of the cottage. ‘hen, which we have de ine occupied by two pe “sons One was aw nan, rently about forty years of age, but worn down by pain and suffering. She had evi dently once possessed much beauty; there W { |! the regular outlines, the noble fore- head, and the large, dark eye: but there was a tenuity in her features, a wasted appearance, such as to render the flesh transparent ; her brow, when she mused, would sink into dee] and thougn they were ; lashing of her eyes strontly Impressed you w the idea of insanity. There appeared to be some deep-seated, irremove- able, hopele cal of angui never for one moment permitted to be al it from her memory: a chronic oppression, fixed and graven there, only to be removed by death. sne wa dre 1 in the widow's coif of the time; but although clean and neat, her gar- — ow " CS} — - ym long wea she was ich we have lown as a relief ments were faded fre seated upon the small couch wh mentioned, evidently brought ¢ to her, in her declining state. On the deal table in the centre of the room sat the other person, a stout, fair-haired, florid youth of nineteen or twenty years old. His features were handsome and bold, and his frame powerful to excess; his eye denoted courage and determination, and as he care- lessly swung his legs, and whistled an air in an emphatic manner, it was impossible not4 to form the idea that he was a daring, adven- turous, and reckless character. Wo nct go. to Sed, Philip ; oh, promise me “hat, my dear, dear child,” said the female, clasping her hands. “And why not go tosea, mother?” replied Philip; ‘‘ what's the use of mystaying here to starve ?—for, by Heaven! it’s little better. I must do something for myself and for you. And what else can I do? My uncle, Van Brennen has offered to take me with him, and will give me good wages. Then I shall live happily on board, and my earnings will be sufficient for your support at home.”’ ‘‘Philip—Philip, hear me. I shall die if you leave me. Whom have I in the world but you? Oh, my child, as you love me, and I know you do love me, Philip, don’t leave me; but if you will, at all events do not go to Sea. - Philip gave no immediate reply; he whistled for a few seconds, while his mother wept. rs. it,: said he at last, .““because my father was drowned at sea, that you beg so hard, mother ?” “Oh, no—no!” exclaimed the sobbing woman. ‘‘ Would to God——’ “Would to God what, mother ?”’ “ Nothing — nothing. Be merciful —be merciful, O God !”’ replied the mother, sliding from her seat on the couch, and kneeling by the side of it, in which attitude she remained for some time in fervent prayer. At last she resumed her seat, and her face wore an aspect of more composure. Philip, who, during this, had remained silent and thoughtful, again addressed his mother. 1 ‘*Look ye, mother. You ask me to stay on shore with you, and starve,—rather hard conditions :—now hear what I have to say. That room opposite has been shut up ever since I can remember—why, you will never tell me; but once I heard you say, when we were without bread, and with no prospect of my uncle’s return—you were then half frantic, mother, as you know you sometimes are - ‘‘Well, Philip, what did you hear me say?’ inquired his mother, with tremulous anxiety. ‘“‘You said, mother, that there was money in that room which would save us ; and then you screamed and raved, and said that you preferred death. Now, mother, what is there in that chamber, and why has it been so long shut up? Either I know that, or I go to sea.” At the commencement of this address of Philip, his mother appeared to be transfixed, and motionless asa statue ; gradually her lips separated, and her eyes glared; she seemed to have lost the power of reply ; she put her THE PHANTOM SHIP. hand to her right side, as if to compress It, then both her hands, as if to relieve herself from excruciating torture: at last she sank, with her head forward, and the blood poured out of her mouth. Philip sprang from the table to her assist- ance, and prevented her from falling on the floor. He laid her on the couch, watching with alarm the continued effnsion. ‘©Oh! mother —mother, what is this?”’ cried he, at last, in great distress. For sometime his mother could make him no reply ; she turned further on her side, that she might not be suffocated by the discharge from the ruptured vessel, and the snow-white planks of the floor were soon crimsoned with her blood. “Speak, dearest mother, if you Can; : repeated Philip, in agony, ‘‘ what shall I do? —what shall I give you?—God Almighty! what is this ?”’ “ Death, my child, death!” at length re- plied the poor woman, sinking into a state of unconsciousness. Philip, now much alarmed, flew out of the cottage, and called the neighbours to his mother’s assistance. Two or three hastened to the call ; and as soon as Philip saw them occupied in restoring his mother, he ran as fast as he could to the house of a medical man, who lived about a mile off ;— one Mynheer Poots, a little, miserable, avaricious wretch, but known to be very skilful in his profession. Philip found Poots at home, and insisted upon his immediate attendance. ‘« Twill come—-yes, most certainly,” replied Poots, who spoke the language but imper- ‘fectly ; ‘‘but, Mynheer Vanderdecken, who will pay me?” “Pay you! my uncle will, directly that he comes home.” “Your uncle, de Skipper Vanbrennen: no, he owe me four guilders, and he has owed me fora long time. Besides, his ship may sink.’ ‘‘ He shall pay you the four guilders, and for this attendance also,” replied Philip, in a rage; ‘‘come directly,—while you are dis- puting, my mother may be dead.” ‘‘But, Mr. Philip, I cannot come, now I recollect ; I have to see the child of the Bur- gomas‘er at Terneuse,’’ replied Mynheer Poots. ‘look you, Mynheer Poots,” exclaimed Philip, red with passion ; ‘‘you have but to choose,—will you go quietly, or must I take you there? You'll not trifle with me.” Here Mynheer Poots was under consider- able “alarm, ‘tor the: character .of Philip Vanderdecken was well known.” ‘‘T will come by-and-by, Mynheer Philip, lft Can; ‘“Youll come now, you wretched old miser,”’ exclaimed Philip, seizing hold of thelittle man by the collar, and pulling him out of his door. ‘‘Murder! murder!” cried Poots, as he lost his legs, and was dragged along by the impetuous young man. Philip stopped, for he perceived that Poots was black in the face. ‘*Must I then choke you, to make you go quietly ? for, hear me, go you shall, alive or dead.” ‘Well, then,” replied Poots, recovering himself, ‘‘I will go, but I'll have you in prison to-night: and, as for your mother, I'll not—— no, that I will not—Mynheer Philip, depend upon it.” “‘ Mark me, Mynheer Poots,” re Philip, ‘“as sure as there is a God in heaven, you if you do not come with me, I’ll choke and when you arrive, if you do not now ; E your best for my poor mother, I'll murder you there. You know that I always do what I say, so now take my advice, come along quietly, and you shall certainly be paid, and well paid—if I sell my coat.” This last observation of Philip, perhaps, had more effect than even his threats. Poots was a miserable little atom, and like a child in the powerful grasp of the young man. The doctor's tenement was isolated, ahd he could obtain no assistance until within a hundred yards of Vanderdecken's cottage ; so Mynheer Poots decided that he would go—first, because Philip bad promised to pay him, and secondly, because he could not help it. This point being settled, Philip and Mynheer Poots made all haste to the cottage; and on their arrival, they found his mother still in the arms of two of her female neigh- bours, who were bathing her temples with vinegar. Shewas in a state of consciousness, but she could not speak; Poots ordered her to be carried upstairs and put to bed, and, pour- ing some acids down her throat, hastened away with Philip to procure the necessary remedies. “« You will give your mother that directly, Mynheer Philip,” said Poots, putting a phial into his hand; ‘‘I will now go to the child of the Burgomaster, and will afterwards come back.to your cottage.” ‘Don't deceive me,” threatening look. ‘‘No, no, Mynheer Philip, I would not trust to your uncle Vanbrennen for payment, but you have promised, and I know that you always keep your wor In one hour I will be with your mother ; you yourself must now be quick.” Philip hastened home. After the potion had been administered, the bleeding was wholly stopped; and in half an hour, his mother could express her wishes in a whisper. When the little doctor arrived, he carefully plied said Philip, with a 1. but THE PHANTOM SH8H'IP. 5 examined his patient, and then went down stairs with her son into the kitchen. ““Mynheer Philip,” said Poots, ‘‘ by Allah! I have done my best, but I must teil you that I have little hopes of your mother rising from her bed again. She may live one day or two days, but not more. It is not my fault, Mynheer Philip,”’ continued Poots, in a deprecating tone. ,no; it isthe will of Philip, mournfully. And you will pay me, Mynheer Vander- ?” continued the doctor after a short Heaven,” replied in a voice of rom a reverie. Aftera doctor recommenced : Mynheer be a charge of no use to throw , ‘es,’ replied Philip, } 7 i \or 1S he ne ll I come to-morrow, Philip? You know that will another guilder: it is of away money or time either.’ ‘*‘Come to-morrow, come every hour, harge what you please; you shall certainly e paid,’ replied Philip, curling his lip with contempt. ‘Well, it isas you please. As soon as she is dead, the cottage and the furniture will be yours, and you will sell them of course. Yes, I will come. You will have plenty of money. Mynheer Philip,.I would like the first offer of the cottage, if it is to let.” Philip raised his arm in the air as if to crush Mynheer Poots, who retreated to the corner ‘“‘T did not mean until your mother was buried,” said Poots, in a coaxing tone. ‘Go, wretch, go!" said Philip, covering his face with his hands, as he sank down upon the blood-stained couch. Aftera short interval, Philip Vanderdecken returned to the bedside of his mother, whom he found much better; and the neighbours, having their own affairs to attend to, left them Exhausted with the loss of blood, the woman slumbered for many hours, during which she never let go the hand of Philip, who watched her breathing in mourn- ful meditation. [t was about one o'clock in the morning when the widow awoke. She had in a great degree recovered her voice, and thus she addressed her son :— ‘‘My dear, my impetuous boy, and have I detained you here a prisoner so long?” ‘« My own inclination detained me, mother. I leave you not to others until you are up and well again.”’ ‘That, Philip, I shall never be. I feel that death claims me; and, O my son, were it not for you, how should I quit this world rejoicing! I have long been dying, Philip,— and long, long have I prayed for death.” ‘Sha Wild cl I } aione, poorse 6 THE PHANTOM SHIP, “And why so, mother?” replied Philip, bluntly ; ‘‘I’ve done my best.” ““VYou have, my child, you have : and may God bless you for it. Often have I seen you curb your fiery temper—restrain yourself when justified in wrath—to spare a mother’s feelings. ’Tis now some days that even hunger has not persuaded you to disobey your mother. And, Philip, you must have thought me mad or foolish to insist so long, and yet to give no reason. I'll speak—again—directly.”’ The widow turned her head upon the pillow, and remained quiet for some minutes; then, as if revived, she resumed: ‘‘f believe I have been mad at times— have I not, Philip? And God knows I have had a secret in my heart enough to drivea wife to frenzy. It has oppressed me day and night, worn my mind, impaired my reason, and now, at last, thank Heaven ! it has over- come this mortal frame : the blow is struck, Philip—I'm sure it is. I wait but to tell you all—and yet I would not—'twill turn your brain as it has turned mine, Philip.’ ‘‘Mother,’’ replied Philip, earnestly, ‘‘I conjure you, let me hear this killing secret. Be heaven or hell mixed up with it, 1 fear not. Heaven will not hurt me, and Satan I defy.”’ ‘‘T know thy bold, proud spirit, Philip,— thy strength of mind. If any one could bear the load of such a dreadful tale, thou couldst. My brain, alas! was far too weak for it ; and I see it is my duty to tell it to thee.” The widow paused as her thoughts re- verted to that which she had to confide ; fora few minutes the tears rained down her hollow cheeks ; she then appeared to have summoned resolution, and to have regained strength. ‘Philip, it was of your father I would speak. It is supposed—that he was—drowned —at-sea.” ‘‘And was he not, mother?” replied Philip, with surprise. Oh no!” ‘‘But he has long been dead, mother?” ‘“‘No—yes—and yet—no,” said the widow, covering her eyes. Her brain wanders, thought Philip, but he spoke again : ‘«Then where is he, mother?” The widow raised herself, and a tremor visibly ran through her whole frame, as she repied— ‘“In LIVING JUDGMENT.” The poor woman then sank down again upon the pillow, and covered her head with the bedclothes, as if she would have hid her- self from her own memory. Philip was so much perplexed and astounded, that he could make no reply. canvass flew away in ribbons ; mountains of seas S\ vept over wus, he centre .of a dee P oe rhanging cloud, which shrouded all in utter darkness, were written in letters of livid fic ime, these words— rHE DAY OF JUDGMENT ‘««Tisten to me, Catharine, my time is short. Ove hofe alone remains, and for this am I permitted to come here. ‘Take this letter.’ te put a sealed paper on the table. ‘Read it, Catherine, dear, and try if you can assist me. Read it, and now farewell—my time is come.’ ‘ Again the windo w and window-shutters burst open— again the light was extinguished, and the form of my Hist nd was, as it were, wafted in the dark expanse. Istarted up and followed him with outstretched arms and frantic screams as he sailed through the win- dow ;—my glaring eyes beheld his form borne away like lightning on the wings of the wild gale till it was lost as a speck of light, and then it disappeared. Again the windows -d, the light burned, and I was left alone ! ‘‘Heaven have mercy! My brain!—my brain !—Philip !—Philip !"” shrieked the poor woman; ‘‘don't leave me—don't—don't— pray dont! " During as exclamations the frantic widow had raised herself from the bed, and, at the last, had fallen into the arms of her son. She remained there son e minutes with- out motion. After a time Philip felt alarmed at her long quiescence ;,he 1 her gently down upon the bed, and as he ‘did so her head fell back—her eyes were turned—the widow Vanderdecken was no more. T | I Alf CHAPTER. It. PHILIP VANDERDECKEN, strong as he was in mental courage, was almost paralyzed by the shock when he discovered that his mother's spirit had fled ; and for some til e ea remained by the side of the bed, with his eyes fixed upon the eoipe and his mind ina state of vacuity. Gradually he recovered himself; he rose, = yeothiell @ down the pillow, his closed her eyelids, and then clasping hands, the tears trickled down his manlya ee 8 THE PHANTOM SHIP. cheeks. He impressed a solemn kiss upon the pale white forehead of the departed, and drew the curtains round the bed. “Poor mother!’ said he, sorrowfully, as he completed his task, ‘‘at length thou hast found rest, —but thou hast left thy son a bitter legazy,” And as Philip's thoughts reverted to what had passed, the dreadful narrative whirled in his imagination and scathed his brain. He raised his hands to his temples, compressed them with force, and tried to collect his thoughts, that he might decide upon what measures he should take. He felt that he had no time to indulge his grief. His mother was in peace ; but his father—where was he? He recalled his mother's words—‘‘ One hope alone remained.’’ Then there was hope. His father had laid a paper on the table— could it be there now? Yes, it must be! his mother had not had the courage to take it up. ‘There was hope in that paper, and it had Jain unopened for more than seventeen years. Philip» Vanderdecken resolved that he would examine the fatal chamber—at once he would know the worst. Should he do it now, or wait till daylight ?—but the key, where was it? His eyes rested upon an old japanned cabinet in the room: he had never seen his mother open it in his Presence = ai was the only likely place of concealment that he was aware of. Prompt in all his decisions, he took up the candle, and proceeded to ex- amine it. It was notlocked: the door swung open, and drawer after drawer was examined, but Philip discovered not the object of his search; again and again did he open the drawers, but they were all empty... “Lt oc- curred to Philip that there might be secret drawers, and he examined for some time in vain,- At last he took out all the drawers, and laid them on the floor, and lifting the cabinet off its stand he shook it. A rattling sound in one corner told him that in all pro- bability the key was there concealed. He renewed his attempts to discover how to gain it, putin vain. Daylight now streamed through the casements, and Philip had not desisted from his attempts ; at last, wearied out, he resolved to force the back panel of the cabinet; he descended to the kitchen, and returned with a small chopping knife and hammer, and was on his knees busily em- ployed forcing out the panel, when a hand was placed upon his shoulder. Philip started : he had been so occupied with his search and his wild chasing thoughts, that he had not heard the sound of an ap- proaching footstep. He looked up and beheld the Father Seysen, the priest of the little parish, with his eyes sternly fixed upon him. The good man had been informed of the dangerous state of the widow Vanderdecken, and had risen at daylight to visit and afford her spiritual comfort. ‘“How now, my son,” said the priest ; ‘‘fearest thou not to disturb~- thy mother 's rest? and wouldst thou pilfer and purloin even before she is in her grave?” ‘‘T fear not to disturb my mother’s rest, good father,’’ replied Philip, rising on his feet, ‘for she now rests with the blessed. Neither do I pilfer or purloin. Itis not gold, I seek, although if gold there were, that gold would now be mine. I seek but'a key, long hidden, I believe, within this secret drawer, the opening of which is a mystery beyond my art.” ‘Thy mother is no more, sayest thou, my son ? and dead without receiving the rites of our most holy church! Why didst thou not send for me?” “She died, good father, suddenly, most suddenly, in these arms, about two hours ago. P fear not for her soul, although I can but grieve you were not at her side.” The priest gently opened the curtains, and looked upon the corpse. He sprinkled holy water on the bed, and for a short time his lips were seen to move in silent prayer. He then turned round to Philip. ‘““Why do I see thee thus employed? and why so anxious to obtain that key? A mother’s death should call forth filial tears and prayers for her repose. Yet arc thine eyes dry, and thou art employed upon an in- different search while yet the tenement is warm which but now held her spirit. This is not seemly, Philip. What is the key thou seekest 2” ‘‘ Father, I have no time for tears—no time to spare for grief or lamentation. I have much to do, and more to think of than thought can well embrace. That I loved my mother, you know well.” “But the key thou seekest, Philip ?” ‘‘ Father, itis the key of a chamber which has not been unlocked for years, which I must—will open ; even if——” ‘If what, my son ?” ‘“‘I was about to say what I should not have said. Forgive me, Father; I meant that I must search that chamber.” ‘“‘T have long heard of that same chamber being closed : and that thy mother would not explain wherefore, I know well, for I have asked her, and have been denied. Nay, when, as in duty bound, I pressed the ques- tion, I found her reason was disordered by my importunity, and, therefore, I abandoned the attempt. Some heavy weight was on thy mother's mind, my son, yet would she never confess or trust it with me. Tell me, before she died, hadst thou this secret from her?”**T had, most holy father." “ Wouldst thou not feel comfort if thou didst conf ide tome, myson? I might assi ist pcinnaireteiipt ‘‘ Father, I we ‘ ; Tha _Y to SES and advise, uld ind Ce ~d— , hy -I could confide assistance—I know feeling thou wouldst have tter motive. But which Dut of tha ask fort ym. curious it, but frol nae has been told it is not-yet maz lifest w! hether it is as my poor mother says, or but the phantom of a heated brain Should it, indeed, be true, fain would I share the burden with you —yet little you might thank me for the heavy load. But no—at least not: ow—it must not, cannot be revealed. I must do my work— enter that hated room alone ‘‘ Fearest thou not?” “Father, I fear nothing. I have a duty to perform—a dreadful one, I grant; but, | pray thee, ask-no more; for, like my poor moth er, I feel as if the probi would half un ‘“‘T will not ng of the wound seat my rea press thee come when [| ll, my child ; further, Philip. The time may may prove of service. Farewell, but I pray thee hy unseemly labour, for I eighbours to perform the ic to discontinue thy must send in the n ed mother, whose soul I duties to thy depar trust is with its Cx acd. The priest looked at Philip ; he perceived that his thoughts were elsewhere: there a vacancy and appearance of mental faction, and as he turned away, the shook his head. ‘' He is right,” thou ght Phi vas stupe- good man ilip, when once ; more alone ; and he took up the cabinet, ett placed it upon the stand. ‘A few he more can make no difference: I will lay me down, for my head is giddy,’ Philip went into the adjoining room, threw himself upon his bed, and in a few minutes was in a sleep as sound as that per- mitted to the wretch a few hours previous to his execution. During his slumbers the neighbours had come in, and had prepared everything for the widow’s interment. They had been care- ful not to wake the son, for they held as sacred the sleep of those who must wake up to sorrow. Among others, soon after the hour of noon, arrived Mynheer Poots had been informed of the death of the widow, but having a spare hour, he thought he might as well call, as it would r: pi charges by another guilder. He first went into the room where the body lay, and Boas thence he pro- ceeded to the chamber of Philip, and shook him by the shoulder Philip awoke, and, sittin the doctor standing by him. i Well, Mynheer Vanderdecke S menced the unfeeling little man, ‘‘so ne 1S g up, perceived ” com- it’s al] THE PHANTOM SHIP. 9 over. I knew it would be so; and recollecr you owe me now another guilder, and you promised faithfully to pay me; altogether, with the potion, it will be three guilders and a half—that is, provided return my phial.” Philip, who had at first waking fused, gradually recovered his this address. “You sh: a half, and replied he, as you g was con- senses during ull have your three guilders and your phial to boot, Mr. Poots,’ he rose from off the bed. ‘Yes, yes; I know you mean to pay me —if you can. But look you, Mynheer Philip, it may be some time before you sell the cot- tage. You may not find a customer. Now, I never wish to be hard upon people wha have no money, and I'll tell you what I'll do. There is asomething on your mother's neck. It is of no ea ‘none at all, but to a good elp ys u in your strait, I will t thing, wea then we shall be quits.’” ] paid me, and there will be an ++ Philip listened cal ee y: he knew to what the little miser h ae referred,—the relic on his mother’s neck : that very relic upon which his father swore the fatal oath. He felt that mil- lions of guilders would not have induced him to part with it. ‘Leave the house, ” answered he, abruptly. sy LAE it immedi: 1iely. Your money shall be paid.” : Now Mynheer Poots, in the first place, knew that the se tting of the relic, which was in a square frame of pure gold, was worth much ae om in the sum due to him: he also knew that a large price had been paid for the relic itself, and as at that time such a relic W considered very valuable, he had no doubt but that it would again fetch a con- siderable sum. Tempted by the sight of it when he entered the chamber of death, he had taken it from the neck of the corpse, ‘and it was then actually concealed in his bosom ; so he replied,— ‘“ My offer is a good one, and you had better take it. such trash ?” ‘“‘T tell you no,” cried Philip, in a rage. “Well, then, you will let me have it in my possession till I am paid, Mynheer Van- derdecken—that is but fair. I must not lose my money. When you bring- me my three guilders and a half and the phial, I will return it to you.’ Philip’s indignation was now without bounds. He seized Mynheer Poots by the collar and threw him out of the door. ‘‘ Away immediately,” cried he, ‘‘ or by—— There was no occasion for Phi lip to finish the imprecation. The doctor had hastened as Mynheer Philip, Of what use is ”ao 10 THE PHANTOM SHIP. away with such alarm, that he fell down half the steps of the staircase, and was limping away across the bridge. He almost wished that the relic had not been in his possession ; but his sudden retreat had prevented him, even if so inclined, from replacing it on the corpse. : The result of this conversation naturally turned Philip’s thoughts to therelic, and he went into his mother’s room to take posses- sion of it. He opened the curtains—the corpse was laid out—he put forth his hand to untie the blackribbon. It was not there, ‘‘ Gone!” exclaimed Philip. ‘‘ They hardly would have removed it—never would It must be that villain Poots—wretch | but I will have it, even if he has swallowed it, though I tear him limb from limb ! ” Philip darted down the stairs, rushed out of the house, cleared the moat at one bound, and, without coat or hat, flew away in the direction of the doctor's ionely residence. The neighbours saw him as he passed them like the wind! they wondered and they shook their heads. Mynheer Poots was not more than half way to his home, for he had hurt his ancle. Apprehensive of what might possi- bly take place, should his theft be discovered, he occasionally looked behind him ; at length, to his horror, he beheld Philip Vanderdecken at a distance, bounding on in pursuit of him. Frightened almost out of his senses, the wret- ched pilferer hardly knew how to act: to stop and surrender up the stolen property was his first thought, but fear of Vanderdecken’s vio- lence prevented him ; so he decided on taking to his heels, thus hoping to gain his house, and barricade himself in, by which means he would be in a condition to keep possession of what he had stolen, or at least to make some terms ere he restored it. Mynheer Poots had need to run fast, and so he did, his thin legs bearing his shrivelled form rapidly over the ground; but Philip, who, when he witnessed the doctor's attempt to escape, was fully convinced that he was the culprit, redoubled his exertions, and rapidly came up with the chase. When within a hundred yards of his own door, Mynheer Poots heard the bounding steps of Philip gain upon him, and he sprang and leaped in his agony. Nearer and nearer still the step, until at last he heard the very breathing of his pursuer; and Poots shrieked in his fear, like the hare in the jaws of the greyhound. Philip was nota yard from him ; his arm was out- stretched, when the miscreant dropped down paralyzed with terror; and the impetus of Vanderdecken was so great, that he passed over his body, tripped, and after trying in vain to recover his equilibrium, he fell and rolled over and over. ‘This saved the little doctor ; it was like the double of a hare. In a second he was again on his legs, and before Philip could rise and again exert his speed, Poots ~had entered his door and bolted it within. Philip was, however, determined to repossess. the important treasure ; and as he panted, he cast his eyes around to see if any means offered for his forcing his entrance into the house. But as the habitation of the doctor was lonely, every precaution had been taken by him to render it secure against robbery ; the windows below were well barricaded and secured, and those on the upper story were too high for anyone to obtain admittance by them. We must here observe, that although Mynheer Poots was, from his known abilities, in good practice, his reputation as a hard- hearted, unfeeling miser was well established. No one was ever permitted to enter his threshold, nor, indeed did anyone feel in- clined. He was as isolated from his fellow- creatures as was his tenement, and was only to be seen in the chamber of disease and death. What his establishment consisted of no one knew. When he first settled in the neighbourhood, an old decrepit woman occa- sionally answered the ,knocks given at the door by those who required the doctor's ser- vices ; but she had been buried some time, and ever since all calls at the door had been answered by Mynheer Poots in person, if he were at home, and if not, there was no reply to the most importunate summons. I* was then surmised that the old man lived entirely by himself, being too niggardly to pay for any assistance, This Philip also imagined ; and as soon as he had recovered his breath, he be- gan to devise some scheme by which he would be enabled not only to recover the stolen property, but also to wreak a dire revenge. The door was strong, and not to be forced by any means which presented themselves to the eye of Vanderdecken. For afew minutes he paused to consider, and as he reflected, so did his anger cool down, and he decided that it would be sufficient to recover his relic, with- out having recourse to. violence. So he called out in a loud voice, — ‘“Mynheer Poots, I know that you can hear me. -Give me back what you have taken, and I will do youno hurt ; but if you will not, you must take the consequence, for your life shall pay the forfeit before I leave this spot.” This speech was indeed very plainly heard by Mynheer Poots ; but the little miser had recovered from his fright, and, thinking him- self secure, could not make up his mind to surrender the relic without a struggle; so the doctor answered not, hoping that the patience of Philip would be exhausted, and that by some arrangement, such as the sacrifice of afew guilders, no small matter to one so needy as Phil he would be able to secure what he Ip, was satisfied would sell at a high price. \ r\derd T Andi xy that 7 } i rw ~J anaerd cen, Hhnaing thi: oO ISW > x } - } : roOna 1 returned, uged in strong i 1d h Innid nN Meoacr ) . them then aecida 1 It sures cert ¥Y in them- } ; , , | ] S¢ es y ho me 5 Uli 16 ; ‘ ¢ L : | I | GN i Or tars £ ] ; y + f - . na ' ~ t7:,1 under t | With hi Tne ren : ettino ‘ et ] in tO L LOL A 1 ’ } ; > , he Would al I ‘ : rT ' ‘ He broug : os { laid them at the « Ey i upon ; ; l ‘ } that he piled the S } ; ! until the door ite « ‘ : He then procured a lig] the st | ; ; nd tinder 1 every D ] ] } rn : ] j + ; f : Coiunin up LO tf | L ) ‘ the f e rag } 1 ) | 1% enited, j { oa law and was adding to of fla 5, and 7) } s34¢ } . +1 > ‘ Philip shouted with joy at the ; . ee ot > de 1dé— ; a) aa ; ri et 1 thief, now you shall } ) 1 } . engeance, { l l >, W la ua \ 1 2 n , ; a 1 T nain T VOU) l Tl LI Ou it } In y | 7 : = + yy ] liames ; lf you attempt to come Out, j l d by my nds. Do ru | h ; 1 roo —(1O ' l re 1] oH 1 1; ia. H 11} ai ‘ NnCci ied t > « LLC So, ; : ; i aii Fe | +) { when th W Ol I ho ruil L . ~ ae Du! ng aor Vas throw ‘ l u ¢ a ito to en- 1 ut DO ho rs ) \ x p ad he } l } ‘ yw t l ] - ‘ ra to | an appal mn, Tor inst 1 ol . a gee a : ‘ 14 : ched little miser, he! d t re ¢ aie ned to 1 } ture, of al t en ¢ j , ’ he DD l ( l al iil a 7 7 e dan y ry ‘ | - : . . 1 _ i ong DlacK W i ound her | I ; he eves WeT jal ; I } y dari yet Ol, . ' ; ; yer ] het i l it 1) 1 ail ) 5; h a d and \ ne, hel 7 y 4 f or | n¢ mah ant tI i AJ AC ) l not ll imag 1; it reminded you « \ ; | T ¢ ] dil til » IR : ‘ eo neir more t t { ment { | ot 3 . emt ! \ } nei would rept a 4 j 7 . ‘ i } NE. | i I > Vv i L 1 y ot coll t | . AD moOKé Du Lt l i I na | ht che \ yt past ti \ dow, ymignt i I ¢ , : ; ; t i¢ ; min le L you in b at nn > C ( ‘ : } L- " t : som rat tne stak } T>1e rAIIN oO raMH 2 thou, violent young man: sumer ee WOUIGSI Why are the inmates of this house to THE PHANTOM SHIP, If death by your means ?”’ said the maiden, with composure. ew seconds Philip gazed, and could make no reply; then the thought seized him that hi el » he was about to sacri- fice so m1 r | He forg< t everything < - Qo but her « ing one of the large poles which he had br« feed the flame, he threw of nd tt ery direction t] burning mas ine was left which could { I linge but the ignited doo! t h as yet-—for it was ( t } ! ink ad not -suffered very } ‘ | \ ( } LICE by I ting ¢ 7 { ] g th : nf DAA thy , Tr) - ' fenow, young lady,’’ said Philip ‘Gor t] I should have risked a S i rht but to ik my ven 1 Mynheer Poots ‘“ And what cause can Mynheer Poots ‘e given for such dreadful vengeance?” re- ied the maiden, calmly ‘‘Wha , young vw _ ms ° cause 5% ] os ‘ See my house—despoiled the dead—took from i NE eR re wah hax Sistine oe my mothers COrpse a Te: i y L | Ce ee ) 7 +1 } 1 ! } . AaAnnnat Wespo1er tne ae surely Cannot ; —you must wrong him, young sil ‘ \ ee a No no It a Lact 1 ) and that relic—f ve me—but that relic I must have ig ee . You know not what « ends upon it. ‘‘Wait, young sir,’ replied the maiden ‘<7 will soon return, Philip waited several minutes, lost in thought and admiration ; so fair a creature in ) | ‘TT l Poots \ i > [ t] ( oicé OF t OD] th 3 yveTies, pe ), LI ne’ out ot tne Windo 14 a ner I 1 the black ribbon to which attached 7 tne rt ) { ly ( Lé 1 your 1 Sits the young | | regret muc that y father No. d ¢ 7 | } a4 deed which well might justify drop r it down on the groun¢ ilip ; “and you 1 depart e YO father, maiden! can he be your e y ‘ 1 1, father ? l ii yreetting to take up the } ] 1 { ré ( \ } I ; L She would have retired from the window ut Philip spoke again— ‘Stop, lady, stop one moment, until | vO fi ne for my wild, foolish act. I swear by thi cred relic,’ continued he, ne it from the ground and raising it to his l} that had I known that any unc ff on had been in this house, I would e done the deed, and much do I rejoice But harm hath happened. there 1 S12 THE PHANTOM SHIP. still danger, lady ; the door must be nubarred, and the jambs, which still are glowing, be ex- tinguished, or the house may yet be burnt. Fear not for your father, maiden: for had he done me a thousand times more wrong, you will protect each hair upon his head. He knows me well enough to know I keep my word. Allow me to repair the injury 1 have occasioned, and then J will depart.” ‘‘No, no; don’t trust him,’’ said Myn- heer Poots from within the chamber. ‘‘Ves, he may be trusted,” replied the daughter ; ‘‘ and his services are much needed, fer what could a poor weak girl like me, and a still weaker father, do in this strait? Open the door, and let the house be made secure.” The maiden then addressed Philip —‘‘ He shall open the door, sir, and I will thank you for your kind service. I trust en- tirely to your promise.’ ‘J never yet was known to break my word, maiden,’ replied Philip; ‘‘but let him be quick, for the flames are bursting out again.” The door was opened by the trembling hands of Mynheer Poots, who then madea hasty retreat upstairs. The truth of what Philip had said was then apparent. Many were the buckets of water which he was obliged to fetch before the fire was quite subdued ; but during his exertions neither the daughter nor the father made their appearance. When all was safe, Philip closed the door, and again looked up at the window. ‘The fair girl made her appearance. and Philip, with a low obeisance, assured her that there was then no danger. ‘‘T thank you, sir,” replied she—‘‘ I thank you much. Your conduct, although hasty at the first, has yet been most considerate.” ‘« Assure your father, maiden, that all ani- mosity on my part hath ceased, and that ina few days I will call and satisfy the demand he hath against me.” The window closed, and Philip, more ex- cited, but with feelings altogether different from those with which he had set out, looked at it for a minute, and then bent his steps to his own cottage. Chie ER LLL, ‘Lhe discovery of the beautiful daughter of Mynheer Poots had made a strong impression upon Philip Vanderdecken, and now he had another excitement to combine with those which already overcharged his bosom. He arrived at bis own house, went upstairs, and threw himself on the bed from which. he had been roused by Mynheer Poots. At first, he recalled to his mind the scene we have just described, painted in his imagination the por- trait of the fair giyl, her eyes, her expression, her silver voice, and the words which she had ut- tered; but her pleasing image was soon chased away by the recollection that his mothers corpse lay in the adjoining chamber and that hisfather’ssecret was hidden in the room below. The funeral was to take place the next morning, and Philip, who, since his meeting with the daughter of Mynheer Poots, ap- peared even to himself not so anxious for immediate examination of the room, resolved that he would not open it until after the melancholy ceremony. With this resolution he fell asleep ; and exhatsted with bodily and mental excitement, he did not wake until the next morning, when he was summoned by the priest to assist at the funeral rites. In an hour all was over ; the crowd dispersed, and Philip, returning to the cottage, bolted the door that he might not be interrupted, and felt happy that he was alone. There is a feeling in our nature which will arise when we again find ourselves in the tene- ment where death has been, and all traces of it have been removed. It is a feeling of satis- faction and relief at having rid ourselves of the memento of mortality, the silent evidence of the futility of our pursuits and anticipations. We know that we must one day die, but we always wish to forget it. The continual re- membrance would be too great a check upon our mundane desires and wishes; and al- though we are told that we-ever should have futurity in our thoughts, we find that life is not to’ be enjoyed if we are not permitted occasional forgetfulness. For who would plan what rarely he is permitted to execute, if each moment of the day he thought of death? We either hope that we may live longer than others, or we forget that we may not. If this buoyant feeling had not been plant- ed in our nature, how little would the world have been improved even from the Deluge; Philip walked into the room where his mother had lain one short hour before, and unwittingly felt relief. Taking Cown the cabinet, he now recommenced his task ; the panel was soon removed, and a secret drawer discovered ; he drew it out, and it contained what he presumed to be the object of his search,—a large key with a slight coat of rust uponit, which came off upon its being handled. Under the key was a paper, the writing on which was somewhat discoloured ; it was in his mother’s hand, and ran as follows :— ‘“‘It is now two nights since a horrible event took place which has induced_me to close the lower chamber, and my brain is still bursting with terror, Should I not, during my lifetime, reveal what occurred, still this key will be required, as at my death the room will be opened. When I rushed from it I hastened upstairs, and remained that night elthabtiianisiindtnatinahitaiemmatattei oe aeTHE PHAN with my child ; the next morning I summoned up sufficient courage to go down, turn the key and bring it up into my chamber. It is now closed till I close my eyes in death. No pri- vation, no suffering, shall induce me to open it, although in the iron cupboard under the buffet farthest from the window, there is money sufficient for allmy wants; that money will eae there for my child, to whom, if I do not impart the fatal secret, he must be satisf a that it is one which it were better should be concealed,—one so horrible as to induce me to take the steps which I now do. The keys of the cupboar: nd buffets were, I think, lying on the tab or in my work- box, when I quitted the room There is a letter on the table, at least I think so. Itis sealed. Let not the seal be broken but by my son, and not by him unless he knows the secret. Let it be burnt by the priest,—for it is cursed ;—and even should my son know all that I do, oh, let him pause,—let him reflect well before he breaks the seal,—for ‘twere better he should know NO MORE ! ‘Not know more !" thought Philip, as his eyes were still fixed upon he paper. ‘‘ Yes, but I must and will know more! so forgive me, dearest mother, if I waste no time in re- flection. It would be but time thrown away, when one is resolved as I am.’ Philip pressed his lips to his mother's sig- nature, folded up the paper, and put it into his pocket; then taking the key, he pro- ceeded downstairs. It was abo ut noon when Philip descended to open the chamber ; the sun shone bright, the sky was clear, and all without was cheer- ful and joyous. ‘The front door of the cot- tage been closed, there was not much light in the passage when Philip put the key into the lock of the long-closed door, and with some difficulty turned it round. ‘To say that when he pushed open the door he felt no alarm would not be correct ; he did feel alarm, and his heart palpitated; but he felt more than was requisite of determination to con- and to conquer more, should quer that alarm, by he should behold. more be created what He opened the door, but did not immediately enter the room: he paused where he stood, for he felt as if he were about to intrude into the retreat of a disembodied spirit, and that that spirit might reappear. He waited a minute, for the effort of opening the door had taken away his breath and, as he recovered himself, he looked within. He could but imperfectly distinguish the objects in the chamber but through the joints of the shutters there were three brilliant beams of sunshine forcing their way across the room, which at first induced him to recoil as if from something supernatural ; but a little ITOM SHIP, *CtlOl about kitchen, re-assured him. After Philip went into the refl 1 minute's pause, ) ) q lighted a candle, and, sighing deeply two or hree times, as if to relieve his heart, he sum- moned his resolution, and walked towards the fatal room. He first stopped at the threshold, and, by the light of the candle, took a hasty survey. All was still: and the table on whic ch the letter. had been left, being behind the door, was concealed by its being opened. It must be done, thought Philip: and why not at once ? continued he, resuming his courage ; and, with a firm step, he walked into the room and went to un the shutters. If his hand trembled a little when he called to mind how supernaturally they had last been opened, it is not sur} ing. Weare but mortal, and we shrink from contact eee aught beyond this life. When the fast ane 5 were removed and the shutter cata led, a stream of light poured into the room so vivid as to dazzle his eyesight ; strange to say this very light ofa brilliant day ove rthrew the re- solution of Philip more than the previous gloom and darkness had done ; and with the candle in his hand, a retreated hastily into the kitchen to re-summon his. courage, and there he remained for some minutes with his face covered, and in deep thought. It is singular that his reveries at last ended by reverting to the fair daughter of Mynheer Poots, and her first appearance at the Wwin- dow ; and he felt as if the flood of ligh t whicl had just driven him from the one, was nt more impressive and startling than her en- chanting form at the other. His mind dwell- ing upon this beauteous vision appeared to restore Philip's confidence ; he now rose and boldly walked into the room. We shall not describe the objects it contained as they chanced to meet the eyes of Philip, but at- tempt a more lucid arrangement. I The room was about twelve or fourteen feet square, with but one window ; opbe ee to the door stood the chimney and f fe PAS with a high buffet of dark w ood on eacl side : ‘The floor of the room was not dirty, a oug about its upper parts spiders had run their cobwebs in eve ry direction, In the centre ol the ceiling hung a quicksilver globe, a com- mon ornament in those days, but the major part of it had lost its brilliancy, the spiders like a shroud. Over the hung two or three draw- ings, framed and glazed, but a dusty mildew was spotted over “the glass, so that little of them could be distinguished. In the centre of the mantel-piece was an image of the Virgin Mary, of pure silver, in a shrine of the same metal, but it was tarnished to the colour of bronze or iron; some Indian figures stood on each side of it. The glass coors of the buffets it »}* i webs enclosing chimney-piece w« oC > t oO14 on each side of the chimney-piece were also so dimmed that little of what was within could be distinguished: the light and heat which had been poured into the room, even for so short a time, had already gathered up the damp of many years, and it lay as a mist, and mingled with the dust upon the panes of glass : still here and there a_glittering of silver ves- sels could be discerned, for the glass doors had protected them from from turning black, although much dimmed in lustre. On the wall facing the window were other prints, in frames equally veiled in damp and cobwebs, and also two birdcages. The bird- cages Philip approached, and looked into them. The occupants, of course, had long been dead ; but at the bottom of the cages was a small heap of yellow feathers, through which the little white bones of the skeletons were to be seen, proving that they had been brought from the Canary Isles; and, at that period such birds were highly valued. Philip appeared to wish to examine everything be- fore he sought that which he most dreaded, yet most wished, to find. ‘There were several chairs round the room : on one of them was some linen; hetook it up. It was some that must have belonged to him when he was yet a child. At last, Philip turned his eyes to the wall not yet examined (that opposite the chimney-piece) through which the door was pierced, and behind the door as it lay open, he was to find he table, the couch, the work- box, and the FATAL LETTER. As he turned round, his pulse, which had gradually re- covered its regular motion, beat more quickly: but he made.the effort, and it was over. At first he examined the walls, against which were hung swords and pistols of. various sorts, but chiefly Asiatic bows and arrows, and other implements of destruction. Philip's eyes gradually descended upon the table and little couch behind it, where his mother stated herself to have been seated when his father made his awful visit. The workbox and all its implements were on the table, just as she had left them. The keys she mentioned were also lying there, but Philip looked, and looked again ; there wasno letter. He now advanced nearer, examined closely—there was none that he could perceive, either on the couch or on the table—oron the floor. He lifted up the work-box to ascertain if it was beneath— but no. He examined among its contents, but no letter was there. He turned over the pillows of the couch, but still there was no letter to be found. And Philip felt asif there had been a heavy load removed from his pant- ing chest. ‘‘Surely, then,” thought he, as he leant against the wall, ‘‘ this must haye been the vision of a heated imagination. My poor mother must have fallen asleep, and dreamt THE PHANTOM SHIP. this horrid tale. I thought it was impossible, at least I hoped so. It must have been as I suppose; the dream was too powerful, too like a fearful reality,—partially unseated my poor mother’s reason.” Philip reflected again, and was then satisfied that his suppositions were correct. “Yes, it must have been so, poor dear mother ! how much thou hast suffered; but thou art now rewarded, and with thy God.” After a few minutes (during which he sur- veyed the room again and again with more coolness, and perhaps seme indifference, now that he regarded the supernatural history as not true), Philip took out of his pocket the written paper found with the key, and read it over,—‘‘ The iron cupboard under the buffet furthest from the window.” ‘‘’Tis weil.” He took the bunch of keys from off the table, and soon fitted oneto the outside wooden doors which concealed the iron safe. A second key on the bunch opened the iron doors ; and Philip found himself in possession of a con- siderable sum of money, amounting, as near as he could reckon, to ten thousand guilders, in little yellow sacks. _‘‘ My poor mother !” thought he; ‘‘and has a mere dream scared thee to penury and want, with allthis wealth in thy possession?” Philip replaced the sacks, and locked up the cupboards, after having taken out of one, already half emptied, a few pieces for his immediate wants. Hisattention was next directed to the buffets above, which, with one of the keys, he opened ; he found that they contained china, and silver flagons, and cups of considerable value. The locks were again turned, and the bunch of keys thrown upon the table. The sudden possession of so much wealth added to the conviction, to which Philip had now arrived, that there had been no super- natural appearance, as supposed, by his mother, naturally revived and composed his spirits ; and he felt a reaction which amounted almost to hilarity. Seating himself on the couch, he was soon in a reverie, and, as be- fore, reverted to the lovely daughter of Mynheer Poots, indulging in various castle- buildings, all ending, as usual, when we choose for ourselves, in competence and feli- city. In this pleasing occupation he remained for more than two hours, when his thoughts again reverted to his poor mother and her fearful death. “Dearest, kindest mother ?’’ apostrophized Philip aloud, as he rose from his leaning position, ‘‘here thou wert, tired with watching my infant slumbers, thinking of my absent father and his dangers, working up thy mind and anticipating evil, till thy fevered sleep con- jured up this apparition. Yes, it must have been so, for see here, lying on the floor, is theembroidery, as,it fell from thy unconscious hands, and with that labour ceased thy happi- ness in this a Dear, dear mother!” con- tinued he, a tear rolling down his cheek as he “thy stooped to pick up the piece of n } a : } | mucn hast thou suffered whet Oo] pee , enlas slay rieaven : exclaimed Philip, ed up } ‘ : } the em I ne back v ence, ; and Ove! t I ; God ¢ I yen, and of it ere j id : i D} : 1 ; a LiMD ¢ ‘ 1 } id , k aX — + } ‘ - in awe ana { eaY’r- ful tone he mutt : It was but too tru { r= bro { ry Ol | i T 1 of Vai H i } the tabie Vv t nt ( ‘ was pI f fi he v l t n ] LID \ 1 de ‘ ) { D TD find en hi himself t c At 5 1Uus ( I c OF. mother ; v d 1 nd that : a ag 5 there had be no superna ( - altel te he ee a ee i nad Cll nv Of I l bl 7 7 } : na re i K tI tr xe nim \ ( ood for some time he remained in ttitude 1 ind t r Down at onct Teli the I J Tr oOo! |! Lp} iness Wh he had } tup< ng the last two hours ; and ~ ’ } grad ret I irom |! mi. : ; | a l h melanc ly foreboding last he d ed {ory ( eized the letter, d burst cut of t fat room ‘ I cannot, « not, read here,”’ ex- } : - . claimed | n¢ must be under th ‘ ‘ vault of high and o 1 Heave that tl me ce m be 1 y Philip took his : ] i a { t ¢ [ iSé: 7410 im cd Pp ee { i cif l t key na 7 | tu ‘ : \ ed he knew noty If the reader can imagine the feelings of a man who, sentenced to d nd | ng re- sioned himself to his fate, finds himseli unex- ‘al j } ] et pectedly rep ‘ Ll: VilO, ng re Mpo | his mind after the agitation arising Irom a re- ‘ ; } a | wt try ¢ ry sar} } 1ewal of those hopes and expectations which doned, once more aweus upe n I he had aban f uture prospects, and indulges In pleasing an- ticipation - we say, that if the reader can imagine this, and then what would be that man’s feelings when he finds that the reprieve is revoked, and that he is to suffer, he may then form some idea of the state of Philips mind when he quitted the cottage. Long did he elk, careless in which direc- tion, with the letter in his clenched hand, and his teeth firmly set. Gradually he became more compo ed : and out of breath with the rapidity of his motion, he sat down upon a THE PHANTOM SHIP. T5 bank, and there he long remained, with his eyes riveted upon the dreaded paper, which he held with both his hands Bee my knees. Mechanically he turned the letter over ; the lu ] seal was black. Philip sighed :—‘‘ 1 cannot read it no thought he, and he rose and continued his devious way. For another half-hour did Philip keep in motion, and the sun was not many degrees e the zon. Philip stopped and looked it till on failed. ‘‘I could imagine that it was the eye of God,” thought Philip, and perhaps it may be. ‘‘ Why, then, n 1erci- Cr r, am I thus selected from so many Philip looked about him for some spot ht be concealed from observation ight break the seal, and reac n a world of spirits. A small ood, in advance of a grove of } trees. was not far from where he stood. He walked to it, and sat down, so as to be con- Ct 1 from any 7 s-“Dy,« Panmip~ enc more looked at 1 descending orb of day, and by degree s he became composed. will,” exclaimed he ;'‘‘it is my fate, and ee must be accomplished.” Philip put his hand to the seal—his blood thrilled when he called to mind that it had seen delivered by no mortal hand, and that it contained the secret of one in judgment. He remembered that that one was his father ; and that it was only in the letter that there was hope,—hope for his poor father, whose memory he had been taught to tates and who I -~ ‘Coward that Lam, to have lost so many hours !"’ exclaimed Philip ; ‘‘ yon sun appears if waiting on the hill, to give me light to mused a short time; he was once more eee daring Vanderdecken, Calmly he broke the seal, which bore the initials of his father’s name, and read as follows :— ‘‘One of those pitying spirits whose eyes ) permit- cain tears for mortal crimes has bee ted to inform me by what means alone my dreadful doom may be averted. ud receive on the deck of my own ship the holy relic upon which I swore the fatal oath, kiss it in all humility, and shed one tear of deep contrition on the sacred wood, I then might rest in peace, ‘How this may be effected, or by whom so fatal a task will be undertaken, I know not. © Catherine, we have a son—but, no, no, let him not hear of me. Pray for me, and now, farewell.” ‘‘T, VANDERDECKEN ‘Then it is true, most horribly true,’mS 16 THE PHANTOM SHIP. thought Philip ; ‘‘and my father is even now IN LIVING JUDGMENT. Andhe points to me, —to whom else should he ? Am [ not his son, and is it not my duty?” ‘‘ Ves father,’ exclaimed Philip aloud, fall- ing on his knees, ‘‘ you have not written these linesin vain. Let me peruse them once more. ’ Philip raised up his hand ; but although itt appeared to him that he had still hold of the letter, it was not there—he grasped nothing. He looked on the grass to see if it had fallen —but no, there was no letter, it had disap- peared, Was it a vision?—no, no, he had read every word. ‘‘ Then it must be to me, and me alone, that the mission was intended. T accept the sign.” ‘‘ Hear me, dear father,—if thou art so permitted,—and deign to hear me, gracious Heaven—hear the son who, by this sacred relic, swears that he will avert your doom, or perish. To that will he devote his days ; and having done his duty, he will die in. hope and peace. Heaven, that recorded my rash father’s oath, now register his son's upon thesame sa- cred cross, and may perjury on my part be visited with punishment more dire than his! Receive it, Heaven, as at the last J trust that in thy mercy thou wilt receive the father and the son ; and if too bold, O pardon my pre- sumption.” Philip threw himself forward on his face, with his lips to the sacred symbol. The sun went down, and the twilight gradually disap- peared ; night had, for some time, shrouded all in darkness, and Philip yet remained in alternate prayer and meditation ! But he was disturbed by the voices of some men, who sat down upon the turf but a few yards from where he was concealed. The conversation he little heeded; but it had roused him, and his first feeling was to return to the cottage, that he might reflect over his plans ; but although the men spoke in a low tone, his attention was soon arrested by the subject of their conversation, when he heard the name mentioned of Mynheer Poots. He listened attentively, and discovered that they were four disbanded soldiers, who intended that night to attack the house of the little doctor, who had, they knew, much money in his possession. ‘* What I have proposed is the best,’’ said one of them; ‘‘he has no one with him but his daughter.” ‘‘T value her more than his money,” re- plied another ; ‘‘so recollect before we go, it is perfectly understood that she isto be my property.” ‘ ‘‘Yes, if you choose to purchase her, there's no objection,” replied a third. “‘ Agreed ; how much will you in con- science sake ask for a puling girl?” “I say five hundred guilders,” replied an- other. “Well, be it so, but on this condition, that if my share of the booty does not amount to so much, I am to have her for my share, whatever it may be.” ‘“That’s very fair,” replied the other: ‘but I’m much mistaken if we don’t turn more than two thousand guilders out of the old man’s chest.’ “What do you two say—is it agreed— shall Baetans have her?” ‘“Oh yes,’ replied the others. ‘‘Well then,” replied the one who had stipulated for Mynheer Poots’s daughter, ‘now I am with you, heart and soul. 1 loved that girl, and tried to get her,—I posi- tively offered to marry her, but the old hunks refused me, an ensign, an officer ; but now I'll have revenge. We must not spare him.” ‘“No, no,’ replied the others. ‘Shall we go now, or wait till itis later ? In an hour or more the moon will be up,—we may be seen.” ‘‘ Who is to see us? unless indeed, some one is sent for him. ‘The later the better I Say. ‘‘ How long will it take us to get there? Not half an hour if we walk. Suppose we start in half an hour hence, we shall just have the moon to count the guilders by.” “That's all right. In the meantime, I'll put a new flint in my lock, and have my car- bine loaded. I can work in the dark.”’ “You are used to it, Jan.’ ‘“Yes, I am,—and I intend this ball to go through the old rascal's head.” ‘‘Well, ['d rather you should kill him than I,” replied one of the others, ‘‘ for he saved my life at Middleburgh, when every one made sure I'd die.” - Philip did not wait to hear’any more; he crawled behind the bushes until he gained the grove of trees, and passing through them, made a detour, so as not to be seen by these miscreants. That they were disbanded sol- diers, many of whom were infesting the country, he knew well. All his thoughts were now to save the old doctor and his daughter from the danger which threatened them ; and for a time he forgot his father, and the exciting revelations of the day. Although Philip had not been aware in what direction he had walked when he set off from the cot- tage, he knew the country well ; and now that it was necessary to act, he remembered the direction in which he should find the lonely house of Mynheer Poots: with the utmost speed he made his way for it, and in less than twenty minutes he arrived there out of breath. As usual, all was silent, and the door fas-tened. Philip knocked, but there was no reply. Again and again he knocked, and became impatient. ,Mynheer Poots must have been summoned, and was not in the house; Philip therefore called out, so as to be heard within, ‘‘ Maiden, if your pines is out, as I presume he must be, listen to what I have to say—lI am Philip Vander decken. But now I overheard four wretches, who have planned to murder your father, and rob him of his gold. In one hour, or less, they will be here, and I have hastened to warn and to protect you, if I may. I swear upon the relic that you delivered to me this morning, t state is true.” Philip waited a short time, but received no hat what I answer. _ Maiden, = resumed he, ‘‘answer me, if you value that which is more dear to you than even your father's gold to him. Open the casement above, and listen to what I have to say. In so doing there is no risk; and even if it were not dark, already have I seen you.” A short time after this second address, casement of the upper the vindow was unbarred, of the and the slight form fair daughter of Mynheer Poots was to be distinguished “by Philip through the gloom. “4 W hat-wouldst thou, unseemly hour? and what is 4t thou wouldst impart, but imperfectly heard by me, when thou spokest this minute at the door?” Philip then entered into a detail of allt he had overheard, and concluded by begging her to admit him, that he mi ight defend her. ‘ Think, fair maiden, of what I have told You have been sold to one of those re- probates, whose name I[ think they mentioned was Baetens. The gold, I know, you not; but think of thine own dear self me to enter the house, and think not for one moment that my story is feigned. I swear to thee, by the f my mother, young Sir, at this ‘ a Lia you. ; Vv We Value poor dear now, I trust, in heaven, that every word is true.” ‘ Baetens, did you say, sir? “Tf I mistook them not, such was the ” name ; he said he loved you once ‘That name I have in memory—I know not what to do, or what to my father has been summoned to a birth, and may be yet away for many hours. Yet how can I ope the door to you—at night—he not at home [ alone? [ ought not—cannot—yet do | believe you. You surely never could be so base as to invent this tale.” ‘No—upon my hopes of future bliss [ could not, maiden! you must not trifle with your life and honour, but let me in.’ ‘And if I did, what could you do against such numbers? They are four to one—would say : THE PHANTOM SHIP, 17 soon overpower you, and one more life would be lost. ‘ Not if you have arms; and I think your Hie would not be left without them. T fear them not—you know that I am resolute.” ‘ I do indeed—and now you'd risk your life for those you did assail.. I thank you—thank you kindly, sir—but dare not ope the door.” ‘“Then, maiden, if you'll not admit me, here will I now remain; without arms, and but ill able to contend with four armed vil- ains ; but still, here will I remain and prove my truth to one I will protect ‘gainst any odds—yes, even here !"’ ‘Then shall I be thy murderer !—but that n wust not be. Oh ! ‘sir—swear, swear by all that’s holy, and by all that’s pure, that you do not deceive me.” ‘*T swear by th me more sacred !”’ ‘The casement closed, and in a short time a light appeared above. Ina minute or two more the door was opened to. Philip by the fair daughter of Mynheer Poots. She stood with the candle in her right hand, the colour in her cheeks varying—now flushing red, and again deadly pale. Her left hand was down Id a pistol half by her side, and in it she he concealed. Philip perceived this precaution on her part, but took no notice of it; he wished to re-assure her, ‘‘ Maiden !” said he, not entering, ‘ yself, maiden, than all to if you still have doubts—if you think you have been ul advised in giving me admission —there is uct time to close the door against me; but for your own sake I entreat you not. Before the moon is up, the robbers will be here. With my life I will protect you, if you will but trust me. Who indeed could injure one like you?” was indeed (as she stood irresolute plexed from the peculiarity of her situation, yet not wanting in courage when it was to be called forth) an object well worthy of gaze and admiration. Her features thrown into broad light and shade by the candle, which at times was half extinguished by the wind—her symmetry of form and the grace- fulness and. singula rity of her attire—were matter of astonishment to Philip. Her head Tasrthank covering, and her long hair fell in plaits behind her SrOM ers her stature was rather under es middle size, but her lress was simple but be- coming, and very different from that usually worn by the young women of -the district. Not only her features but her dress. wouid at once have indicated to a traveller that was of Arab blood, as was the fact. She looked in Philip’s face as he spoke— earnestly, as if she would have penetrated into his inmost thoughts; but there was a oO form perfect ; her Sit=a 18 THE PHANTOM SHIP. frankness and honesty in his bearing, and a sincerity in his manly countenance, which re- assured her. After a moment's hesitation she replied— “Come in, sir; I feel that I can trust Philip entered. The door was then closed and made secure. “We have no time to lose, maiden,” said Philip: “but tell me your name, that I may address you as I ought.” “My name is Amine,” repHed she, re- treating a little. “T thank you for that little confidence ; but I must not dally. What arms have you in the house, and have you ammunition ?” “Both. I wish that my father would come home.’ «And sodo I,” replied Philip, ‘‘ devoutedly wish he would, before these murderers come ; but not, I trust, while the attack is making, for there’s a carbine loaded expressly for his head, and if they make him prisoner, they will not spare his life, unless his gold and your person are given in ransom. But the arms, maiden—where are they?” ‘“Follow me,” replied. Amine, leading Philip to an inner room on the upper floor. It was the sanctum of her father, and Was surrounded with shelves filled with bottles and boxes of drugs.. In ome corner was an iron chest, and over the mantelpiece were a brace of carbines and three pistols. ‘“They are all loaded,’’ observed Amine, pointing to them, and laying on the table the one which she had held in her hand. Philip took down the arms, and examined all the primings. He then took up from the table the pistol which ‘Amine had laid there, and threw open the pan. It was equally well prepared. Philip closed the pan, and witha smile observed, ‘So this was meant for me, Amine?” ‘“No—not for you—but for a traitor, had one gained admittance.”’ fm Now, maiden,” observed Philip, “I shall station myself at the casement which you Opened, but without a light in the room. You may remain here, and can turn the key for your security.” : ““You little know me,’ replied Amine. “In that way at least I am not fearful: I must remain near you and reload the arms— a task in which I am well practised.’ ‘“No, no,” replied Philip ; ‘‘ you might be hurt.”’ “‘T may. But think you I will rémain here idly, when I can assist oné who risks his life for me? I know my duty, sir, and I shall perform it.” ““You must not risk your life, Amine,” replied Philip; ‘‘my aim will not be steady you ’ if I know that you’re in danger. But I must take the ‘arms into the other chamber, for the time is come. ’ Philip, assisted by Amine, carried the car- bines and pistols into the adjoining chamber ; and Amine then left Philip, carrying witn her the light. Philip, as soon as he was alone, opened the casement and looked out—there was no one to be seen; he listened, but all was silent. Ihe moon was just rising above the distant hill, but her light was dimmed _ by fleecy clouds, and Philip watched for a few minutes ; at length he heard a whispering be- low. He looked out, and could distinguish through the dark the four expected assailants, standing close to the door of the house. He walked away softly from the window, and went into the next room to Amine, whom he found busy preparing the ammunition. “Amine, they are at the door, in con- sultation. You can see them now, without risk. I thank them, for they will convince you that I have told the truth. Atnine, without reply, went into the front room and looked out of the window. She re- turned, and laying her hand upon Philip's arm, she said— «Grant me your pardon for my doubts. I fear nothing now but that my father may return too soon, and they seize him.’ Philip left the room again, to make his reconnoissance. The robbers did not appear to have made up their mind—the strength of the door defied their utmost efforts, so they attempted stratagem. ‘They knocked, and as there was no reply, they continued to knock louder and louder ; not meeting with success, they held another consultation, and the muzzle of a carbine was then put to the keyhole, and the piece discharged. The lock of the door was blown off, but the iron bars which crossed the door within, above, and below, still held it fast. Although Philip would have been justi- perceived them in consultation at the door, still there is that feeling in a generous mind which prevents the taking away of life, except from stern necessity ; and this feeling made him withhold his fire until hostilities had actu- ally commenced. ~He now levelled one of the carbines at the head of the robber nearest to the door, who was busy examining the effect which the discharge of the piece had made, and what.further obstacles intervened. The aim was true and the man fell dead, while the others started back with surprise at the unexpected retaliation. But in a second or two a pistol was discharged at Philip, who still remained leaning out of the casement, fortunately without éffect ; and thé next mo- ment he felt himself drawn away, so as to beTHE PHANTOM SHIP. protected from their fire. It was Amine, Poots. Amine, who also heard it, waé ina who, unknown to Philip, had been standing moment at his side with a loaded pistel in by his side each hand. ‘“ You must not expose yourself, Philip,”’ ‘Fear not, Amine,” said Philip, as he uid s na low tone unbarred the door, ‘‘there are but two, and gle c 1 me Philip,” thought he, but your father shall be saved.” m le no reply The door : ) ed, and I hilin§ sej Ing ‘They will be watching for you at the his carbi1 rus out ; he fou Tynhec = a cl lI l l u oF LOU i 1Iee] casement now, L An , ‘Take the Poots on the ground between the two men other carbine, and go below in the passage. one of whom had raised*his knife to plunge If the lock of the door is blown « they may it into his} , when the ball of the carbine put their arn 1, perhaps, and remove the whizzed through his head: The last of the bars I do not t k they can, but I'm not robbers closed with Philip, and a desperate : : : I sat airs it there you uld n : gle ensued; it was, however, soon be, as the the ll not expect you decided by Ami stepping forward and ‘You are right,” replied Philip, going firing one of the pistols through the robber's doyrn. bod ‘*But you must not fire m than once We:must here inform our readers that there ; if another fall, there will be but two. Mynheer Pi , when coming home, had to deal with, ; they cannot 1 the heard-the report of fire-arn he direction casement: and for amittar {06 (70 lg 7 ad OW { { Lhe eK nm of His will reload the ¢ DIT ad id Of! mo r—forto do him Philip descended t t wit stice he did love r best—had lent him livht He went 1 YP’ per Wins t that | ; t feeble old ed that « miscreant with his man and without arms: all thought of t ih 1 hole where the i vas to } i) habitation. On he came, blown « W cing at tf i er iron reckl frantic, and shouting, and rushed bar, whi ‘ il just reach He pre- into the arms of the two rol who ited | ( 1 was about to ized and would ve d tched him, whole cha o the ] yof the man { d not Philip so opportune col to his his ri d i was rt of a re fire-arms from tl} | , 4S soon <¢ the last rol yr - fer J ip ‘¢ Amit has ¢ sed rself,” disengaged hin f and went to the istan Philip, ‘fand may | nut of Mynheer Poots, whom he ra up in his he desire of ven: prompted n arms and carried into tl house as if he were his piece through the man an infa1 [he old man was still in a state e flew up the st to ascert the of delirium, from f and previous excite- ite of Am sne was not at ti . = SNORT, ment: he darted into th mer 1 and In a few minutes, My1 ‘r Poots was mor found her deliberately loading tl rbin coherent. ‘M God ! ] you ite] ] ‘My da ioht Py ex ! 1: he" piv Am I thought byt rf t you d ter ! where is she?” had shown yourself at the wil a is here, father, and fe.” replied ‘“Indeed I did not ! but I thought that At whet uu fired ih the d t} n ‘‘ Nh ! my child is safe,” id he, open- retu \ re, u be rt 4 r nis eve i Starin r eS) even so to t he ¢ nent and p lo my money—my money—where is my on i@ of my father cl es, 1 mone continued he, sta up. th Wo re watchil fi 1 fired m- Or safe, father.” Iv cd : \ Ind i \mine ! who yu l have ex- I Vj ric noné but ill-favoured people brave tnen repued AM! milun ‘ AA aqn that \ ine but ) me thre uilder nd ; half, ‘ind the is-a 11a, Tl I in tna Amn L oor again >Ta 20 of no use to him—he must return that. Give me some water.’ It was some time before the old man could regain his perfect reason. Philip left him with his daughter, and, taking a brace of loaded pistols, went out to ascertain the fate of the four assailants. The moon, having climbed above the bank of clouds which had ob- scured her, was now high in the heavens, shining bright, and he could distinguish clearly. The two men lying across the threshold of the door were quite dead. The others, who had seized upon Mynheer Poots, yere still alive, but one was expiring and the other bled fast. Philip put a few questions to the latter, but he either would not or could not make any reply; he removed their weapons and returned to the house, where he found the old man attended by his daughter, in a state of comparative com- posure. “T thank you, Philip Vanderdecken—I thank you much. You have saved my dear child, and my money—that is little, very little—for Iam poor. May you live long and happily!” Philip mused; the letter and his vow were, for the first time since he fell in with the robbers, recalled to his recollection, and a shade passed over his countenance. ‘‘Long and happily—no, no,” muttered he, with an involuntary shake of the head. « And I must thank you,” said Amine, looking inquiringly in Philip’s face. ‘‘O, how much have I to thank you for!—and indeed I am grateful.” ‘Ves, yes, she is very grateful,’ inter- rupted the old man; ‘‘but we are poor— very poor. I talked about my money because I have so little, and 1 cannot afford to lose it; but you shall not pay me the three guilders and a half—I am content to lose that, Mr. Philip.” ‘Why should you lose even that, Myn- heer Poots?—I promised to pay you, and will keep my word. I have plenty of money —thousands of guilders, and know not what to do with them.” ‘« You—you—-thousands of guilders !"’ ex- claimed Poots. ‘‘ Pooh, nonsense, that won't do.”’ “T repeat to you, Amine,’’ said Philip, ‘‘that I have thousands of guilders: you know I would not tell you a falsehood.” 2 I believed you when you said so to my father,’ replied Amine. ‘Then, perhaps, as you have so much, and I am so very. poor, Mr, ~ Vander- decken : But Amine put her hand upon her father’s lips, and the sentence was not iinished. THE PHANTOM SHIP. “Father,” said Amine, ‘‘it is time that we retire. You must leave us for to-night, Philip.” “JT will not,” replied Philip; “nor, you may depend upon, will I sleep. You may both to bed in safety. It is indeed time that you retire—good night, Mynheer Poots. I will but ask a-ylamp, and then I leave you— Amine, good night.” “Good night,” said Amine, extending her hand, ‘‘and many, many thanks.” “Thousands of guilders !” muttered the old man, as Philip left the room and went below. CHAPTER V. PHILIP VANDERDECKEN sat down at the porch of the door ; he swept his hair from his forehead, which he exposed to the fanning of the breeze; for the continued excitement of the last three days had left a fever on his brain which made him restless and confused. He longed for repose, but he knew that for him there was no rest. He had his forebodings— he perceived in the vista of futurity a long- continued chain of danger and disaster, even to death; yet he beheld it without emotion and without dread. He felt as if it were only three days that he had begun to exist ; he was inelancholy, but not unhappy. His thoughts were constantly recurring to the fatal letter— its strange supernatural disappearance seemed pointedly to establish its supernatural origin, and that the mission had been intended for him alone; and the relic in his possession more fully substantiated the fact. ‘‘Tt is my fate, my duty,” thought Philip. Having satisfactorily made up his mind to these conclusions, his thoughts reverted to the beauty, the courage, and presence of mind shown by Amine. ‘‘ And,’ thought he, as he watched the moon soaring high in the heavens, ‘is this fair creature's destiny to be inter- woven with mine? ‘The events of the last three days- would almost warrant the sup- position. Heaven only knows, and Heaven's will be done. I have vowed, and my vow is registered, that I will devote my life to the release of my unfortunate father—but does that prevent my loving Amine ?—No, no ; the sailor on the Indian seas must pass months and months on shore before he can return to his duty. My search must be on the broad ocean, but how often may I return? and why am I to be denied the solace of a smiling hearth ?—and yet—do I right in winning the affections of one who, if she loves, would, I am convinced, love so dearly, fondly, truly— ought I to persuade her to mate herself with one whose hfe will be so precarious ?—but is not every sailor's life precarious, daring the angry waves, with but an inch of plank ‘tweenhim and deat} 1?. Besides, ful- fil a task—and if so, wha ur ll in Heaven's own time it is a ri ? but then how soon, and how is it to end? in death! I wish my blood we cooler, that I might reason better.” “Such were the meditations of Ph ilip Van- derdecken, and lon revolve such chances in his mind ” At last the day dawned, and as he perceived the blush upon the hori- zon, less careful of his watch he slumbered where he sat. A shoulder made him pis tol from his bosom. bel rY 1QT ; ] . } ” oA id chat pistol was intended for m« ca} mine milling renanting Dhl: said Amine, smiling, repeating Philip Ww Ort of th S night before. ‘For you, twere necessary, once ‘“T know it wou watch this tedious nigh tion and fatigue ! to nid } but it ‘‘Until I saw the dawn faithful watch.” ‘ But now retire and take some rest. My is risen—you can lie down on his ; e ‘*T thank ‘1 no wish for slee yon, but I fee D. here is much to do, We must go to the burgomaster and state the facts, and these ore bodies must remain whe they are is known. Will your father g until Amin th Cc ather surely is the more proper per- son, as the proprietor of the house You must remain; andif you will not sleep, you must takesome refreshment. I will go in and tell my father; he has already taken his morn- ing’s meal,” Amine went in, and soon returned with her father, who had consented to go to the burgomaster. He saluted Philip kindly as he came out ; shuddered as he passed on on side to avoid stepping over the dead bodies, and went off at a quick pace to the adjacent where the ] town, t desired Philip to ~s } Amin follow her, and they went into her father’s room, where, to his surprise, he found some coffee ready for him—at that time a rarity, and one which Philip did not expect to find in the house the penurious Mynheer Poots ; but it luxury which, from his former life, the could not dispe nse with. Philip, who had not tasted food for twenty-four hours, was not sorry to avail self of what was placed before him. A sat down opposite to him, and was silent ing the repast. Amine,” said Philip at last, have had plenty of time for reflection during this night, of a old man Was le irlyv him- mine dur- ‘ft [LOM SHIP your f rely 2” Amine. I feel as- sured you will say nothing that you should not say, or should not meet a maiden’‘s ear,” * You do me justice, Amine. My have been upon you and your fa cannot stay in this lone habitation. ’ ‘I feel itis too lonely; that is, Beery? pert for mine—but you know my y loneliness suits him, pneT rice ‘rent is little, and he is careful of his ‘ fy thoughts th ul who would be caref wi of his money s ould place it in irity—here it is ecure. Now, hear Amine. I have a cottage surrounded, as you may have heard, which mutually protect each ‘hat cottage I am ab io to leave perhaps for ever ; for I intend sail by first ship to the Indian se ‘The Indian seas! why so ?— did you not last night talk of t inds of guilders ?”’ “*] did, and they are there ; but, Amine, I must go—it Sec ryt on LOLS THC; ) —j he ” as. 1OUus is Ask my duty. me no more, but listen to what I now propose. You father must live in my cottage ; he must take care of it for mein my eats e; he willdome a favour by consenting, and you must per- suade him. You will there } e safe. He must also take care of my money for me. I want it not at present—I cannot take it with me. ‘* My father is not to be tru with money of other people.” ‘* Why does your fat! not take money with away. It must be ny money safe ?” ** Leave it then in my charge, and it will be safe ; but why need you go and risk your life upon the water, when you have means ?”’ ‘* Amine ‘ ] sted He is called er hoard ? him when he all for you— his } 7 such alm pie ask not that question. It is my duty asa son, and more [| cannot tell, at least at present. ‘Tf it is your duty Iask nomore. It was not womanish curiosity—no, no—lt was a better feeling, I assure you, which prompted ine to put the question.” And Amine?” ‘‘T hardly know—many good fee haps mixed up together—gratitude, respect, confidence, good-will. Are not these ufficient ?’ ‘‘Yes, indeed, Amine, and much to gain upon so short an acquaintance ; but still I feel them and more for you. If, then, you feel so much m3 me, do oblige me by persuading her to leave this lonely house this day, e p his abode in mine,” what that feeling, Was or ling S per- esteeni, ’ 7 all, fat and tak- «“ And where do you intend to go your- Seltr: “Tf your father will not admit me as a boarder for the short time I remain here, I will seek some shelter elsewhere ; but if he will I will indemnify him well—that is, if you raise no objection to my being a few days in the house? © “Why should 1? Our hahitation is no longer safe, and you offer us a shelter. It were, indeed, unjust and most ungrateful to tum you out from beneath your own roof.’ “Then persuade him, Amine. I will ac- cept of nothing, but take it as a favour; for I should depart in sorrow if es saw you not in safety.—Will you promise me ‘‘T do promise to use my a endeavours —nay, I may as well say at once it shallbe so ; for I know my influence. Here is my hand upon it. Will that content you?” ‘« Philip took the small hand extended to- wards him. His feelings overcame his dis- cretion ; he raised it to his lips. He looked up to see if Amine was displeased, and found her dark eye fixed upon him, as once before when she admitted him, as if she would see his thoughts—but the hand was not with- drawn. ‘‘(ndeed, Amine?’ said Philip, kissing her hand once more, ‘‘ you may confide in me.” ‘«T hope—I think—nay, I am surel may, at last replied she. Philip released her hand. Amine returned to her seat, and for some time remained silent, and in a pensive attitude. Philip also had his own thoughts, and did not open his lips. At last Amine spoke. ‘‘T think I have heard my father say that your mother was very poor—a little deranged ; and that there was a chamber in the house which had been shut up for years.”’ ‘Tt was shut up till yesterday.” ““And there you found your money ? Did your mother not know of the money ?”’ ‘‘She did, for she spoke ofit on her death- beds.’ ‘““There must have been some- potent reasons for not opening the chamber.” “There were.”’ ‘* What were they, Philip ?” said Amine, in a soft and low tone of voice.” “T must not tell, at least I ought not. This must satisfy you—'twas the fear of an ee 2 ‘* What apparition ?’ “« She said that my father had appeared to her: ‘¢ And did he, think you, Philip ?”’ “1 have no doubt that he did. But I can answer no more questions, Amine. he chamber is open now, and there is no fear of his re-appearance,’’ ” THE PHANTOM SHIP. lt fe ar not that,” replied Amine, musing, “But,” continued she, ‘‘is not this con- nected with your resolution of going to Seats ‘So far will I answer you, that it has decided me to go to sea; but I pray you ask It is painful to refuse you, ‘and my ” no more. duty forbids me to speak further. For some minutes they were both silent, when Amine resumed— ‘“You were so anxious to possess that relic, that I cannot help thinking it has con- nection with the my stery. Is it not so?” ‘(Roy the last time, Amine, I will answer it has to do withit; but now your question- no more. ' Philip's blunt and almost rude manner of finishing his speech was not lost upon Amine, who rep lied, “You are so engrossed with other thoughts, that you have not felt the compli- ment shown you by my taking such interest about you, Sit, t''Ves,- 1° do—! feel and poe you too, Amine. Forgive me, if I have been rude ; but recollect, the secret is not mine—at least I feelas ifit were not. God knows I wish I never hac known it, for it has blasted all my hopes in life.”’ Philip was silent; and when he raised his eyes, he found that Amine’s were fixed upon him. ‘‘Would you read my thoughts, or my secret ?” ‘Your thoughts, perhaps—your secret I would not ; yet do I grieve that it should op- press you so heavily as evidently it does. It must, indeed, be one of awe to bear down a mind like yours, Philip.” ‘Where did you learn to be so brave, Amine?” said Philip, changing the conversa- tion. “Circumstances make people brave or otherwise; those who. are accustomed to difficulty and danger fear them not.”’ ‘‘ And where have, you met with them Amine ?” ; ‘‘In the country where Iwas born, not in this dank and muddy land ‘ Will you trust me with the story of your former life, Amine? I can be secret if you wish.” : ‘That you can be secret, perhaps, against my wish, you have already proved to me, replied Amine, smiling; ‘‘and you have a claim to know something of the life you have preserved. I cannot tell you much, but. what I can will be sufficient. My father, when a lad, on board of a trading vessel, was taken by the Moors, and sold asa slave to a Hakim, or physician, of their country. Finding him a intelligent, the Moor brought him up as an assistant, and it was under this man that Amine,he obtained a knowledge of the art. years he was equal to his master: but, as a y! i f" as~ i : . . “LA y Pe Wh } ave, he worked not for himse ae : : } indeed it cannot be conct father's avarice C8 bs 4o5 : H shed to be 1@ as wealthy as + } . : # 5 a )} oDtTaln [ il 1lom : pe . 9 L L ht i Il y I _ cam tO er of Ma fter wl hi C1 ‘ ; ; 1 i LICL ) l Ce | < £4 ‘ wite Ilroma ATab 1 { OL 2 } 1 } , is 3 e - , re , WoOOm 1 f } nda ne ] % ; ed } e ] kL. Yt th { I cao ’ ’ : isseqd ; ; ae. i { L mit ) cu. . ‘ | » } i L 5 Ly nae I > Lnas . v ; 1 i } t CX LOY Perse f OMN. ri 1d , ) 74 } } yas iorteited, but e ¢ i I hov 1 ' . ait 1+ } | } ] ] ] \ without the lo Oi Delo wealth 4 z 3 Ne) ) na : ; +}, } } ] mothe ind | Lt WI1tfA Im > if Sito % Bed win with ] ; - ; CCUOUINS, VV l Voom We remained some years There I was accustomed to rapid arnl 4 { 1 ; 3 marches, wild and f cs, defeat l - ‘ , flight, and oftentim to disci late : } . ) tT ; slaughter. But the Bedouins ] lL not well y f+} y } for my latner s rvik » aud iC 1S | . : ; , ; Ta ino th e+? ] } ] . } Hearing that the Bey returned to ¢ O } | 1 j H S 7] 1 | all ao I to { ) Vv S ‘ ») ¢£ t t : , rb , , } NT) ’ Bey os Re & 5% Ne tunat \ : . IT e acquainted ntions of t "1 I rain eB ; t I fe again es 1 a portion of } } , y 1] 7 J nasmail na $ 1 the KS + % + \ } ] y] Cx cE | 1 ie tN Yr) ; oO Ti l money, | 4 ae n t ) try ne had | T) 1 ; a mo 7 x ; 7 | a l iS NOY iO I YY > LAYING i gain VV ¢ re | on: r at Middle bure 1 from rem d to this plac Ly, na I Lh I n LO > p ae : ohm PD such 1s the ry of my life, Philip “sé ; 1 7 1? t And d your father still hold the Ma- homedan faith, Amine ? ‘* And yours?’ ‘*‘Is the God who made this beautiful world, and all which it contains—the God of nature—name him as you will. Chis I feel, Philip, but more I fain would; the r many faith but y they must be but different paths leading alike to heaven. Yours is the Chri in faith | [sit thet one ? But every one cal his own the true one whatever his creed may | ‘Tt 3s thi and only one, Amine Could I but reveal—I have such dreadful proofs——” eee own faith is true: then is it to reveal these proofs fr Tell by any solemn obligations L iict nat not your duty I ‘No, I am not ; yet do I feel as if I were. But I hear voices —it must be your father and THE PHANTOM SHIP: 23 hea horitiec “q0F . ; - the authorities—I must go down and meet rhiilp rose and went downstairs. Amine’s eyes tolowed him as he went, and she re- mained looking towards the door. “1s | pie Said shi sweeping the | hait ym off her brow, ‘‘so soon,—ves. ves ; " » Jy; tis even so, If that I would sooner share his len woe—his dangers—eve leat lL \ ny Ganvers even death itsel vere Tey } wif t} itsell were preferable with him, than ease and Nappiness with any other. And it shall be | -Ind : if cl +t i ; Ly + strange inde 1 if I donot. This nig it my father ll move into his cottage ; | will pre- p ONCE, [he report of Philip and Mynheer Poots . <- 35 1 : was taken down by the authorities, the bodies examined, and one or two of them recognized well-known marauders. They were then removed by the order of the burgomaster. Thi ithorities broke up their council, and Philip id Mynl eer Poots were permitted to returt to ll ir a I n hi ; be l te that Poots yielded to the ‘ oyed by Amine and Philip, O of paying no rent. ct the furnitur e and medicines Wi nd in the afternoon most of the effects were tal a\ It was not, however, till dusk t the strong box of the doctor was put into the cart, and Philip went 1th prot ol \min lso walked by supposed, it was late that I they had made their had retired to rest. CHAPTER VIEL ‘‘’'THIS, then, is the chamber, which has so long been closed uid Amin . OF entering it the next morning, long before Philip had awakened from the sound sleep produced by the watching of the night bef ve in- deed, it has the air of having long been closed. Amine looked around r,and then examined the furniture Her « vere at tracted to the birdcage e looked into them :—‘‘ Poor little things !" continued she, ‘fand here it was his father appeared unto Well, it may be : uith that he hath proofs ; and why id, | Were Philip de so, —Philip should he should re- it least it would be something. am I saving—unfaithful i] thus to betray my secret ?—The table thrown over:—that like the work of fear; a workbox, with all its implements scattered,—only a woman's fear: a mouse might have caused all this; and yet there is something solemn in the simple fact that, for so many years, not a living being has crossed IDS , looksthese boards. Even that a table thus over- “No, we will not take charge of it, father : thrown could so remain for years seems you will have nothing to do with it. Look on the mind. I wonder not that Philip feels Amine placed the silver in the buffets, there is so heavy a secret belonging to this looked the doors, and took the keys with her room—but it must not remain in this con- dition—it must be occupied at once.” leaving the old man gazing through the glazed doors at the precious metal within. attend upon her father, and perform the His eyes were rivetted upon It, and he could household duties, now commenced her in- not remove them. Every minute he muttered, Every part of the room, and eyery piece Philip came downstairs ; and as he passed of furniture init, were cleaned ; even the cob- by the room, intending to go into the kitchen, sofa and table brought from the corner to the he walked into the room. He was surprised centre of the room; the melancholy little as well as pleased with the alteration. Ete work of neatness was complete, and the sun was grateful. Amine came in with the break- shone brightly into the opened window, the fast, and their eyes spoke more than their lips ness. meal with less of sorrow and gloom upon his Amine had the intuitive good sense to brow. the objects connected with them are removed. he had finished, ‘‘i intend to leave you in She resolved, then, to make Philip more at possession of my cottage, and I trust you will blood inherent in her race, she had taken his ments are necessary, I will confide to your image to her heart, and was determined to daughter previous to my departure.’ her labour, until the pictures about the room, sea? It must be pleasant to go and see and every other article, looked fresh and strange countries—much better that staying Not only the birdcages, but the workbox ‘‘T shall leave this evening for Amster- and all the implements, were removed ; and dam,” replied Philip, ‘‘ to make my arrange- which had made Philip recoil as if he had before | sail.”’ touched an adder, was put away with the rest. -‘Ah! you will return. Yes—you. have opened the buffets, cleaned the glazed doors, must count your money. We will take good and was busy rubbing up the silver flagons, care of it- Where is your money, Mr. Van- ‘“Mercy on me !’’ exclaimed Mynheer ‘‘That I will communicate to your daugh- Poots ; ‘‘and is all that silver?—then it must ter this forenoon, before I leave. In three but where are they ?”’ back.” “‘Never do you mind, father ; yours are ‘‘Father,’ said Amine, ‘‘ you promisec Vanderdecken.”’ it is time you went.” ‘Ves, very true; but as he is to live here ‘‘Yes, yes—by-and-by—all in good time ; He ought to pay well, as he has so much first: he has much to tell me before he money. o0es.” z 5 tuous smile, but she made no reply. remembered what. had passed when he first I wonder where he keeps his money ; summoned Mynheer Poots to the cottage ; but ship ? Who walt have charge of his money clouded brow. when he goes: Amine; who knew what was passing in Ee brought her father’s hat, and led him to the Ah—yes—well—we will take charge of door of the cottage; and Mynheer Poots, 24 THE PHANTOM SHIP. scarcely natural, and therefore has its power after your own.” when she went out to prepare breakfast, Amine, who had long been accustomed to tended labours. ‘Ves, all silver. webs and dust were cleared away, and the he perceived Mynheer Poots at the buffet, and prisons were removed ; and when Amine’s felt why and by whom it was done, and he chamber wore the appearance of cheerful- could have done: and Philip sat down to his feel that strong impressions wear away when ‘“Mynheer Poots,” said Philip, as scon as ease; for, with all the fire and warmth of find yourself comfortable. What little arrange- win him. Again and again did she resume ‘Then you leave us, Mr. Philip, to go to clean. at home. When do you go?” the piece of embroidery, the taking up of ments aboutaship ; but I shall return, I think, Philip had left the keys on the floor. Amine your money and your goods to see to; you when her father came into the room. derdecken ?”’ be true, and he has thousands of guilders; weeks, at the furthest, you may expect me now safe, and for that you may thank Philip to go and see the child of the burgomaster ; —does he eat much ?—what will he pay me? but I must wait the pleasure of Mr. Philip Amine’s lips were curled with a contemp- Philip could not help smiling when he and he is going to sea as soon as he canget a the remembrance ended in sorrow and a ‘‘T shall take charge of it, father,” replied the minds of both her father and Philip, now it. ‘The ship may be lost.” very much against his inclination—but never ~disputing the will of his obliged to depart. **So soon, Philip ? to the room. ‘Ves, be back once daughter—was a said Amine, returning Amine, immediately ; but I trust to more before I sail; if not, you must now have my instructions. Give me the keys. a P nie opened the cupboard below the buffet, and 1 the doors of the iron safe. = thers Amine, is my money. We need not count it, as your father would propose. You that I was right w that I had thousands of rs. At pre- sent they are of no use to me, as I have to learn my profession. Should I return some see hen I asserted day, they may help me to own a ship. 1 know not what my destiny may be.” “ And should you not return?” replied Amine, gravely. “Then they are yours, as well as all that is in this Noah and the cottage itself.” ‘a when tk aon } . en . > You | have relations, have you not? ‘* But one, who is rich—an uncle, who helped us but little in our distress, and who has no children: I owe him but littleh—and he wants nothing. There is but one being in this world who S ite this heart, Amine, and it is} to look upon me as a br love you as a dear sister. Amine mad ‘ i€ no reply. Phili took some more money out of the tes which had been opened, for the expenses of his journey, and then locking up the safe and cupboard, gave the keys to Amine. He was about to address her, when there was a slight knock at the door, and in entered. Father Seysen, the priest. ‘* Save son; and you, my child, You are, | Poots ? you, my yet I have not seen. suppose, the daughter of Mynheer Amine bowed her head. ‘*T perceive, Philip, that the whom as room is now opened ; and I have heard of all that has passed. I would now talk with thee, Philip, and must beg this maiden to leave us f while alone.’ Amine quitted the room ; and the priest, sitting down on the couch, beckoned Philip to his side. The conversation which ensued was too long to repeat. The priest first questioned Philip relative to his secret ; but on that point he could not obtain the informa GOH which he wished, Philip stated as much as he did to Amine, and no moré. He also declared his intention of going to sea, and that, should he not return, he had ee his pro- perty—the extent of which he did not make known—to the doctor aa his ene iter The priest then made inquiries relative to Mynheer Poots, asking Philip whether he LHE PHANTOM SHIP. is creed was, as he had never church, and report said that To this Philip, as usual, his frank answer, and intimated that the daughter, at least, was anxious to be en- lightened, begging the priest to undertake a t knew what h appeared at any he was an infidel. sk to which he himself was not adequate. lo this request Father Seysen, who perceived the state of Phil mind ae regard to Amine, readily consented Bate a conversa- ni tion of nearly two hotrs, t inter- BS ( VeTe rupted by the return of teehee Poots, who darted out of the room the instant he per- ceived Father Seysen. Philip called Amine, and having begged her as a favour to receive the good old man blessed and departed. d not give him any money, Mr. yriest’s visits, them both ‘You di Philip ?” said Mynheer Poots, when Father peysen had left the room. “TY did not, xyepled -Philip; “* I wisn: i had thought of it.”’ + coo no—it is better not—for money is than what he can but he must not come here.” ‘‘Why not, father,” replied Amine, ‘‘if Mr Philip wishes it? It is his own house.” ‘Oh yes, if Mr. Philip wishes it ; but you know he is going away.’ ‘Well, and suppose he not the Father here ? here to see me.”’ “‘See you, my child!—what can Well, then, if he stiver—and then Plive you ; is—why should come He shall come he want I will not soon go COMSS, he ll with you? give h away. Philip had no opportuni verse wit! indeed he more to say. In an hour he bade her 1are well in presence of her father, WHO would not ] hoping to obtain eave them, hoping from Philip some im one ty of further con- had nothing communication ae the money which he was to leave behind hin In two days Ph if ip arrived at Amsterdam, and having made fae necessary inquiries, 1 found that there was no chance ing for the East Indies for some months. The Dutch East India Company had long been formed, and all private trading was at an end. The Company's vessels left at what was supposed to be the most favourable season for of vessels sail- Only rounding the Cape of Storms, as the Cape of Good Hope was designated by the early ad- venturel One of the ships. which ee to sail with the next fleet was Ter Schilling, a three-masted vessel, now laid up nd un- rigged. Philip found out the captain, and stated his wishes to sail with him, to learn his pro- fession as a seaman ; the captain was pleased vith his appearance, and as Ph ilip not onl\ agreed to receive no wages during the voyage26 but to pay a premium as an apprentice learn- ing his duty, he. was promised a berth on board as the second mate, to mess in the cabin ; and he was told that he should be in- formed whenever the ship was to sail. Philip having now done all that he could in obedience to his vow, determined to return to the cot- tage ; and once more he was in the company of Amine. We must now pass over two months, dur- which Mynheer Poots continued ‘to labour at his vocation, and was seldom within doors, and our two young friends were left for hours together. Philip's love for Amine was fully equal to hers for him. It was more than love, —it was a devotion on both sides, each day increasing. Who indeed could be more charm- ing, more attractive in all ways than the high- spirited, yet tender Amine? Occasionally the brow of Philip would be clouded when he re- flected on the dark prospect before him ; but Amine’s smile would chase away the gloom, and, as he gazed on her, all would be forgotten. Amine made no secret of her attachment ; it was shown in every word, every look, and every gesture. When Philip would take her hand, or encircle her waist with his arm, or even. when he pressed her coral lips, there was no pretence of coyness on her part, She was too noble, too confiding; she felt that her happiness was centred in his love, and she lived but in his presence. Two months had thus passed away, when Father Seysen, who often called, and had paid much attention to Amine’s instruction, one day came in as Amine was encircled in. Philip's arms. ‘‘My children,” said he, ‘‘ I have watched you for some time :—this is not well. Philip, if you intend marriage, as I presume you do, still itis dangerous. I must join your hands.” Philip started up. ‘Surely I am not deceived in thee, my son,’ continued the priest in a severe tone. ‘““No, no, good Father: but-I pray you feave me now: to-morrow you may come, and all will be decided. But I must talk with Amine.” The priest quitted the room, and Amine and Philip wereagain alone. The colour in Amine’s cheek varied and her heart beat, for she felt how much her happiness was at stake. ‘The priest is right, Amine,’ said Philip, sitting down by her. ‘‘ This cannot last;— would that I could ever stay with you; how hard a fate is mine ! You know I love the very ground you tread upon, yet I dare not ask thee to wed to misery.”’ “To wed with thee would not be wedding misery, Philip,’’ replied Amine with down- cast eyes. ““'T’were not kindness on my part, Amine, I should indeed be selfish,” THE PHANTOM SHIP. “© | will speak plainly, Philip,” replied Amine. ‘‘ You say you love me,—I know not how men love,—but this I know, how I.can love. I feel that to leave me now were indeed unkind and selfish on your part ; for, Philip, I—-I should die. You say that you must go away,—that fate demands it——and your fatal secret. Be it so;—but cannot I go with you?” “ «(Go with me, Amine—unto death “Ves death; for what is death but a re- lease! I fear not death, Philip; I fear but losing thee. Nay, more? is not your life in the hands of Him who made all? then why so sure to die? You have hinted to me that you are chosen—selected for a task ;—if chosen, there is less chance of death ; for until the end be fulfilled, if chosen, you must live. I would I knew your secret, Philip: a woman's wit might serve you well; and if it did not serve you, is there no comfort, no pleasure, in sharing sorrow as well as joy with one you say you dote upon ? ‘“ Amine, dearest Amine, it is my love, my ardent love alone, which makes me pause ; for, O Amine, what pleasure should I feel if we were this hour united? I hardly know what to say, or what. to do. I could. not withold my-secret from you if you were my wife, nor will I wed you till you know it. Well, Amine, I will cast my all upon the die. You shall know this secret, learn what a doomed wretch I am, though from no fault of mine, and then you yourself shall decide. But remember, my oath is registered in heaven, and I must not be dissuaded from it: keep that in mind, and hear my tale,—then if you choose to wed with one whose prospects are so bitter, be it so—a short-lived happiness will then be mine, but for you, Amine——” “ At once the secret, Philip,”’ cried Amine, impatiently. Philip then entered into a detail of what our readers are acquainted with. Amine lis- tened in silence ; not a change of feature was to be observed in her countenance during the narrative. Philip wound up with stating the oath whichhe had taken. ‘‘I havedone,” said -hilip, mournfully. ‘©"Tis a strange story, Philip,” replied Amine : and now hear me;—but give me first that relic,—I wish to look upon it. And can there be such virtue—I had nigh said, such mischief—in this little thing? Strange ; forgive me, Philip,—but I’ve still my doubts upon this tale of Hdzés. -You know I am not yet strong in the new belief which you and the good priest have lately taught me. I do not say that it caznot be true: but still, one so un- settled as [am may be allowed to waver. But, Philip, [ll assume that allis true. Then, if it be true, without the oath you would be doing JSLHE FHANTOM SHIP. 27 not so meanly of » buffets, where the silver < One morning, in the month of October, there was a tapping with the knuckles at the cottage door. As this precaution implied a oC D> stranger, Amine obeyed the summons. ‘*T would speak with Master Philip Van- derdecken,’”’ said the stranger, in a_half- \ Ing s C Of Voice. r) party who thus addressed Amine little mix igre personage, dressed in bof the Dutch seaman of the time, y cap made of bad kin hanging over his | His features were sharp and di- nutive, his face of a deadly white, his pale, and his hair of a mixture between 1 and white. He had very little show of rd—indeed, it was almost difficult to say t agt might be. He might have been a sickly youth early sinking into decrepitude, or an old man, hale in constitution, yet ( r no flesh. But the most important feature, and that which immediately riveted t] ttention of Amine, was the eye of this I pel »—for he had but one ; the r \ closed, and the ball within ] ted away; but his left eye was, fort of his face and head, of un- usual dimen protuberant, clear and watery, and most unpleasant to look upon, being relieved by no fringe of eyelash either a or below it a rkable was the i that when you looked at the man, yo his ey d look d at nothing « > [It was not a man with one eye, but one eye with a man attached to it ; the body was but the tower of the lighthouse, of no further imanding no further attention, than does the structure which holds up the beacon to the venturous mariner; and yet, ‘ ~TwAMNIMNATtIANT , - iid havea “y upon examination, you would have per- 17 : +} , } : al \ c . a ceived that the man, although small, was ] < ] ‘ ; a | ‘ ob rary aif. neatly made; that his hands were very dif- ferent in texture and colour from those of ; : : common n; tnat nis ieati S in general ‘ ough sharp, were regular; and that ther : } \ r. ..OB LIDETIGHILY Cven- in =f OD- } lit yO qu l m ner OL. tae LICtLL pel nage, i I ] lescl bable ometh ne apt Beer 2S nee } } ] - * rie d wnt a p ranct Which aimost ll resset you h awe Amine’s dark eyes were for a * y 7 ; moment fixed upon the visitor, and s felt a chill at her heart rom he could not { } - > urclnia yII> act . a sne requested t cG i WOUId Walk In. ‘ } + Philip was greatly surprised at the ap- pearanc entered the room, without saying a word, sat down on the sofa by Philip in the place which Amine had just left. To Philip there g ominous in this person taking Amine’s seat; all that had passed rushed into his recollection, and he felt that there was a summons from his short existence of e of the stranger, who, as soon as he + was sometnin28 enjoyment and repose to a life of future activity, danger, and suffering. What pecu- iarly struck Philip was, that when the little man sat beside him, a sensation of sudden cold ran through his whole frame. The colour fled from Philip’s cheek, but he spoke not. For a minute or two there wasa silence. ‘Ihe one-eyed visitor looked round him, and turning from the buffets, he fixed his eyes on the form of Amine, who stood before him ; at Jast the silence was broken by a sort of giggle on the part of the stranger, which ended in— “Philip Vanderdecken-he ! he !—Philip Vanderdecken, you don’t know me?” ‘‘T do not,” replied Philip, ina halfangry Tome. The voice of the little man was most peculiar—it was a sort of subdued scream, the motes of which sounded in your year long after he had ceased to speak. ‘‘T am Schriften, one of the pilots of the Ter Schilling,” continued the man; ‘‘and I’m come—he ! he!’’—and he looked hard at Amine—‘‘to take you away from love” =-and. looking at the buffets—‘'he! he! from comfort, and from this also,’’ cried he, stamping his foot on the floor as he rose from the sofa—‘‘from terra firma—he! he! —to a watery grave perhaps. Pleasant !”’ continued Schriften, with a giggle; and with a countenance full of meaning he fixed his one eye on Philip’s face. Philip's first impulse was to put his new visitor out of the door; but Amine, who read his thoughts, folded her arms as she stood before the little man, and eyed him with contenfpt, as she observed :— ‘‘We all must meet our fate, good feliow; and, whether by land or sea, death will have his due. If death stare him in the face, the cheek of Philip Vanderdecken will never turn as white as yours is now.” ‘Indeed !” replied Schriften, evidently annoyed at this cool determination on the part ‘of one so young and beautiful ; and then fixing his eye upon the silver shrine of the Virgin on the mantelpiece—‘‘ You are a "Catholic, I perceive—he: ”’ ‘Tam a Catholic,” replied Philip ; ‘‘ but ‘does that concern you? -When does the ‘vessel sail?’ ‘“‘In a week—he! he! only a week for ~preparation—only seven days to leave all— ‘Short notice !” *“More than sufficient,” replied Philip, rising up from the sofa. ‘You may tell your captain that I shall not fail. Come, Amine, we must lose no time.” ‘No, indeed,” replied Amine, ‘‘and our first duty is hospitality: Mynheer, may we offer you refreshment after your walk ?”’ THE PHANTOM SHIP. “This day week,” said Schriften, ad- dressing Philip, and without making a reply to Amine. - Philip nodded his head, the little man turned on his heel and left the room, and ina short time was out of sight. Amine sank down on the sofa. The breaking-up of her short hour of happiness had been too sudden, too abrupt, and too cruelly brought about for a fondly doting, althoufh heroic, woman. ‘There was an evident malignity in the words and manner of the one-eyed messenger, an appearance as ifhe knew more than others, which awed and confused both Philip and herself. Amine wept not, but she covered her face with her hands as Philip, with no steady pace, walked up and down the small room. _ Again, with all the vividness of colouring, did the scenes half forgotten recur to his memory. Again did he penetrate the fatal chamber—again was it obscure. The embroidery lay at his feet, and once more he started as when the letter appeared upon the floor. They had both awakened from a dream of present bliss, and shuddered at the awful future which presented itself. A few minutes was sufficient for Philip to resume his na- tural self-possession, He sat down by the side of his Amine, and clasped her in his arms, They remained silent. They knew too well each other’s thoughts; and, excru- ciating as was the effort, they were both summoning up -their courage to bear, and stealing their hearts against, the conviction that, in this world, they must now expect to be for a time, perhaps for ever, separated. Amine was the first to speak : removing her.arms, which had been wound round her husband, she first put his hand to her heart, as if to compress its painful throbbings, and then observed— ‘Surely that was no earthly messenger, Philip! Did you not feel chilled to death when he sat by you? I didas he came in.” Philip, who had the same thought as Amine, but did not wish to alarm her, an- swered confusedly— ‘‘Nay, Amine, you fancy—that is, the suddenness of his appearance and his strange conduct have made you imagine this; but I saw in him but a man who, from his peculiar deformity, has become an envious outcast of society—debarred from domestic happiness, from the smiles of the other sex; for what woman could smile upon such a creature? His bile raised at so much beauty in the arms of another, he enjoyed a malignant pleasure in giving a message which he felt would break upon those pleasures from which he is cut off. Be assured, my love, that it was nothing more. ‘“And even if my conjecture were cor-rect, which does it matter?’’ replied Amine. ‘'There can be nothing more—nothing which Can render your ition more awful, and more desperate. your wife, Philip, I A NOS As feel less courage than I did when I gave my willing hand. I knew not then what would be the extent of my loss; but fear not, much as I feel here,” continued Amine, putting her hand to her heart—‘‘I am prepared, and proud that he who is selected for such a task is my husband Amine paused. ‘‘ You cannot, surely, have been mistaken, Philip?” ‘©No! Amine, I 10t been mistaken, eitherin the summons, orin my own courage, or in my selection of a wife,” replied Philip, mournfully, as he embraced h« ‘Ft 1s toe will of Hea aven. “Then may its will be don replied Amine, rising from he it. The first pang is over [ ‘feel -better 1 Philip. Your Amine know r duty. Philip made no reply; whet 1 few moments, Amine continued— ‘‘ But one short week, Philip—— ‘I would it had been but one day,” re- plied he; ‘‘it would ha be en long enough hilip. * shank him for time to wean stant you, that you with nman my tears, my prayers, or my u some wives would do, Philip), one day be more than sufficient for such a scene 0 weakness on my part, and misery on yours. But, no, Philip, your knows her duty better. You must go like some kni rht of old to petilous encounter, | ps to death ; but Amine will arm you, 2! hi her love by closing carefully each 1 to protect you in your peril, and ‘will see you depart full of hope and confidence, anticipating your return A week iss no too lor Philip hen em- ployed as I trust I sh ll employ 1 week to interchange our sentime » hear you voice, to listen to your words (each of which ill be engr n on my heart's memory), to ] ler on them, and feed my love v ith them our absence 1 in my solitude No ! no i Philip; I thank God that the et a week.” ‘* And do I, then, Amine! d, after all, we knew that t st come ‘Yes but my love ¥ o potent, that it banished memory.” « And yet, during our ara 1, your love \mine. must feed on memory, 4“ Amine sighed. Here their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of oa Poots, who, struct ith the al ation in Amine’s radiant icatures, © claim a ‘ Holy prophet ! what is the matter now ? THE PHANTOM SHIP. hefor DCrorTre, 29 ‘‘ Notl more than what we all knew repl Philip ; ‘‘l am about to leave you—the ship will sail in a week. ‘‘Oh ! you will sail in a week ?” There was a curious expression in the face of the old man as he endeavoured to suppress, ng before Amine and her husband, the joy which he felt at Philips departure. Gradually he subdued his features into gravity, and said— *« That is very bad news, indeed.” No answer was made by Amine or Philip, who quitted the room together. We must pass over this week, which was occupied in preparations for Philip's depar- ture. We must pass over the heroism 0 Amine, who controlled Fer feelings, racked as she \ with intense agony at the idea of usband. We emotions in her adored h cannot dwell upon the conflicting who -left c ine “C)T ng irom > the east of Philip, ympetence, happiness, and love, to encounter danger, pri- vation, and death. Now, at one time, he yould almost resolve to remain, and then at others, » took lic from his bosom, and Se Gheod registered upon it, he was nearly as anxious to depart. Amine, too, < fell asleep in her husband's arms, would count the few hours left them ; or she would shudder, as she lay awake and the wind howled, at the prospect of what Philip would have to encounter. It was a long week to both of them, and, although they thought tha ut » flew fast, it was almost a relief when th re VOW 4 t] le h3 DS is she im morning came that was to separate them ; ‘ori which, from regard to each up and controlled, they could then give vent; their surch arged bosoms could be relieved ;. COEF tainty had driven away suspense, and hope was still left to cheer them and brighten up the dark hori- zon of the tuture. : ‘« Philip,” said Amine, as they sat together with their hands entwined, ‘‘I shall not feel hen you are gone. I do not forget that all this was told me before we were wed, and ih it for my love I took the haz ird. My fond heart often te Is me that you will return ; to their feelings, other, had been pent so much wW but it’ may deceive me—return you 722), but not in life. In this room I shall await you ; removed to its former station, I if you cannot appear to me not, t be possible, to on this sofa, shall sit; and alive, O refuse if it me ’ a appear to me when dead. | shall fear no storm, no bursting open of the window. O no! I shall hail the presence even of your spirit. Once more ; let me but see you—let me be assured that you are dead—and then | shall know that I have no more to live for his world, and shall hasten to join you in Promise me, Philip. ll you ask, provided Heaven and Philip's iips in aw orl 1 of bliss. ‘I promise a will so permit; but, Amine, VY30 trembled, ‘‘I cannot—merciful God! I am indeed tried. Amine, I can stay no longer.’’ Amine’s dark eyes were fixed upon her husband—she could not speak—her features were convulsed—nature could no longer hold up against her excess of feeling —she fell into his arms, and lay motionless. Philip, about to impress a last kiss upon her pale lips, per- ceived that she had fainted. ‘‘She feels not now,” laid her upon the sofa; “it it-should be so—too soon will misery.” Summoning to the assistance of his daughter Mynheer Poots, who was in the adjoining room, Philip caught up his hat, imprinted one more fervent kiss upon her fore- head, burst from the house, and was out of sight long before Amine had recovered from her swoon, said he, as he is better that she awake to CHAPTER YViILT: BEFORE we follow Philip Vanderdecken in his venturous career, it will be necessary to refresh the memory of our readers, by a suc- cinct recapitulation of the circumstances that had directed the enterprise of the Dutch towards the country of the East, which was now proving to them a source of wealth, which they considered as inexhaustible. Let us begin at the beginning. Charles the Fifth, after having possessed the major part of Europe, retired from the world, for reasons best knewn to himself, and divided his kingdoms between Ferdinand and Philip. To Ferdinand he gave Austria and its cepen- dencies ; to Philip, Spain ; but to make th division more sane and palatable to the latter, he threw the Low Countries, with the few millions peciating upon them, into the bargain. Having thus disposed of his fellow- mortals much to his own satisfaction, he went into a convent, reserving for himself a small income, twelve men, and a pony. Whether he afterwards repented his hobby, or mountec his pony, is not recorded; but this is certain— that in two years he died. Philip thought (as many have thought be- fore and since) that he had a right to do what he pleased with his own. He therefore took away from the Hollanders most of their liberties : to make amends, however, he gave them the Inquisition ; but the Dutch gr umblec ana Philip, to stop their grumbling, burnt a few of them. Upon which the Dutch, who aré aquatic in their propensities, protested against a religion which was much too warm for their constitutions. In short, heresy made great progress; and. the duke of Alva was despatched with a large army; to prove to the Hollanders that the Inquisition was the very THE PHANTOM SHIP. best of all possible arrangements, and that it was infinitely better that a man should be burnt for half an hour in this world than for an eternity in the next. This slight difference of opinion was the occasion of a war, which lasted about eighty after having saved some years, and which, hundreds of thousands the trou ble of dying in their beds, at length ended in the Seven United Provinces being declared indepen- dent.—Now we must go back again. For a century after Vasco de Gama had discovered the passage round the Cape of Good Hope, the Portuguese were interfered with by other nations. At last the adven- turous spirit of the English nation was roused. The passage to India ‘by the Cape had been claimed by the Portuguese as their sole right, and they defended it by force. For a long time no private company ventured to oppose them, and the trade was not of that apparent value to induce any government to embark in a war upon the question. ‘The English ad- venturers, therefore, turned their attention to the discovery of a north-west passage to India, with which the Portuguese could have no right to interfere, and in vain attempts to discover that passage, the best part of the fifteenth century was employed. At last they abandoned their endeavours, and resolved no longer to be deterred by the Portuguese pre- tensions. After one or two unsuccessful expeditions an armament was fitted out and put under the orders of Drake. This courageous and successful navigator accomplished more than the most sanguine had anticipated. He re- turned to England in the month of May, 1580, after a voyage which occupied him nearly three years; bringing home with him ereat riches, and having made most favourable ar- rangements with the king of the Molucca Islands. His success was fo ae ed up by Cavendish and others, in 1600. e English East India Company, in the meanwh ile, received their first charter from the government, and had now been with various success carrying on the trade for upwards of fifty years. During the time that the Dutch were vas- sals to the crown of be uin, it was their custom to repair to Lisbon for the productions of the East, and afterwards to through eaves ft , distribute them but when they quarrelled with Philip, they were no longer admitted as retailers of his eae produce : the conse quence was, that, while asserting and fighting for their independence, they had also fitted out expeditions to India. Théy were suc- cessful; and in 16c2 the various pee ulat a Ww re, as the government,ny ~~ ment as those wh England. At the time, ther verting, the Engli trading in the Indi years ; and the Portugu t! r po r, trom tl which tl rriy s had formed w 1 I poten- tates of the East, who had tered from the Portuguc rice i cruelty Whatever may | » | tne im of obli- *h the Di 1 owed to the English L t ret ved from the } ir t { ry le extended ; for, o othe of it, { y ae 8 1 fought and captured « rs 5 ve t ceremony ; 1 t] of mainforce. ] co vere oOc- Ca yn ly Cali L on to I the in I e Cee ks [ l i Ga pro- ( ed nothin I ra l Var: t 50 Crom l usurped the throne of and tf ym. eas Va vine , ; 1 po i ) > \ I Gi lla a Se Gees 1) sat etio } m oO! reg i- ( ain aq ; which t j D n this ; I \ ‘ ne me co neot } » Cy ( S eye . Of) i i} i vn ome t rtyv i Cit } val Vi Ho To vrove t tJ 6 : : > a t Wa { } ] . wna 7 ; I Clz L more t unaread iVut ] = } | he 7 Y ; ; ce] 1 the D i lin — ‘ : ye Y) | pl ed for ana van f1 ) 4 es | ae 1 ea rs heeds . Inet, na the nayali combDa vere most oO , ef “ir , > - . nate. [In th History of England” the VactOory 1 most invariaDly 9) oO 1] Ty , a“ Vt Hea te Howeve! Im IOS4 | ice ’ t : ry tL, | T ¢ ‘ ‘ ; i igned; the Dutchman promisin to t is nat off ’ T , he O it t } Li Lt dt y iCVC! : 1G Cc Ce x] ; ; } } } . y y ; meisnman ¢ tne 1 L Stas L ITiCrse Cl Ol > : | ¢ + poutenes which Mynheer did not object , as it nothin \nd now, having detailed \s soon as Philip was clear of his own threshold he ha ied awav as th ugh i vere attempting to escape from his own pain- ful thot In two days he arrived at Amsterdam, where his first object was to pro- ure a small, but strong, steel chain to replace gent Cc the ribbon by which the relic b Cer sec ed round nis néc: 1 ; ; ; 4 - = ae tnis e asStenea O embdDark WI1tNn Nis eCIrec Ll : dic ‘ i L n board of the Ter Schilling. Philip had not ‘LOM SHIP. a o~ y- “ .Y } + ° forgotten to bring wit] —— rotte h him the money which he had agreed to pay the captain, in con- sideration of being received on board as an apprentice rather than a sailor. He had also furnished himself with a further sum for his he Ter Schillin which jay at single anchor, surrounded by the other vessels composing the Indian fleet. ; Thee iptain, whose name was Kloo received him with kindness, showed im his berth, and t] hol LION 1 itive to the chi < to his own reflect \nd this, then leaned against the t - l Loen, iS th f mpt IS to De made 1 ; last How ttle do the } : about to 11i 1m< } l barkation? How different are my views trom tho ot othe rs? Do / oe k 1 fortune ? No | Is it to satisfy curiosity and a truant spirit? ; er No | k communi Can Fm t the dead wit “ay } +] and tnose who With they surmise my wish ; they p me. tG rel } 7 ¢ ; D ra superst ( 5 I he, ' , ‘ - 2 Ce, J Mig L i1lidd . CACU ; li Ul ki we y mM S101 I us VY ior tnel St tion, but iO] ridding themselves of one on an awful errand. \wful indeed! and sy ee Piek nt ty ra pees } 11O LO De¢ aCCOMmp! ~Cl ri ivenh aione, with perseverance on my part, can solve the m tery. And Fhoniips thougnts reverted to ] A ant " . ae he » 77 mnie his Amine. He folded his arms, and en- ; : 43 " ++] : ; os at tran d in meditation, with hi Cy PalS€a tO tne frmament, he appeared to watch the ly] cud. ; af ] Sr ] Hiad you not bettér go below? § saida : 3 ! i voice, which ma rhilip. start irom his Lo. c , c Yr j tC Ors toe TTSt , whose name v Hil ; i hol WV t man « out thirty y¢ ofa His | as flaxen, and fell in me fial pon she rs, his compl yn f nd | yes of ft blu : } . | ot . } a 1 the was little f the uior in his éé I thank you,” replied Philip ; *‘ I had, in- deed, forgotten mys : < x J << thoughts wére far away. Good night, and many thanks.” The Ter Schilling, li 10st of the vessel: of that period, was very different in her build and fittins he was § ind of abi four hun cred to r bottom iS “nearly aye ie sey ‘ ie eT aDOVE pate ee sea NYCA 32 the water), so that her upper decks were not half the width of the hold. All the vessels employed by the Company being armed, she had her main deck clear of goods, and carried six nine-pounders on each broadside; her ports were small and oval. There was a great spring in all her decks,——- that is to say, she ran with a curve forward andaft. On her forecastle another small deck ran from the knight-heads, which was called the top-gallant forecastle. Her quarter-deck was broken with a poop, which rose high out of the water. The bowsprit staved very much, and was to appearance almost as a fourth mast: the more so, as she carried a square spritsail and sprit-topsail. On her quarter- deck and poop-bulwarks were fixed in sockets implements of warfare now long in disuse, but what were then known by the names of cohorns and patteraroes; they turned round on a swivel, and were pointed by an iron han- dle fixed to the breech. The sail abaft the mizen-mast (corresponding to the driver or spanker of the present day) was fixed upon a lateen-yard. It is hardly necessary to add (after this description) that the dangers of a long voyage were not a little increased by the peculiar structure of the vessels, which (al- though with such top hamper, and so much wood above water, they could make good way before a favourable breeze) could hold no wind, and had but little chance if caught upon a lee-shore. The crew of the Ter Schilling was com- posed of the captain, two mates, two pilots, and forty-five men. The supercargo had not yet come on board. The cabin (under the poop) was appropriated to the supercargo ; but the main-deck cabin to the captain and mates, who composed the whole of the cabin mess. When Philip awoke the next morning, he found that the topsails were hoisted, and the anchor short-stay apeak. Some of the other vessels of the fleet were under weigh and standing out. ‘The weather was fine and the water smooth, and the bustle and novelty ofthe scene were cheering to his spirits. The captain, Mynheer Kloots, was standing on the poop with a smail telescope, made of pasteboard, to his eye, anxiously looking towards.the town. Mynheer Kloots, as usual, had his pipe in his mouth, and the smoke which he puffed from it fora time obscured the lenses of his tele- scope. Philip went up the poop ladder and saluted him. Mynheer Kloots was a person of no mode- rate dimensions, and the quantity of garments which he wore added no little to his apparent bulk. The outer garments exposed to view were, a rough fox-skin cap upon his head, from under which appeared the edge of a red THE PHANTOM SHIP. worsted nightcap; a red plush waistcoat, with large metal buttons ; a jacket of green cloth, over which he wore another of larger dimensions of coarse blue cloth, which came down as low as what would be called a spencer. Below he had black plush breeches, light-blue worsted stockings, shoes, and broad silver buckles ; round his waist was girded, with a broad belt, a canvas apron, which descended in thick folds nearly to his knee. In his belt was a large broad-bladed knife ina sheath of shark’s skin. Such was the attire of Mynheer Kloots, captain of the Ter Schilling. He was as tall as he was corpulent. His. face was oval, and his features small in pro- portion to the size of his frame. His grizzly hair fluttered in the breeze, and his nose (al- though quite straight) was, at the tip, fiery red from frequent application to his bottle of schnapps, and the heat of a small pipe which seldom left his lips, except for Zz to give an order, or for z¢ to be replenished. ““ Good morning, my son,” said the cap- tain, taking his pipe out of his mouth fora moment. ‘‘We are detained by the super- cargo, who appears not over-willing to come on board ; the boat has been on shore this hour waiting for him, and we shall be last of the fleet under weigh. I wish the Company would let us sail without these geztlemer, who are (iz my opinion) a great hinderance to business; but they think otherwise on shore.” “What is their duty on board?’’ replied Philip. ‘Their duty is to look after the cargo and the traffic, and if they kept to that, it would not be so bad ; but they interfere with every- thing else and everybody, studying little ex- cept their own comforts; in fact, they play the king on board, knowing that we dare not affront them, as a word from them would pre- judice the vessel when agair to be chartered. ‘The Company insist upon their being received with all honours. We salute them with five guns on their arrival on board.” Do you know anything of this one whom you expect?” ‘Nothing, but from report. A brother captain of mine (with whom he has sailed) told me that he is most- fearful of the dangers of the sea, and much taken up with his own importance.” ‘‘T wish he would come,” replied Philip ; ‘‘T am most anxious that we should sail.” ‘You must be of a wandering disposition, my son: I hear that you leave a comfortable home, and a pretty wife to boot.” ‘Tam most anxious to see the world,” re- plied Philip; ‘‘and I must learn to sail a ship before I purchase one, and try to make the fortune that I covet.” (Alas! how dif- \ferent from my real wishes, thought Philip, as he made this reply.) ‘“Fortunes are made, and fortunes are swallowed up too, by the ocean,’ replied the captain. ‘‘IfI could turn this good ship into a good house, with plenty of guilders to keep the house warm; you would not find me standing on this poop. I have doubled the Cape twice, which is often enough for any man ; the third time may not be so lucky.”’ ‘Is it so dangerous, then?” said Philip. ‘As dangerous as tides and currents, rocks and sand-banks, hard gales and heavy seas can make it,—no more! Even when you anchor in the bay, on this side of the Cape, you ride in fear and trembling, for you may be blown away from your anchor to sea, or be drivenon shore among the savages, beforé the men can well put on their clothing. But when once youre well on the other side of the Cape, then the water dances to the beams of the sun as if it were merry, and you may sail for weeks with a cloudless sky, and a following breeze, without starting tack or sheét, or having to take your pipe out of your mouth.” ‘““What ports shall we go into, Myn- heer ?”’ ‘‘ Of that I can say but little. Gambroon, in the Gulf of Persia, will probably be the first rendezvous of the whole fleet. "Then we shall separate : some will sail direct for Ban- tam, in the island of Java; others will have orders to trade down the Straits for camphor, gum, benzoin, and wax ; they have also gold and the teeth of the elephant to barter with us ; there (should we be sent thither) you must be careful with the natives, Mynheer Vanderdecken. They are fierce and treacher- ous, and their curved knives :(or they call them) are sharp and deadly poisoned. I have had hard fighting in those Straits both with Portuguese and English.” But we are all at peace ni “True, my creeses, as IW. son but when round the Cape; we must not trust to papers signed at home ; and the English press us hard, and tread upon our heels wherever we go Dhey must be checked ; and I suspect our fleet is so large and well appointed in expectation of hostilities.” “How long do you expect your voyage May occupy us?’ ‘That's as m be: but I should say about two years; if not detained by the factors, as I expect we shall be, hostile service, it may be less.” ‘Two years,’ thought Philip, ‘‘ two years from Amine!" and he sighed deeply, for he felt that their separation might be for ever. Nay, my son, two yearsis notso long,” said Mynheer Kloots, who observed the passing cloud on Philip's brow. ‘Il was” once five —nay, for some THE PHANTOM SHIP. 33 years away, and was unfortunate, for I brought home nothing, not even my ship. |] was sent to Chittagong, on the east side of the great Bay of Bengala, and lay for three months in the river. The chiefs of the coun- try would detain me by force ; they would not barter for my cargo, or permit me to seek another market. My powder had been landed, and I could makeno resistence. The worms ate through the bottom of my vessel, and she sank at her anchors. They knew it would take place, and that then they would have my cargo at their own price. Another vessel brought us home. Had I not been so treacherously served, I should have had no need to sail this time; and now my gains are small, the Company forbidding ‘all private trading. But here he comes at last; they n have hoisted the ensign on the staff in the boat; there—they have shoved off. Myn- heer Hillebrant, see the gunners ready with their linstocks to salvo the supercargo.’’ What duty do you wish me to perform?” observed Philip. In what can I be useful ?” ‘‘ At present you can be of little use, ex- cept in those heavy gales in which every pair of hands is*valuable. You must look and learn for sometime yet; but you can make a fair copy of the jourual kept for the inspection of the Company, and may assist me in various ways, as soon as the unpleasant nausea felt by those who first embark has subsided. As a remedy, I should propose that you gird a handkerchief tight round your body so as to compress the stomach, and make frequent ap- plication of my bottle of schnapps, which you will find always at your service. But now to receive the factor of the most puissant Com- pany. Mynheer Hillebrant, let them dis- charge the cannon.” The guns were fired, and soon after the had cleared away, the boat, with its long ensign trailing on the water, was pulled ilip watched the appearance of the supercargo ; but he remained in the boat until several of the boxes with the initials and arms of the Company were first handed on the deck ; at last the supercargo appeared. He was a |, spare, wizen-faced man, with a three-cornered cocked-hat, bound with broad gold lace, upon his head, under which appeared a full-bottomed flowing wig, the curls of which descended low upon his shoulders. His coat was of crimson velvet, with broad flaps ; his waistcoat of white silk, worked in coloured flowers, and descending half-way down to his knees. His breeches were of black satin, and his legs were covered with white silk stockings. Add to this, gold buckles at his knees and in his shoes, lace ruffles to his wrists, and a silver-mounted cané in his hand, ; SMmOKe alongside. Ph g smal and the reader has the entire dress of Mvn- “” orr ai heer Jacob Janz Von Stroom, the supercargo of the Honourable Company, appointed to the good ship Ter Schilling. As he locked round him, surrounded at a respectful distance by the captain, officers, and men of the ship, with their caps in their hands, the reader might be reminded of the picture of the ‘“‘ Monkey who had seen the world” surrounded by his tribe. ‘There was not, however, the least inclination on the part of the seamen to laugh, even at his flowing, full-bottomed wig ; respect was at that period paid to dress ;- and although Mynheer Von Stroom could not be mistaken fora sailor, he was known to be the supercargo of the Com- pany, and a very great man. He therefore received all the respect due to so important a personage. Mynheer Von Stroom did not, however, appear very anxious to remain on deck.- He requested to be shown into his cabin, and fol- lowed the captain aft, picking his way among the coils of ropes with which his path was en- cumbered: The door was opened, and the supercargo disappeared. The ship was then got under weigh, the men had left the wind- lass, the sails had been trimmed, and they were securing the anchor on board, when the bell of the poop-cabin (appropriated to the super- cargo) was pulled with great violence. ‘What can that be?” said Mynheer Kloots (who was forward), taking the pipe out of his mouth. Mynheer Vanderdecken, will you see what is the matter Py: Philip went aft, as the pealing of the bell continued, and opening the cabin door, dis- covered the supercargo perched upon the table and pulling the bell-rope, which hung over its centre, with every mark of fear in his countenance. His wig was off, and his bare skull gave him an appearance peculiarly ridi- culous. ‘‘What is the matter, sir?’ inquired Philip. “Matter!” spluttered Mynheer Von Stroom; ‘‘call the troops in with their fire- locks. Quick, sir. Am I to be murdered, torn to pieces, and devoured? For mercy's sake, sir, don't stare, but do something—look, it’s coming to the table! O dear! O dear i continued the supercargo, evidently terrified out of his wits. Philip, whose eyes had been fixed on Mynheer Von Stroom, turned them in the direction pointed out, and much to his astonishment perceived a small bear upon the deck, who was amusing himself with the su- percargo’s flowing wig, which he held in his paws, tossing it about, and now and then burying his muzzle in it. The unexpected sight of the animal was at first a shock to Philip ; but 2 moment’s consideration assured "HE PHANTOM SHIP. him that the animal must be hartnless, or it never would have been permitted to remain loose in the vessel. Nevertheless, Philip had no wish to ap- proach the animal, whose disposition he was unacquainted with, when the appeatance of Mynheer Kloots put an end to his difficulty. « What is the matter, Mynheer? ” said the captain. ‘‘O! I see: it is Johannes,’ con- tinued the captain, going up to the bear, and saluting him with a kick, as he recovered the supercargo’s wig. ‘Out of the cabin, Jo- hannes! Out, sir! cried Mynheer Kloots, kicking the breech of the bear till the animal had escaped through the door. ‘ Mynheer Von Stroom, I am very sorry,—here is your wig. Shut the door, Mynheer Vanderdecken, or the beast may come back, for he is very fond of me.”’ As soon as the door was shut between Mynheer Von Stroom and the object of his terror, the little man slid off the table to the high-backed chair near it, shook out the da- maged curls of his wig, and replaced it on his head ; pulled out his ruffles, and, assuming an air of magisterial importance, struck his cane on the deck, and then spoke. ‘‘Mynheer Kloots, what is the nieaning of this disrespect to the supercargo of the puis- sant Company?” ‘« God in heaven ! no disrespect, Mynheer ; the animal is a bear, as you see; he is very tame, even with strangers. He belongs to mé. I have had him ever since he was three months old. It was all a mistake.- The mate, Mynheer Hillebrant, put him in the cabin, that he might, be out of the way while the duty was carrying on, and he quite forgot that he was here. I am very sorry, Mynheer Von Stroom: but he will not come here again, unless you wish to play with him.” “Play with him! I! supercargo to the Company, play with a bear ! Mynheer Kloots, the animal must be thrown overboard imme- diately.” ‘«Nay, nay ; I cannot throw overboard an animal that I hold in much affection, Mynheer Von Stroom ; but he shall not trouble you.” « Then, Captain Kloots, you will have to deal with the Company, to whom I shall re- present this affair. Your charter will be can- celled, and your freight-money will be for- Perea. Kloots was, ‘ike most Dutchmen, not a little obstinate, and this imperative behaviour on the part of the supercatgo raised his bile. ‘There is*nothing in the charier that pre- vents my having an animal on board,” replied Kloots. 3 “‘ By the regulations of the Company, re- plied Von Stroom, falling back in his chair with an important air, and crossing his thinTHE PHANTOM SHIP. - ‘e ~ — ~ ‘. e : . legs, ‘‘ you are required to receive on board him from*dwelling tc strange id curious animais, sen nome by of his embarkation the governors and factors to be pre ] - } i 1 - : crowned heads,—such as lions \} y+ nd t] * Ty} ly - pha LS, i). é ror eet 1S CO but in no instance it permitted ti mand of chartered s t6-4 board, on t r own unt I ] ’ hi } } } ; ( ° } . } 1}hT ‘ YN) ‘ y } i pt V ( Lin n } om h ' | j ‘ ‘ Lil Ui ‘ ’ \ } ‘ . ‘ . V n \ cy : ‘ sf ( l : ‘ be ‘ 3 } 4 ‘ } : ne L { ( a ‘ Ay ej t ta a9 \4 a w | | i t 5 ) A t ck 8 nea I Pc It av ( \ I aida mn { ; >) f t ‘ ‘ ‘ i ‘ SI I t ) ] I t } Von ( | Stroom, > tl protect t to the fl eT. and to ymne, SS | d ) In the anch Mynheer ?”’ all This obs oO! ‘tened down t - heer fil +t f Tt ¢ i. y } } 1 y ¢ , 7 bhi it Ol L i L © i ) hich} sail 1 tl ror this * y animal Was 1 than the fear of the for P] ‘‘Mynheer K ts, I will not be too se- him Ve t Live is cl 1ed, so t} LE it d I € Wa 27) th proach me, | will sent to “el - Wel t not e sig] ing on board. Schriften, who appear iy | Wil 1] it oO I 1 Va I 1c} ; ‘ tL animosity i Lily Dut S ror < ! t r to IS GQumbpD Tay f I rt i he | ] l 7 - l 1 held tl Tank. Of an *< M e no Von § ym, not « affront, tl replied K] opportunity of nnoyl The su ), ) per d that the Stantly i hing f tain v i nd tl his t To regarded, did all t or » Openly 1 rate, and ct neip He vi | { out | tOowll upon in ni then, wit FOr 4 ed 1 cr i l Upon the f onb d eared ye cd ns M eer Kloot oy inl | dy apy ired to be af re board control ove \ivnheer Kloots and Philip th ft the iccountal { n; the rormer, WnoO Was in no ry good is the state humour, muttering as | valked away ‘Tf ood ship Ter Schill the Compan ; iy 7 Revs on board, I with two { | ; think I may w 1niV ind, da | to 1 ( p ised VILN n i K OQ rf } t } : t Va vered his LS od humour. out t ; nd aceite lying down under tl | | "4 po : whe i oe { i Lai. ha } 1 falle eal e] Hy Wer must allow the Indian fleet to pursue its sensation of cold o was soon anié to LaAee exe sbeeeen se board. Hé studied nploymeént prevented 1 : the exercise pro- 1h Pe | : 1 i OU) uld Cc 7 S OF Toe ct int, the first mate; 5a morose yc y Lif l! rcou! : n r T { of |} HOt con- Von m 4} ] il Ui Snip W } 7 ' € Ol ey Lp : ' ' ) ve iImbp1bet rr (OY . Li i OO, < VV ¢ \ ; eal \s PI ) ES Cnrivten dal l 35 nim he Was mt 1 a 4 | tC Wit! ] ] Te y . ‘ K, ACCOTTI A 14 : 1 tnouLgn no On | l Sman, every ' } } 1 I nd he had } : nen Which at } i on board t rare. OTY \ ty t\ i EEL ) y Li is A { ¢ nN NOs + 1 WhO Ck VEC) oO j ay tt , pre GVer 4 t { 1 Ke W1tN a ShNive vhe | od | ,.€ =nNings Al c yy = =(J—_ 36 | THE PHANTOM SHIP. he found that he gradually dragged out the chain, and, when the relic was clear, attempted to pass the whole over his head, evidently to gain possession of it. Upon this attempt Philip started up and seized him by the waist. “TIndeed!” cried Philip, with an indig- nant look, as he released the chain from the pilot’s hand. But Schriften appeared not in the least confused at being detected in his attempt: looking with his malicious one eye at Philip, he mockingly observed— “Does that chain hold her picture ?—he! hele: Vanderdecken rose, pushed him away, and folded his arms. “T advise you not to be quite so curious, Master Pilot, or you may repent it.” ‘Or perhaps,” continued the pilot, quite regardless of Philip's wrath, ‘‘it may be a a child’s caul, a sovereign remedy against drowning.” ‘Go forward to your duty, sir,’ cried Philip. ‘Or, as you are a Catholic, the finger- nail of a saint; or, yes, I have it—a piece of the holy cross.” Philip started. ‘‘That's it! that’s it!’ cried Schriften, who now went forward to where the seamen were standing at the gangway. “News for .you, my lads!” said he; ‘Cwe've a piece of the holy cross aboard, and so we may defy the devil!” Philip, hardly knowing why, had followed Schriften as he descended the poop-ladder, and was forward on the quarter-deck, when the pilot made this ren:ark to the seamen. “Ay! ay!” replied an old seaman to the pilot; ‘‘not only the devil, but the Flying Dutchman to boot.” ‘Flying Dutchman,” thought Philip, ‘can that refer to ——?” and Philip walked a step or two forward, so as to conceal himself behind the mainmast, hoping to obtain some information, should they continue the con- versation. In this he was not disappointed. ‘They say that to meet with him is worse than meeting with the devil,” observed another of the crew. ‘‘Who ever saw him?”’ said another. ‘‘He has been seen, that’s sartain, and just as sartain that ill luck follows the vessel that falls in with him.” «« And where is he to be fallen in with?” ‘(C)! they say that’s not so sartain—but he cruises off the Cape.” ‘‘T should. like to know the whole long and short of the story,” said a third. ‘‘T can only tell what I've heard. Itsa doomed vessel; they were pirates, and ‘cut the captain’s throat, I believe.” “No! no!” cried Schriften, ‘“ the captain is in her now—and a villain he was. They say that, like somebody else on board of us now, he left a very pretty wife, and that he was very fond of her.” ‘« How do they know that, pilot?” ‘“ Because he always wants to send letters home when he boards vessels that hefallsin with. But, woe to the vessel that takes charge of them !—she is sure to be lost, with every soul on board !”’ ‘‘T wonder where you heard all this,”. said one of the men. ‘‘ Did you ever see the vessel 2” ; ‘“Yes, I did !’’ screamed Schriften; but, as if recovering himself, his scream subsided into his usual giggle, and he added, “ but we need not fear her, boys; weve a bit of the true cross on baard.” Schriften then walked aft as if to avoid being questioned, when he perceived Philip by the Inainmast. ‘©So, I’m not the only one curious ?>—he ! he! Pray did you bring that on board, in case we should fall in with the flying Dutch- man?” “T fear no Flying Dutchman,” replied Philip, confused. “Now I think of it, you are of the same name; at least they say that his name was Vanderdecken— eh?” ‘‘There are many Vanderdeckens in the world besides me,” replied Philip, who had recovered his composure; and having made this reply, he walked away to the poop of the vessel. “One would almost imagine this malig- nant one-eyed wretch was aware of the cause of my embarkation,” mused Philip ; ‘‘ but no! that cannot be. Why do I feel such a chill whenever he approaches me?~ I wonder if others do; or whether it is a mere fancy on the part of Amine and myself. I dare ask no questions.—Strange, too, that the man should feel such malice towards me. I never injured him. What I have just overheard confirms all; but’ there needed no confirmation. Oh, Amine! Amine! but for thee, and I would re- joice to solve this riddle at the expense of life. God in mercy check the current of my brain,”’ muttered Philip, ‘‘ or my reason cannot hold 10S. seat) In three days the Ter Schilling, and her consorts arrived at Table Bay, where they found the remainder of the fleet at anchor waiting for them. Just at that period the Dutch had formed a settlement at the Cape of Good Hope, where the Indian fleets used to water and obtain cattle from the Hottentot tribes who lived on the coast, and who fora brass button or a large nail would willingly offer a fat bullock. A few days were occupied. in completing the water of the squadron, andTHE PHAN then the ships, having received from the Admiral their instructions as to rendezvous in case of parting company, and made every preparation for the bad weather which they anticiy ain weighed their anchors and preceeded on their voyage. For three days they beat against light and baffling winds, making but little progress ; on the third, the breeze sprang up strong from the southward, until it increased to a gale, and the fleet were blown down tothenorthward ated, ag of the bay. On the seventh day the Ter it the weather o Schilling found herself had moderated. Sail was again made upon the vessel, and her head put to the eastward, that she might run in for the land. ‘* We are unfortunate it all our consorts,’’ observed N Philip, as they were standing at the gangway ‘but it must be near meridian, and the sun will enable me to discover our latitude. It is difficult to say how far we may have been swept by the gale and the currents to the northward. Boy, bring up my cross-staff, and be mindful that you do not strike it against anything as you come up.” The cross-staff at that time was the simple instrument ‘used to discover the _ latitude, which it would ae to a nice observer to within five or ten miles. Quadrants and sex- tants were the invention of a much later riod. Indeed, considering that hey ha little knowledge of navigation and the varia of the compass, and that their easti westing could only, be co reckoning, it is wonderful how our ancest traversed the ocean in the way they did, with comparatively so few accidents. ‘‘We are full three degrees to the north- = ; ward of the Cape,” observed Mynheer Kloots, after he had computed his latitude. ‘‘ The eurrents must be running strong; the wind is going down fast, and we shall have a change, if I mistake not. Towards the evening it fell calm, with a heavy swell setting towards » shore ; shoals of seals appeared on the as following the vessel as she drove before the swell; the fish darted and leaped in every direction, and the ocean around them appeared to be full of life as the sun slowly descended to the horizon. ‘‘ What is that noise we hear?’ observed Philip ; ‘‘ it sounds like distant thunder.” ‘“‘T hear it, replied Mynheer Kloots. ‘ Aloft there, do you see the land ?™ ‘* Yes,”’ replied the man, after a pause in ascending the top-mast shrouds. ‘‘ [It is right ahead—low sand-hills, and the sea breaking high.” ‘Then that must be the noise we hear. We sweep in fast with this heavy ground- swell. 1 wish the breeze would spring up.” % 'TOM SHIP. 37 i The sun was and the-calm sfill driven the Ter Schilling dipping under the horizon ntint the swell had ee that now th ul kers, whic =h fell over with the noise of thunder. “Do you know the coast Obs served the captain to Scl ‘* Know it well,” re] sea breaks in twelve half an hour the good ship will be b t -aten into oothpicks, without a breeze to help us.’ \nd the little man giggled as if pleased at the idea pie The anxiety of Mynheer Kloots was not to be concealed ; his pipe was every moment 1 in and out of hismouth. ‘The crew remained in groups on the forecastle and gangway listen- ing with dismay to the fearful ros ring fh the break rs. The sun had unk down bel: horizon, and the gloom of nis va adding tothe alarm of the crew of th Schilling. ‘‘We must lower Sz Mynheer Kloots to the first mate ‘and to tow heroff. We cannot do much aaa I'm afraic ; but at all events the boats will be ready for the men to get into before she d Get the tow ropes out and lower down the boats, while I go in to quaint the supercargo. — Mynheer Von Stroom was sitting in all the dignity of his office, and it bei hg sunday, rives on shore. had put on his very best wig. He was once ‘e reading over the letter to the Company, ive to the bear, when Mynheer K loots his appearance, and inf rmed him ina words that they were in a lation of ar danger, and that in all pr sbability the hip would be in pieces in lés than half an At this alarming inte ence, Mynheer Von Stroom jumped up from his chair, and in his hurry and fear knocked down the candle which had just been lighted. ‘In danger! Mynh y water is smooth andthe wind down! My hat ~—where is my hat and my cane? _ I will go on deck. Quick! A lig ght—Mynheer K loots, if you please to order a light to be brought ; I can find nothing in the dark. Mynheer Kloots, why do you not answer? Mercy on me! he is gone and has left me.” Mynheer Kloots had gone to fetch alight, and a eturned with it. Mynheer Von Stroom pt it on his hat, and wal lked out of the cabin, ‘The boats were down, and the ship's head had been turned round from ue land : but it was now quite: dark, and nothing was to be seen but the white line of heat created by t] - 2 + tr Kloots '—w ( he breakers as they d lashed with an awful noise against the shore. “ Mynheer Kloots, if you please, I'll leave the ship directly. Let my boat come along-re _— 38 side—I must have the largest boat for the Honourable Company's service—for the papers and myself.” “Tm afraid not, Myce Von Stroom,” replied Kloots ; ‘‘ our boats will ll hardly hold the men as it is, and every man’s life is as valuable to himself as yours is to you.” Blatt. Mynheer, I am the Company's supercargo. I order you—I will have one— refuse if you dare.’ “T dare, and do refuse,’’ replied the cap- tain, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “Well, well,’ replied Mynheer Von Stroom, who now lost all presence of mind —‘we will, sir as soon as we alrive Lord help us! we are lost. OLord! O Lord!” And here Mynheer Von Stroom, not knowing why, hurried down to the cabin, and in his haste tumbled over the bear Jo- hannes, who, crossed his path, and in his fall his hat and flowing wig parted company with his head. AD ane ! where am [? Fel p—help here ! for the Honourable Company's super- cargo !-’ “ Cast off there in the boats, and come on board,” cried Mynheer Kloots, ‘‘ we have no time to spare. Quick, now, Philip, put in the compass, the water, and the. biscuit ; we must leave her in five minutes. So appalling was the roar of the breakers, that it was with difficulty that the orders could be heard. In the meantime Mynheer Von Stroom lay upon the deck, kicking, sprawl- ing, and crying for help. ‘There is a light breeze off the shore,’ cried Philip, holding up his hand. ‘oThere is, but.I1m afraid it —is- too -late. Hand the things into the boats, and be cool, my men. We have yet a chance of saving her, if the wind freshens.”’ They were now so near to the breakers that they felt the swell in which the vessel lay becalmed turned over here and there on its long line, but the breeze freshened, and the vessel was.stationery ! The men were all in the boats, with the exception of Mynheer Kloots, the mates, and. Mynheer Von Stroom. ‘“She goes through the water now,”’ said Philip. ‘‘Yes, I think we shall save her,’ replied the captain ;: ‘‘steady as you go, Hillebrant,”’ continued he to the first mate, who was at the helm... ‘‘ We leave the breakers now—only let the breeze hold ten minutes. The breeze was steady, the Ter Schilling stood off from the land, again it fell calm, and again she was swept towards the breakers ; at last the breeze came off strong, and the vessel cleaved through the water. The men were called out of the boats; Mynheer Von THE PHANTOM SHIP. Stroom was picked up along with his hat and wig, carried into the cabin. “and in less than an “hour the Ter Sch illing was out of danger. “’Nowwe will hoist up the boats,” said Mynheer Kloots, ‘and let us ali before we i e down to sleep, thank God for our deliver- ance.” During that night the Ter Schilling made an offing of twenty miles, and then stood to the southward; towards the morning the wind again fell, and it was nearly calm. Mynheer Kloots had been on deck about an hour, and had been talking with Hille- brant upon the danger of the evening, and the selfishness and pusillanimity 0 of Mynheer Von Stroom, when a loud noise was heard in the poop-cabin. “What can that be?” said the captain ; ‘(has the good man lost his senses from the fright ? Why, he is knocking the cabin to pieces.’ At this moment the servant of the super- cargo ran out of the cabin. ‘‘Mynheer Kloots, hasten in—help my he will be kilied—the bear !—the mi bear !” ‘The bear ! what Johannes?” cried Myn- heer Kloots. ‘‘ Why, the animal is as tame asadog. Iwill go and see.” But before Mynheer Klcots could walk into the cabin, out flew in his shirt the af- frighted supercargo. ‘‘ My God! my God! am I to be murdered ?--eaten alive?” cried the fore-rigging.”’ Mynheer Kloots followed the motions of Mynheer Von Stroom with surprise, and when he found him attempting to mount the rigging, he turned aft and walked into the cabin, when he found to his’ surprise that Jo- hannes was indeed doing mischief. The paneene a the state cabin of the supercargo had been beaten down, the wig boxes lay in aoinents on the floor, the two spare wigs were lying by them, and upon them were strewed fragments of broken pots and masses of honey, which Johar nnes was licking up with peculiar gusto. The fact was, that when the ship anchored at Table Bay, Mynheer Von Stroom, who was very partial to honey, had obtained some from the Hottentots. This honey his careful servant had stowed away in jars, which he had placed at the bottom of the two long boxes, ready for his master’s use during the remainder of the voyage. That morning, the servant fancying that the wig of the previous night had suffered when his master had tumbled over the bear, opened one of the boxes to take out another. Johannes ae pened to come near the door, and scented the honey. Now, partial as Mynheer Von7 Stroom was to honey, all bears are still more so, and will venture everything to obtain it. Johannes had yielded to the impulse of his species He iO \ le the scent, | 1 com into the « and was about to enter’ the sleeping | of Mynheer Von Stroom, when t : m<¢ t dor in his face; v | nnes beat in t panels, and 1 | L I attat i ul set t pl d to # servant, who at- tempted to drive him off, t he would nat bi lI fl La Ww tl In ‘ ‘ it I hi S Mynl CCl Von Stroom wa n the utmost terror: not a of the purport of the b s visit, he imagined that th mal's object. was to at- tack hi His ¢ nt took to his heels afte a vain effort to save the last box, and Myn- i y heer Von Stroom, then finding ] ‘ i at length pran out < nus ed-place, and ; : escaped, wé nave I! ntione to the fore- I ; ‘ ca , leaving ] nnes master of the field, a1 luxuriating upon the opi Myn- ikon NLOOl lmnie Lit | cervead noy ‘ case stood. rie went 10 o De and ; . : : ‘ : spoke to him, then kicked him, but t beat wouid not! & tre | , aha } { rurl- ou at t terruption ‘This is a bad : ; MA job for .you, Johanne observed Mynhee1 TP ‘ 7 , 4} eo K ts ; nm 1 W le : ; } ; - ‘ ] ~ t ul LT h 7 Fue OT ¢ I i ( 5 i . mre } } vv ¢ y Must ¢ i HO i 5 you wl So ying eer K t ft 2 3 J the cabdin, and weni [to | altt Live 1 - cargo, who remained on forecastle, v . 77 5 , , his bald d i me ody rangu ; . | Girtt tne ] } I snirt, wnhicn ru in the breezt i ; : : 4 i n TY Ss ry, ivi ynneel Vi n otroom ; | 1 Said rw100 y i t tne OD r Shail pe ent OU | of the v« l. ey an affair for e most pu int ( npany e lives of their servants are not to b | to the folly of a sea-captain = e nearly been torn to pie : ‘The animal did not want you ; he wanted was the honey,” replied Kloot ‘‘ Fe has got it, and | m f cannot take it from him. ‘There is no altering { nature of an animal Will you be pleased to wa k He } t go 1|OoOS< oe neg , ee 7 : e es 2 Mvynheer Von Stroom, who considered his dignity at variance with his appearance, and who perhaps was aware that majesty de- : . its externals was only a jest, thought bl ‘pt the offe After some assistance of the seamen, and dragged away will, for he prived of it advisable to trouble, with the the bear was secured from the cabin, much against his had still some honey to lick off acce oer. ) : D the curls of LHE PHAN c 7OM 39 the full-botto durance vile, having been eau fla- grant act of burglary on the high seas, This new adventure was the to of the day, for it wa n a dead call t ship lay mo- t on t ‘ wave j sun loo! he sinks,’’ ol Hi t to the captain, who with M ding on the poop; ‘“ we shi wind before to-morrow, if I m ke not.’ ‘‘T am of your n,’’ replied Mynhee Kloots. ‘‘ It is sti e that we do not fall In with any of the vessels of 1 leet. They must all have been driven « 1 here; ; Perl the y hi ve ke {av er on ng.” ‘It had been as well if we had done the same,’ said Kloots. ‘‘ That was a narrow escape last night There is such a thing as having too little as well as having too much Wil d A confused noise was he 1 among the seamen, who were collected together, and, looking in the direction of the vessel s quarter. i ip ! INO—Yes, itis was repeated more than once. ‘They think they see a_ ship,” said schri ee i] ry onthe poop ‘‘ He! he! : at . ner 3 a8 : ‘There in the gloom!” said the pilot, pointi o the darkest quarter in the horizon, for the sun had set. The captain, Hillebrant, and Philip di- I d their eyes to the quarter pointed out, and thought they could perceive something li i. vessel. Gradually the gloom seemec a lambent pale blaze to of the horizon. Not a » water—the sea was » distinct did the , and yards -d and rubbed ion, for searcely ind mo! could they believe that which they did see. In the centre of the ] light, which extended al t f n degrees above the horizon, there was indeed a large ship about three miles dis- tant; but, although it was a perfect calm, she was to all appearance bufieting in a violent gale, | ring and lifting over a surface that was smooth as glass, now careening to her r herself. Her top 1d mainsail were furled, and the yards pointed to the wind ; she had no sail set, but e-reefed foresail, a storm staysail, and t. She made little way through the recovering bearing, then ile ang $a) All ‘ water, but apparently neared them fast, driven down by the force of the gale, Each minute she was plainer to the view. At last, she was seen to wear, and in so doing, before she was brought to the wind on the other tack, she so close to them that they could distin- h the men on board: was gui they could see theof 4° THE PHANTOM SATP. foaming water as it was hurled from her bows : hear the shrill whistle of the boatswain's pipes, the creaking of the ship's timbers, and the complaining of her masts: and then the gloom gradually rose, and in a few seconds she had totally disappeared ! “God in heaven!” exclaimed Mynheer Kloots. Philip felt a hand upon his shoulder, and the cold darted through his whole frame. He turned round and met the one eye of Schriften, who screamed in his ear — ‘“PHILIP WVANDERDECKEN—that's the Flying Dutchman /” CHAPTER Xt: THE sudden gloom which had succeeded to the pale light, had the effect of rendering every object still more indistinct to the astonished crew of the Ter Schilling. For a moment or more not a word was uttered by a soul on board. Some remained with their eyes still strained towards the point where the apparition had been seen, others turned away full of gloomy and foreboding thoughts. Hillebrant was the first who spoke: turning round to the eastern quarter, and observing a light on the horizon, he started, and seizing Philip by the arm, cried out, ‘‘ What's that ?”’ ‘“That is only the moon rising from the bank of clouds,” replied Philip, mournfully. ‘“Well!” observed Mynheer Kloots, wiping his forehead; which was damped with perspiration, ‘‘ I Aave been told of this before, but I have mocked at the narration,”’ Philip made no reply. Aware of the reality of the vision, and how deeply it interested him, he felt as if he were a guilty person. The moon had now risen above the clouds, and was pouring her mild pale light over the slumbering ocean. Witha simultaneous im- pulse, every one directed his eyes to the spot where the strange vision had last been seen ; and all was a dead, dead calm. Since the apparition, the pilot, Schriften, had remained on the poop; he now gradually approached Mynheer Kloots,’ and looking round, said— ‘‘ Mynheer Kloots, as pilot of this vessel, I tell you that you must prepare for very bad weather.” ‘‘Bad weather!” said Kloots, rousing himself from a deep reverie. ‘‘Yes, bad weather, Mynheer Kloots. There never was a vessel which fell in with———- what we have just seen, but met with disaster soon afterwards. The very name of Vanderdecken is unlucky—He! hen: Philip would have replied to this sarcasm, but he could not ; his tongue was tied. ‘“What has the name of Vanderdecken to do with it?” observed Kloots. ‘‘ Have you not heard then? ‘The captain of that vessel we have just seen is a Mynheer Vanderdecken—he is the Flying Dutchman!” ‘‘How know you that, pilot?” inquired Hillebrant. ‘‘T know that, and much more, if.I chose to tell,” replied Schriften ; ‘‘ but never mind, I have warned you of bad weather, as is my duty ;’ and, with these words, Schriften went down the poop-ladder. ‘‘God in heaven ! I never was so puzzled and so frightened in my life,” observed Kloots. ‘‘I don’t’ know what to think or say.—What think you, Philip? was it not supernatural ? ” ‘\ Yes," réplied* Philip, mournfully> = have no doubt of it.” ‘‘T thought the days of miracles had passed,’’ said the captain, ‘‘and that we were now left to our own exertions, and had no other warnings but those the appearance of the heavens gave us.”’ ‘“And they warn us now,’’ observed Hille- brant. ‘‘See how that bank of clouds has risen within these five minutes—the moon has escaped from it, but it will soon catch her again—and see, there is a flash of lightning in the north-west."’ ‘“Well, my sons, I can brave the elements as wellas any man, and do my best. I have cared little for gales or stress of weather ; but I like not such a warning as we have had to- night. My heart's as heavy as lead, and that’s the truth. Philip, send down for the bottle of schnapps, if it is only to clear my brain a-little.”’ Philip was glad of an opportunity to quit the poop ; he wished to have a few minutes to recover himself and collect his own thoughts. The appearance of the Phantom Ship had been to him a dreadful shock; not that he had not fully believed in its existence ; but still, to have beheld, to have been so near that vessel—that vessel in which his father was fulfilling his awful doom—that vessel on board of which he felt sure that his own destiny was to be worked out—had given a whirl to his brain. When he had heard the sound of the boatswain’s whistle on board of her, eagerly had he stretched his earing to catch the order given—and given, he was convinced, in his father’s voice. Nor had his eyes been less called to aid in his attempt to discover the features and dress of those moving on her decks. As soon, then, as he had sent the boy up to Mynheer Kloots, Philip hastened to his cabin and buried his face in the coverlid of his bed, and then he prayed—prayed until he had recovered his usual energy and courage, and had brought his mind to that state of compo-sure which could enable him to look forward calmly to danger and difficulty, and feel prepared to meet it with the heroism of.a martyr. Philip remained below not more than half anhour. On his return to the deck, what a change had taken place! He had left the vessel floating motionless on the still waters, with her lofty sails hanging down listlessly from the yards. The moon then soared aloft inher beauty, reflecting the masts and sails of the ship in extended lines upon the smooth sea. Now all was dark: the water rippled short and broke in foam; the smaller and lofty sails had been taken in, and the vessel was cleaving through the water; and the wind, in fitful gusts and angry moanings, pro- claimed too surely that it had been awakened up to wrath, and was gathering its strength for destruction. Themen were still busy reducing the sails, but they worked gloomily and dis- contentedly. ~What Schriften, the pilot, had said to them, Philip knew not; but that they avoided him and appeared to look upon him with feelings of ill-will, was evident. And each minute the gale increased. “The wind is not steady,’’ observed Hillebrant : ‘‘there is no saying from which quarter the storm may blow: it has already veered round five points. Philip, I don't much like the appearance of things, and I may say with the captain that my heart is heavy.” ‘* And, indeed, so is mine, *‘but we are in the hands Providence.” “‘ Hard a-port! flatten in forward ! brail up the trysail, my men! Be smart!” cried Kloots, as from the wind’s chopping round to the northward and westward, the ship-was taken aback, and careened low before it. The rain now came down in torrents, and it was so-dark that it was with difficulty they could perceive each other on the deck. ‘‘We must clew up the topsails while the men can get upon the yards. See to it for- ward, Mr. Hillebrant.”’ The lightning now darted athwart the fir- mament, and the thunder pealed. ‘* Quick! quick, my men, let's furl all!” The sailors shook the water from their streaming clothes, some worked, others took advantage of the night to hide themselves away, and commune with their own fears. All canvas was now taken off the ship, ‘replied Philip ; ’ of a merciful except the fore-staysail, and she flew to the southward with the wind on her quarter. The sea had now risen, and roared as it curled in foam, the rain fell in torrents, the night was dark as Erebus, and the wet and frightened sailors sheltered themselves under the bul- warks. Although many had deserted from THE PHANTOM SHIP. 4r their duty, there was not one who ventured below that night. They did not collect together as usual—every man preferred soli- tude and his own thoughts. The Phantom Ship dwelt on their imaginations and oppressed their brains. It was an interminably long and terrible night—they thought the day would never come. Atlast the darkness gradually changed to a settled sullen gray gloom—which was day. They looked at each other, but found no comfort in meeting each other's eyes. > There was no one countenance in which a beam of hope could be found lurking. They were all doomed—they remained crouched where they had sheltered themselves during the night, and said nothing. The sea had now risen mountains high, and more than once had struck the ship abaft. Kloots was at the binnacle, Hillebrant and Philip at the helm, when a wave curled high over the quarter, and poured itself in resistless force upon the deck. The captain and his two mates were swept away, and dashed al- most senseless against the bulwarks—the bin- nacle andcompass were broken into fragments —no one ran to the helm—the vessel broached to—the broke clear over her, and the mainmast went by the board. All was confusion. Captain Kloots was stunned, and it was with difficulty that Philip could persuade two of the men to assist him down below. Hillebrant had been more un- fortunate—his right arm was broken, and he was otherwise severely bruised ; Philip assisted him to his berth, and then went on deck again to try and restore order. Philip Vanderdecken was not yet much of a seaman, but, at all events, he exercised that moral influence over the men which is ever possessed by resolution and courage. Obey willingly they did not, but they did obey, and in half an hour the vessel clear of the wreck. Eased by the loss of her heavy mast, and steered by two of her best she again flew before the gale. Where was Mynheer von Stroom during all this work of destruction ? In his bed-place, covered up with the clothes, trembling in every limb, and vowing that if ever again he put his foot on shore, not allthe companies in the world should induce him to trust to salt- water again. It certainly was the best plan for the poor man. But although for a time the men obeyed the orders of Philip, they were soon seen talk- ing earnestly with the one-eyed pilot, and after a consultation of a quarter of an hour, they all left the deck, with the exception of the two at the helm. Their reasons for so doing were soon apparent—several returned with cans full of liquor, which they had obtained seas Vas seamen,42 by forcing the hatches of the spirit-room. For about an hour Philip remained on deck, per- suading the men not to intoxicate themselves, but in vain; the cans of grog offered to the men at the wheel were not refused, and, in a short time, the yawing of the vessel proved that the liquor had taken its effect. Philip then hastened down below to ascertain if Mynheer Kloots was sufficiently recovered to come on deck. He found him sunk into a deep sleep, and with difficulty it was that he roused him, and made him acquainted with the distressing intelligence. Mynheer Kloots followed Philip on deck ; but he still suffered from his fall : his head was confused, and he reeled as he walked, as if he also had been making free with the liquor. When he had been on deck a few minutes, he sank down on one of the guns in a state of perfect helpless- ness ; he had, in fact, received a severe con- cussion of the brain. Hillebrant was too severely injured to be able to move from his bed, and Philip was now aware of the help- lessness of their situation. Daylight gradually disappeared, and as darkness came upon them, so did the scene become more appal- ling. The vessel still ran before the gale, but the men at the helm had evidently changec her course, as the wind that was on her star- board was now on thelarboard quarter. But compass there was none on deck, and,~even if there had been, themen in their drunken state would have refused to listen to Philip's orders or expostulations. ‘‘H they said, ‘* was no sailor, and was not to teach them how to steer the ship.” The gale was now at its height. The rain had ceased, but the wind had increased, and it roared as it urged on the vessel, which, steered so wide by the drunken sailors, shipped seas over each gun- nel; but the men laughed, and joined the chorus of their songs to the howling of the gale. Schriften, the pilot, appeared to be the leader of the ship's company. With the can of liquor in his hand, he danced and sang, snapped his fingers, and, likea demon, peered with his one eye upon Philip ; and then would he fall and roll with screams of laughter in the scuppers. More liquor was handed up as ‘ast as it was called for. Jaths, shrieks, aughter, were mingled together ; the men at the helm lashed it amid-ships, and hastened to join their companions, andthe Ter Schilling flew before the gale; the fore-staysail being the only sail set, checking her, as she yawed to starboard or to port. Philip remained on deck by the poop-ladder. Strange, thought he, that I should stand here, the only one left now capable of acting,—that I should be fated to look by myself upon this scene of horror and disgust—should here wait the severing of food: bods THE PHANTOM SHIP. of life which this vessel’s timbers,—the loss and must accompany it—the only one calm collected, or aware of what must soon take place. God forgive me, but I appear, useless and impotent as I am, to stand here like the master of the storm,—separated, as it were, from my brother mortals by my own peculiar destiny. It must be so. ‘This wreck then must not be for me, I feel that it is not,—that I have a charmed life, or rather a protracted one, to fulfil the oath I registered in heaven. But the wind is not so loud, surely the water is not so rough; my forebodings may be wrong, and all may yet be saved. Heaven grant it! For how melancholy, how lamen- table is it, to behold men created in God's own image, leaving the world, disgraced below the brute creation ! Philip was right in supposing that the wind was not so strong, nor the sea so high. The vessel, after running to the southward till past Table Bay, had, by the alteration made in her course, entered into False Bay, where, toa certain degrée, she wa sheltered from the violence of the winds and waves. But al- though the water was smoother, the waves were still more than sufficient to beat to pieces any vessel that might be driven on shore at the bottom of the bay, to which point the Ter Schilling was now running. The bay so far offered a fair chance of escape, as, instead of the rocky coast outside, against which, had the vessel run, a few seconds would have insured her destruction, there was a shelving beach of loose sand. But of this Philip could, of course, have no knowledge, for the land at the entrance of the bay had been passed un- perceived in thé darkness of the night. About twenfy minutes more had elapsed, when Philip observed that the whole sea around them was one continued foam. Hehad hardly time for conjecture before the ship struck, heavily on the sands, and the remaining masts fell by the board. ‘ The crush of the falling masts, the heavy beating of the ship on the sands, which caused many of her timbers to part, with a whole sea which swept clean over the fated vessel, checked the songs and drunken reveiry of the crew. Another minute, and the vessel was swung round on her broadside to the sea, and lay on: her beam ends. Philip, who was to windward, clung to the bulwark, while the antoxicated seamen floundered in the water to leeward, and attempted to gain the other side of theship. Much to Philip's horror he per- ceived the body of Mynheer Kloots sink down in the water (which now was several feet deep on the lee side of the deck), without any apparent effort on the part of the captain to save himself. Hewas then gone, and there were no hopes for him. Philip thought ofIM SHIP, 43 iota ) Ani Wectenan« Ans.) nc] He tne : 13. ¢ : > Hillebrant, and hastened down below ae 24 vy pieces, and Philip found himself strucs- ; . "11 . ; . 5 . . 1° * : . vee <> founc him still in his bed-place, lying against ling in the waves. He seized upon a pat he side He lifted him out. and with diff } ips: ne ie. CG Hi 1 OlM out, 1a WIth dim- tne Ich supported nN i iS borne lItw on ao ss s ; sy ‘ I : | culty « with him on decl nd laid him awaybyt f towards the I ‘ the bi the best 1 ite ; near to the lan nd \ ( . lo the Hiece @ nkine te poe t OY W ‘ y , c i +} < } x Of “E WERE. ‘ve t ohh, i ned ¢ by the force of t unning , 1 > i O \ a ost | iold, and » his t I . f He ruse L but { t 1¢{ ) VW the F a foot ie : , : , ] 7 j } r 4 ~ i : ; t i > ‘ > i eunmnel into t er, to | oy 1 was undert wa col It in— I thnout somethin bei uled 1 1 to.t] rt Bi the grasp of « + } . a . , i i { - ot i I men Vv O; £ t al iw d the I surf, so that t \ DY T \ 1 LO- ¢ wiec t ‘ } od ‘ y i the trough More and m« ( nt were il is still c t unds of their mad t, he been many | , 1 } r them no 1 I Lt : t in. rie oO] } t } I was boat bala | on’: r om d to « > them im liately, for the and tken | LW t light ¢ 1 » thein like the int of a Philip knew that ne ct k > He t ed over on hi de, and I to re! in with the ve l P< ‘ m th his han ts ained some imself upon s¢ . ie re t t n, until, by degrees, he J the sl W t for t é ght as restored. He ! her + I iL, ‘ a. Iew cond could ch s k ( I t cene around him Che sea im 1 it {about in urf h | I i sg nt tne Vv el; the whole sand was it My nr 1 Stroom strewed with | cargo y CO its. Neat Philip ct 1 him was the body of Hillebrant, < the othe id 1 been thrown | es who wet ittered on the beach told acainst ft! cabin « ‘ 1 I 1 | that those who had taken to the boat had being opt He re! ( ed rished. > . - the cabin, where h It ¥ by the height of the sun, about mtroom ciinging to wil a tne t yclock in.the afternoon, as near ; . of death but it was not death, but the ( l est te; but Philip suffered such an ly oO! ft ] H DO: to I i E 4 i oO oI Vn 1d he fe t So wearied, and obtain no reply ; he attempted to move him, i h pain, that he took but aslignt survey. but it was impossible to make him let go the His! n was whirling, and all he demanded part of the bulk-head that he \ was rep He walked away from the scene loud n an tne h of a m: Ol f Or.4 n, and | found a sandhill, told Philip that the \ dy] 1 amid- b id whi he ( led from the burn- ships, and he unwilling! indoned the poor ing rays of the sun, he ag lay d 1, and supercargo to his fate, and went out of the sank into a deep sleep, from w! ich he did not cabin door. At the after-hatchway he observed wake until the ensuing morning. something struggling.—it was ] h iunnes the Philip was roused a second time by the bear, who was swimming, but still fastened sensation of something pricking him on the by a cord which prevented hisescape. Philip chest. He started up, and beheld a figure took out his knife and released the poor s 1s over him. His eyes weresstill feeble, ‘ animal, and hardly had he done this act of ; his vision indistinct ; he rubbed them for kindness, when a heavy sea turned over the a time, for he first thought it was the bear after part of the vessel, which separated in Johannes, and again, that It was the super-a 44. THE PHANTOM SATP, cargo, Von Stroom, who had appeared before him; he looked again, and found that he was mistaken, although he had warrant for supposing it to be either, or both. A tall Hottentot, with an assaygay in his hand, stood by his side; over his shoulder he had thrown the fresh-severed skin of the poor bear, and on his head, with the curls descend- ing to his waist, was one of the wigs of the Supercargo, Von Stroom. Such was the gravity of the black’s appearance in_ this strange costume (for in every other respect he was naked), that, at any other time, Philip would have been induced to laugh heartily ; but his feelings were now too acute. Herose upon his feet, and stood by the side of the Hottentot, who still continued immovable, but certainly without the slightest appearance of hostile intentions. A sensation of overpowering thirst now seized upon Philip, and he made signs that he wished to drink. The Hottentot motioned to him to folluw, and led over the sand-hills to the beach, where Philip discovered up- wards‘of fifty men, who were busy selecting various articles from the scattered stores of the vessel. It was evident by the respect paid to Philip’s conductor, that he was the chief of the kraal. A few words, uttered with the greatest solemnity, were sufficient to produce, though not exactly what Philip required, a small quantity of dirty water from a calabash, which, however, was to him delicious. His conductor.then waved to him to take a seat on the sand. {t was a novel and appalling, and, never- theless, a ludicrous scene : there was the white sand, rendered still more white by the strong glare of the sun, strewed with the fragments of the vessel, with casks, and bales of mer- chandise ; there was the running surge with its foam, throwing about particles of the wreck : there were the bones of whales which had been driven on shore in some former gale, and which, now half-buried in the sand, showed portions of huge skeletons; there were the mangled bodies of Philip's late com- panions, whose clothes, it appeared, had been untouched by the savages, with the exception of the buttons, which had been eagerly sought after ; there were naked Hottentots (for it was summer time, and they wore not their sheepskin krosses) gravely stepping up and down the sand, picking up everything that was of no value, and leaving all that civilized people most coveted ;—to crown all, there was the chief, sitting in the still bloody skin of Johannes, and the broad-bottomed wig of Mynheer Stroom, with all the gravity of a vice-chancellor in his countenance, and with- out the slightest idea that he was in any way ridiculous, The whole presented, perhaps, one of the most strange and chaotic tableaux that ever was witnessed. Although, at that time, the Dutch had not very long formed their settlement at the-Cape, a considerable traffic had been, for many years, carried on with the natives for skins and other African productions. The Hotten- tots were, therefore, no strangers to vessels, and, as hitherto, they had been treated with kindness, were well-disposed towards Euro- peans. After a time, the Hottentots began to collect all the wood which appeared to have iron in it, made it up into several piles, and set them on fire. The chief then made a sign to Philip, to ask him if he was hungry ; Philip replied in the affirmative, when his new acquaintance put his hand into a bag made of goatskin, and pulled out a handful of very large beetles, and presented them to him. Philip refused them with marks of disgust, upon which, the chief very sedately cracked and ate them; and having finished the whole handful, rose, and made a sign to Philip to follow him. As Philip rose, he per- ceived floating on the surf, his own chest; he _hastened to it, and made signs that it washis, took the key out of his pocket and opened it, and then made up a bundle of articles most useful, not forgetting a bag of guilders. His conductor made no objection, but calling to one of the men near, pointed out the lock and hinges to him, and theri#set off, followed by Philip, across the sand-hills. In about an hour they arrived at the kraal, consisting of low huts covered with skins, and were met by the women and children, who appeared to be in high admiration at their chiefs new attire; they showed every kindness to Philip, bring- ing him milk, which he drank eagerly. Philip surveyed these daughters of Eve, and, as he turned from their offensive, greasy attire, their strange forms, and hideous features, he sighed and thought of his charming Amine. The sun was now setting, and Philip still felt fatigued. He made signs that he wished to repose. They led him into a hut, and, though surrounded as he was with filth, and his nose assailed by every variety of bad smell, attacked, moreover, by insects, he laid his head on his bundle, and uttering a short prayer of thanksgiving, was soon in a sound sleep. The next morning he was awakened by the chief of he kraal, accompanied by anotherman who spoke a little Dutch. He stated his wish to be taken to the settlement where the ships came and anchored, and was fully understood; but the man said that there were no ships in the bay at the time. Philip, nevertheless, requested he might be taken there, as he felt that his best chance of getting on board of any vessel would be byremaining at the settlement, and, at all events, he would be in the company of Europeans, until a vessel arrived. The distance, he dis- covered, was but one days march, or less. After some little conversation with the chief, the man who spoke Dutch desired Philip to follow him, and that he would take him there. Philip drank-plentifully from a bowl of milk, brought him by one of the women, and again refusing a handful of beetles offered by the chief, he took up his bundle, and followed his new acquaintance. Towards evening they arrived st th e bills from which Philip had a view of Table Bay, and the few houses erected by the Sok To his delight, he perceived that there was a vessel under sail in the offing. On his ar- rival at the beach, to which he hastened, he found that she had sent a boat on shore for fresh, provisions. He accosted the people, told them also of the Schilling, and of his >? told them who he was, fatal wreck of the Ter wish to embark. The officer in charge of the boat willingly consented to take him on board, and informed Philip that they were homeward bound. Philip's heart leaped at the intelligence. Had she been outward bound, he would have joined her ; but now he had a prospect of again seeing his dear Amine before he re-embarked to follow out his peculiar destiny. He felt that there was still some happiness in store for him, that his life was to be chequered with alternate privation and repose, and that his future prospect was not to be one continued chain of suffering until death. He was kindly received by the captain of the vessel, who freely gave him a passage home; and in three months, without any events worth narrating, Philip Vanderdecken found himself once more at anchor before the town of Amsterdam. be observed that Philip made IT need Hardly all possible haste to his own little cottage, which contained all that he valued in this world: He promised to himself some months of ha pine ss, for he had done his duty; and he felt that, however desirous of fulfilling his vow ecohid not again leave home till the autumn, when the next fleet sailed, and it vas now but the commencement of April. Much, too, as he regretted the loss of Myn- heer Kloots and Hillebrant, as well as the was deaths of the unfortunate crew, still there some solace in the remembrance that he was for ever rid of the wretch Schriften, who had shared their fat: and besides he almost blessed the wreck, so fatal to others, w hich THE PHANTOM SHIP. 45 enabled him so soon to return to the arms of his Amine. It was late in the evening, when Philip took a boat from FI lushing, and went over to his cottage at Terneuse. It was a rough evening for the season of the year. The wind blew fresh, and the sky was covered with flaky clouds, fringed here and there with broad white for the light of the moon was high in the heavens, and ue was at her full. At times her light would be almost obscured bya dark cloud passing over her disk; at others, she would burst out in all her bright- Philip landed, and, wrapping his cloak round him, hastened up to his cottage. As with a beating heart he approached, he perceived that the window of. the parlour was edges, ness. open, and that there was a female figure leaning out. He knew that it couid be no other than his Amine, and, after he crossed the little brid cee he proceeded to the window, instead of going to the door. Amine (for it was she who stood at the window) was so absorbed in contemplation of the heavens above her, and so deep in communion with her own thoughts, that she neither saw nor heard the approach of her husband. Philip perceived her abstraction, and paused when within four or five yards of her. He wished to gain the door without being observed, as he was afraid of alarming her by his too sud- den appearance, for he remembered his S pro~ mise, ‘‘that if dead he would, if permitted, visit her as his father visited his mother.’ But while he thus stood in suspense, Amine’s eyes were turned upon him : she beheld him ; but a thick cloud now obscured the moon’s disk, and the dim light gave to his form, in- distinctly seen, an unearthly and shadowy ap- pearance. She recognized her husband ; but having no reason to expect his return, she re- cognized him as an inhabitant of the world of s. She started, parted the hair away from her forehead with both hands, and again earnestly gazed on him. ha eninfte pJaL t oY) ‘ ‘‘It is I, Amine, do not be afraid,” cried Philip, hastily. ‘‘Tam not afraid,’ replied Amine, press- ‘‘It is over now. ing her hand to her heart. such I think Spirit of my dear husband—for thou e -[ thank thee! Welcome even in death, Philip—welcome !"’ and Amine waved her hand mournfully, inviting Philip to enter as she retired fro a the window. ‘““My God ! she thinks me dead,” thought Philip, and, hassily knowing how to act, he entered in at the window, and found her sit- sofa. Philip would have spoken ; whose eyes were fixed upon him and who fully convinced supernatural appearance, ung on the Ami mé, as he ent ered that he was but a EXc claimed, — wae WasA ‘So soon--so soon! O God! thy will be done: but it ishard to bear. Philip, be- _loved Philip, I feel that I soon shall follow ou.’ Philip was now more alarmed: he was fearful of any sudden reaction when Amine should discover that he was still alive. ‘Amine, dear, hear me._ I have appeared unexpectedly, and at an unusual hour; «but throw yourself into my arms, and you will find that your Philip is not dead.”’ ‘* Not dead !”’ cried Amine, starting up. “ No, no, still warm in flesh and blood, Amine—still your fond and doting husband,’ replied Philip, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his heart. Amine sank from his embrace down upon the sofa, aad fortunately was relieved by a burst of tears, while Philip, kneeling by her, supported her. ©@-God ! OG God! 1 thank thee,” re- plied Amine, at last. ‘I thought it was your spirit, Philip. O! I was glad to see even tat; ~contmied ‘she; ‘weeping’ - on © “his shoulder. ‘‘Can you listen to me, dearest?” said Philip, after a silence of a few moments. te po speak speaks, love ; I can listen for In a few words Philip then recounted what had taken place, and the occasion of his unexpected return, and felt himself more than repaid for all that he had suffered, by the fond endearments of his still agitated Amine. ‘‘ And your father, Amine?” “He ig well; we will talk of him to- morrow.” Yes,’ thought Philip, as he awoke next morning, and dwelt upon the lovely features or his still slumberine wife; “yes, God is merciful. I feel that there is still happiness instore for me; nay, more, that that hap- piness also depends upon my due perform- ance of my task, and that [ should be punished if I-were to forget my solemnvow, Be it so, —through danger and to death will I perform my duty, trusting to His mercy for a reward both here below and in heaven above. Am I] not repaid for all that [ have su fered ? O yes, more than repaid,” thought Philip, a with a kiss he disturbed the slumber of hi wife, and met her full dark eyes fixed upon him, beaming with love and joy. Before Philip went downstairs about Mynheer Poots. ‘My father has indeed troubled me much,;replicd Amine. “I am obliged to lock the parlour when I leave it, for more than once I have found him attempting to force the locks of the buffets. His love of gold is insatiable: He dreams of nothing else. He has caused me much pain, insisting ¢ ) S S he inquired THE PHANTOM SHIP. that I never should see you again, and that I should surrender to him all your wealth. But he fears me, and he fears your return much more.’ “Ts he well in health ?”’ ‘‘Not ill, but still evidently wasting away, —like a candle burnt aoe n to the socket, flit- ting and flaring alternately ; at one time al- most imbecile, at others, t: alk ing and planning asif he were in the vigour of ‘his youth. O what a curse it must be—that love ef money! I believe—I’m shocked to say so, Philip,— that that poor old man, now on the brink of a grave, into which he can take nothing, would sacrifice your life and mine to have ee ce of those guilders, the whole of which I would barter for one kiss from thee.”’ ‘‘ Indeed, Amine, -has he then attempted anything ‘in my absence ?”’ ‘“‘T dare not speak my thoughts, ee nor will I venture upon surmises which it wer difficult to prove. I watch him carefully 2s but talk no more about him. Me will see him soon, and do not expect a hearty wel- come, or believe that ack: it is sincere. I will not tell him of your return, as I wish to mark the effect.” Amine then descended to prepare break- fast, and Philip walked out fora few minutes. On his return he found Mynheer Poots sit- til ing at the table with his daughter. ‘Merciful Allah ! am I right ?” cried. the old man: ‘is it you, Mynheer Vander- déecken ?-”’ “Even: so, rephed Philip =" last night, - “And you did not tell me, Amine. ‘T wished that you should be surprised,” ented Amine. ‘“T am _ surprise a When do you sail again, Mynheer Philiy Very soon, I sup- pose? perhaps to- morrow ?’’ said Mynheer returned ” Poots. ‘‘Not for many months, I trust,’’ replied Philip. ‘Not for 1 nae months !+-That is a long Net Det 7 = while to be idle You must make > money. Tell me, have you brought back ] time Yr” “' No,’ replied -Philip; ‘*I “have been wrecked, and very nearly lost my life,’ But you will go again?” ~ ‘“‘ Yes, in good time [ shall go again. “Very well, we will take care of -your house and your guilders.” ‘‘T shall perhaps save you the trouble aking care of my ‘euilders,” aoe ieee to a annoy the old man, ‘‘for with me.” ao eee them with you! for what pray?’ replied Poots, in alarm. ¢ s ~ e 12) ee — oo] o ? ot pee é oO if 2‘To purchase where ] make more money. ‘* But> you goods go, and may | te then the money will be wrecked all lost. and AOAIN agaln, No, no ;' go yourself Mynhx : Pl s, but you must not take your guilders Indeed [ will,” replied Philip; ‘‘ when my money with n it occurred to ; ' ae l © ve away ad y ) quiet tor } =o He determined, therefore, when he next de- parted,-to make the doct i that he had taken his wealth with him. Mynheer Poots did not renew the conyer- sation, but sank Oo gloomy t ight In a to - own room, vife what had ind man belie, et perty. ‘Tt was thoughtful of thank you for but | wi qect. ; } | , lat Philip, and I rds me you y ; your kind feeling towa : , g you had ud nothing on the sub- u do not know my [ n father ; iust 10w watch him as an enemy. . Wik didiee little to fear from an infirm old man, replied Philip, laughing. But Amin thought otherwise, and was ever on her guard. :: rT } } 7 ihe spring and mmer passed ra ly away ior t Y Were I Pp] Vi ) Vere tne conversations b een P ) d Amine, re- lati ; } it Nn id ] —T ne upernatural annearance of his father's , and the fatal ap} afahCe Of ils 1atners Mijy, ala Lilt jcdta Wreck 4 £ 1 nore dangers and dif- } usband, but dissuade him n renewing his attempts in fulfilment of ‘ward with ) pe ind ¢ 1aen< iware that, it mM time, ni fate must bk iccompu hed, and trusting only that that hour would be long delayed. At the close of the went to Amsterdam, to { Philip again summer, y for himself a rocure 4 ; ae . berth in one of the vessels which were to sail . at th wnroacn o rinter : C } 7 . 17 j iC WI x x Lt i €] CNUUNY Was Weil known ; and the circumstances attending it, : : with the exception of the ; arance of tne Tr re S ’ a ca un Phi] Phantom Ship, had been draw! Dp DY fHniuip } } 4 On Nis passage home, and co igated to Court of Directors. syot omy On account very credita manner in which that report had been prepared, but considera- tion of his peculiar sufferings escape, he the ae | 1 oir tne DLE in and PHE PHANTOM SH?P. 47 had been promised by the Comnany a_ berth, as second mate, on board of one of their ves- sels, should he be again inclined to sail to tl East Indies Having called upon the directors his ointment to of about 400 his purpose, le F he re- the Batavia, a tons burden. Philip hastened back ceived ap] vessel effected lerneuse, and, in the presence of Mynheet Po 7 ni ned Am Oo wl it he h id done ‘*So you go to gain?’ observed Myn- ] 1 Pe yt . Yes, but not { two mont] “ae xpect,’’ replied Philip } \ 1! I pl ed Por and the old man muttere How true it is tnat bear up against a real ¢ De! ! iet it not be at the though separation from her hit: band tec it, but feeling his departure to mperi ous duty one sung it ever in her mind, she inst her feelings, and submittec ane to what could not be ay as, however, ofie circumstance, whieh caused her much wuneasiness—that was the conduct of her father. Ami reeived that j ve retily hated rhi Ip, on ; - garded as an obstacle to | obtaining pos- session of the money in the house: for t!} old man was well aware dead, his daughter would care little who had posst sion of, or what became of it The thought that Philip was about to take the the brain had been seen him , and not, profession. return from Am- taken cold, im had almost turned of the avar old man He ] watched by Amine, and she had walk for hours muttering to hi: Sect attending to his evenings after his m, Philip, who had ed “ not "heii well ‘Not well!" cried the old man, starting money with h iclous 6c] ; pi} up ; et me sce—yes, you purse 1§ vel quick \mine, your poor hu band i very ill He must go to bed, and I will give him some- ; : a ] ] 1 we thing which will do him good. I shall charge you hing, Philip—nothing at all.’ ‘ ac 7 M n} [do not feel so very unwell, lynhee Poots,” replied Philip; ‘‘ I have a bad head acne certalny. ‘Ves, and you have fever also, Philip, ai prevention is better than cure; so go to bed and take what I send weil to-morrow. you, and you will Philip went upstairs, accompanied by Ami and Mynheer Poots wént into his own i reom prepare the médicine. So soon as Philip was in bed, Amine w and was mét by her father, who puta 7€ j to talrs, powder i ent down7 a“ 48 into her hands to give to her husband, and then eft the parlour. “God forgive me if I wrong my father,” thought Amine; ‘‘ but I have my doubts. Philip is ill, more so than he will acknow- ledge ; and if he does not take some remedies, he may be worse—but my heart misgives me— I have a foreboding. Yet surely he cannot be so diabolically wicked.” Amine examined the contents of the paper: it was a very small quantity of dark- brown powder, and, by the directions of Mynheer Poots, to be given in a_ tumbler of warm wine. Mynheer Poots had offered to heat the wine. His return from the kitchen broke Amine’s meditations. ‘‘Hereis the wine, my child; now give him a whole tumbler of wine, and the powder, and let him be covered up warm, for the pers- piration will soon burst out, and it must not be checked. Watch him, Amine, and keep the clothes on, and he will be well to-mcrrow morning.’ And Mynheer Poots quitted the room, saying, ‘‘ Good night, my child.” Amine poured out the powder into one of the silver mugs upon the table, and then pro- ceeded to mix it up with the wine. Her suspicions had, for the time, been removed by the kind tone of her father’s voice. To do him justice as a medical practitioner, he appeared always to be most careful of his patients. When Amine mixed the powder, she examined and perceived that there was no sediment, and the wine was as clear as be- fore. This was unusual, and her suspicions revived. t Talike at-mot, «said she; "'] fear my father—God help me !—I hardly know what to do—I will not give it to Philip. The warm wine may produce perspiration suffi- eient.- Amine paused, and again reflected. She had mixed the powder with so smalla portion of the wine that it did not fill a quarter of the cup ; she put it on one side, filled another up to the brim with the warm wine, and then ‘went up to the bedroom. On the landing-place she was met by her father, whom she supposed to have retired to Test. ‘Take care you do not spill it, Amine. That is right, let him have a whole cupful. Stop, give it to me; I will take it to him myself.” Mynheer Poots took the cup from Amine’s hands, and went into Philip’s room. ‘‘Here, my son, drink this off, and you will be well,’ said Mynheer Poots, whose hand trembled so that he spilt the wine on the coverlid. Amine, who watched her father, was more than ever pleased that_she had not put the powder into the cup. Philip THE PHANTOM SHIP. rose on his elbow, drank off the wine, and Mynheer Poots then wished him good night. “Do not leave him, Amine, I will see all right,” said Mynheer Poots, as he left the room. And Amine; who had intended to go down for the candle left in the parlour, re- mained with her husband, to whom she con- fided her feelings, and also the fact that she had not given him the powder. “T trust that you are anistaken, Amine,” replied Philip ; ‘‘indeed I feel sure that you must be. No man could be so bad as you suppose your father.”’ ‘“You have not lived with him as I have; you have not seen what I have seen,” replied Amine. ‘‘You know not what gold will tempt people to do in this world—but, how- ever, I may be wrong. At all events, you must go to sleep, and I shall watch you, dearest. Pray do not speak—I feel I cannot sleep just now—I wish to read a little—I will lie down by-and-by.”’ Philip made no further objections, and was soon in a sound sleep, and Amine watched him in silence till midnight long had passed. ‘‘ He breathes heavily,” thought Amine ; ‘but had I given him that powder, who knows if he had ever awoke again? My father is so deeply skilled in the Eastern knowledge, that I fear him. Too often has he, I well know, for a purse well filled with gold, prepared the sleep of death. Another would shudder at the thought; but he, who has dealt out death at the will of his em- ployers, would scruple little to do so even to the husband of his own daughter ; and I have watched him in his moods, and know his thoughts and wishes. What a foreboding of mishap has come over me this evening !— what a fear of evil! Philip is ill, ‘tis true, but not so very ill. No! no! Besides, his time is not yet come; he has his dreadful task to finish. I would it were morning. How soundly he sleeps !—and the dew is on his brow. I must cover him up warm, and watch that he remains so. Some one knocks at the entrance door. Now will they wake him. ’Tis a summon for my father.’ Amine left the room, and hastened down- stairs. It was, as she supposed, a summons for Mynheer Poots to a woman taken in Jabour- ‘‘He shall follow you directly,” said Amine; ‘‘I will now call him up.” Amine went upstairs to the room where her father slept, and knocked ; hearing no answer, as usual, she knocked again. ‘My father is not used to sleep in this way,” thought Amine, when she found no answer to her second call. She opened the door and went in. To her surprise, her father was not in bed. ‘‘Strange,’’-thought she;LHE PHAN “but I do not recollect footsteps coming up after take away the lights.’’ And to the parlour, where, stretcl she discovered her father asleep ; but to her call ** Merciful having heard he went Amine led apparently hastene on the sofa, fast answer. thought he gave no Heaven! is he dead ?”’ | she, approaching the light to her father's face. res, it was so!—his eyes were fixed and glazed-—his lower jaw had fallen. For some minutes, Amine leant against the wall in a state of bewilderment: het brain whirled ; at last she recovered herself. ‘* Tis to be proved at once,"’ thought she, as she went up to the table, and looked into the silver cup in which she had mixed the powder—it was empty ! The God of Righteousness hath punished him!" ex- claimed Amine; ‘‘but, O! that this man should have been my father! Yes! it is plain. Frightened, at his own wicked, damned intentions, he poured out more wine from the flagon, to blunt his feelings of re- morse ; and not knowing tl still in the cup, himself—the de ; } r tia eee lat the powder was he filled it up and drank ath he meant for another! For another !—and for whom? one wedded to his own daughter !——Philip! my hus- band! Wert thou-not my father,’”’ con- tinued Amine, looking at the dead body, *“I would spit upon thee, and curse thee? —but thou art punished and may God for- give thee! thou poor, weak, wicked crea- ture | Amine then left the room and went up- stairs, where she four and in a prc id Philip still fast asleep, pe rspiration. Most women would have awakened their husbands, but Amine thought not cf herself ; Philip was ill, and Amine would not arouse him to agitate him. She down by the side of the bed, and with her hand pressed upon her forehead, and her elbows resting on her knees, she remained in deep thought until the sun had risen and poured his bright beams through the casement. She was roused from her another summons at the door of the She hastened down to the entrance, not open the door. ‘* Mynheer Poots is required immediately,’’ said the girl, who was the messenger. My. good ‘Fherese;’: -rep slied Amine, ‘my father has more need of assistance than the poor woman ; for his travail in this world, I fear, is well over. I found him very ill when I went to call him, and he has not been able to quit his bed. I must now entreat you to do my message, and desire Father Seysen to use Sat reflections by cottage. but did come hither ; for my poor fatheris, I fear, in extremity.’ ‘«Mercy on me!” replied Therese, ‘‘Is his down to l TOM S : TOM SHIP. 49 it so? Fear not but bidding, Mistress Amine.’ The second knocking had awakened Philip, who felt that he was much better and his headache had left him. He perceived l that Amine had not taken any rest that night, and he was about to expostulate with her, wh + he at once told him what had occurred. ‘You must dress yourself hili tinued she, ‘‘ and must assist me to « his body, and place it in his bed, bef arrival cf the priest. God of mercy given you that powder, my dearest but let us not-talk about it. Be quick, Father Seyse n will be here soon.” oe was soon dressed, and followed Ami dow n into the parlour. The sun Hone bright, and its rays were darted upon the eet face of the old man, whose fists were clenched, and his tongue fixed between the teeth on one side of his mouth. Alas ! this room appears to be fatal. more scenes of horror are to pas ie How many Within it 2’ ‘‘None, I trust,” replied Amine; ‘‘ this is not, to my mind, the scene of horro It was when that old man (now called away—and a a victim to his own treachery) Stood by your “Y mark Oi the and with eve offered you bedside, kindness, interest and cup—/Aat was the i scene of ae ~ said Amine, shudderinge— "one which long will haunt me.” ‘God forgive himt.as I do.” replied Philip, lifting up the body, and carrying it up the stairs to the room which had been occupied by Mynheer Poots. ‘Let it at least be supposed that he died in his bed, and that his ek h-was natural” said Amine. ‘‘ My pride cannot bear that this should be known, or that I should be pointed atas the daughter of a murderer! O Philip! Amine sat down, and burst into te: Her ae. Was atten oO g to Comal her, when_Fath n knocked at the door. Philip hastened oewial to oper nj ‘‘Good morning, my son. sufferer ?”’ ‘« He has ceased to suffer, ‘Indeed !'’ replied the » t Le ” father good priest, with sorrow in his countenance; ‘‘am | then too late 2, yet have I not tarried.”’ ‘« He went off suddenly, father, in a con- vulsion,’’ replied Philip, leading the way up- Stairs. Father Seysen looked at the body and and yet perceived that his offices were needless, then turned to Amine, who had not checked her tears. ‘“Weep, my child, weep ! for you have cause, said. the priest,. ‘* The- loss. of a father’s love must be a severe trial to a dutifulFF 5O and affectionate child. But yield not too much to your grief, Amine; you have other duties, other ties, my child—you have your husband.”’ “T know it, father,’ replied Amine ; «¢still must I weep, forI was “zs daughter.”’ “Did he not go to bed last night, then, that his clothes are still upon him? When did he first complain?” ‘“The last time that I saw him, father,” replied Philip, ‘‘he came into my room and gave me some medicine, and then he wished me good night. Upon a summons to attend a sick bed, my wife went to call him, and found him speechless.” “Tt has been sudden,” replied the priest; “but he was an old man, and old men sink at once. Were you with him when he died ?”’ “I was not, sir,” replied Philip ; ‘‘ before my wife had summoned me and I had dressed myself, he had left this world.” “} trust, my children, for a_ better.” Amine shuddered. ‘‘ Tell me, Amine,” con- tinued the priest, ‘‘ did he show signs of grace before he died ? for you know full well that he has long been looked on as doubtful in his creed, and little attentive to the rites of our holy church.” ‘There are times, holy father,” replied Amine, ‘‘ when even a sincere Christian can be excused, even if he give no sign. Look at his clenched hands, witness the agony of death on his face, and could you, in that state, expect a sign?’ ‘ Ajas! ’tis but too true, my child ; we must then hope for the best. Kneel with me, my children, and let us offer up a prayer for the soul of the departed.” Philip and Amine knelt with the priest, who prayed fervently ; and as they rose, they exchanged a glance which fully revealed what was passing in the mind of each. ‘«T will send the people to do their offices for the dead, and prepare the body for inter- ment,” said Father Seysen ; ‘“but it were ‘as well not to say that he was dead before I ar- rived, or to let it be supposed that he was called away without receiving the consolations of our holy creed.” Philip motioned his head in assent as he stood at the foot of the bed, and the priest departed. ‘There had always been a strong feeling against Mynheer Poots in the village ; —his neglect of all religious duties—the doubt whether he was even a member of the church —his avarice and extortion—had created for him a host of enemies ; but, at the same time, his great medical skill, which was fully acknowledged, rendered him of importance. Had it been known that his creed (if he had any) was Mahometan, and that he had died THE PHANTOM SHIP. in attempting to poison his son-in-law, it 1S certain that Christian burial would have been refiised him, and the finger of scorn would have been pointed at his daughter. But as Father Seysen, when questioned, said, in 4 mild voice, that ‘‘ he had departed in peace, it was presumed that Mynheer Poots had died a good Christian, although he had-acted little up to the tenets of Christianity during his life. The next day the remains of the old man were con- signed to the earth with the usual rites; and Philip and Amine were not a little relieved in their minds at everything having passed off so quietly. It was not until after the funeral had taken place that Philip, in company with Amine, examined the chamber of his father-in-law. The key of the iron chest was found in his pocket ; but Philip had not yet looked into this darling repository of the old man. The room was full of bottles and boxes of drugs, all of which were thrown away, OT, if the utility of them was known to Amine, removed toa spare room. His table contained many drawers, which were now examined, and among the heterogeneous contents were many writings in Arabic—probably prescriptions. Boxes and papers were also found, with Arabic -characters written upon them; and in the box which they first took up was a powder similar to that which Mynheer Poots had given to Amine. There were many articles and writings, which made it appear that the old man had dabbled in the occult sciences, as they were practised at that period, and those they hastened to commit to the flames. “Had all these been seen by Father Seysen!’? observed Amine, mournfully. ‘But here are some printed papers, Philip !” Philip_examined them, and found that they were acknowledgments of shares in the Dutch East-India Company. “No, Amine, these are money, or what is as good—these are eight shares in the Com- pany’s capital, which will yield us a handsome income every year. JI had no idea that the ola man made such use of his money. I had some intention of doing the same with a part of mine before I went away, instead of allow- ing it to remain idle. : The iron chest was now to be examined. When Philip first opened it, he imagined that it contained but little; for it was large and deep, and appeared to be almost empty ; but when he put his hands down to the bottom, he pulled out thirty or forty small bags, the contents of which, instead of being silver guilders, were all coins of gold; there was only one large bag of silver money. - But this was not all; several small boxes and packetsTHE PHANTOM SHIP Is your duty, and you e, burying her face in parted from his wife, - ] a re ide than on as ut rr : 7 eir first l 1 e lost, but &, tht t Amine. ‘'‘ I feel that he 7 ret 1 ton God of Heaven, Thy will } j i Cif i é 1 ‘ 1 ee. } } | la at Amsterdam : and r pure sed many things which he orht c t ha t } Ih; ; ignt Fil { c ntageous to him m e of accident, to which he now looked for- ard as almost certain, ke emb irked on board batavia, Which was lying at single anchor, Philip had not been long on board, ere he t they were not likely to havea very fori i 7 reqQop - for tha B: i } riabdic pa as . OF tre itaviz was lartered to convey a large detachment of ‘oops to Ceylon and Java, for the ptirpose of ruiting and strengthening the Company nd of Java; the number of soldiers on rd being presumed sufficient to insure the } gainst any attack or accidents fro) L t¢ or enemie cruise! ‘The B td\ moreover, mounted thirty guns, and had a -w of seventy-five men. Besides military res, which formed the principal part of her a large qua Bey | of for the Indian market. The det; ~ :: Qi oidaier was emb; irking wren P] ‘ii on board, and ina few minute S the decks was hardly possible move. Philip, who had not yet spoken to > captain, found out the first mate, and im- diately entered upon his duty, with which from his close application to it during his for- own arduous duties no forebox ing ¢ itan evil to a fead sn anxious r voyage and passage home, he was much ter acquainted than might have been traces of hurry and isappear, the baggage of troops was stowed away, and the soldiers ving been told off in parties, and stationed h their messing utensils between the guns the main deck, room was ums afforded for hip. Philip showed great activity well as method in the arrangements pro- ed, and the captain, during a pause in his , said to birm-= ‘‘I thought you were taking it very easy, Vanderdecken, in not joining the ship efore, but, now you are on board, you are l J making up ae lost time. You have done more during the forenoon than I could havemE IE 52 THE PHANTOM SHIP. expected. I am glad that you are come, though very sorry you were not here when we were stowing the hold, which, 1 am afraid, is not arranged quite so well as it might be. Mynheer Struys, the first mate, has had more to do than he could well give attention to.” “Tam sorry that I should not have been here, sir,’’ replied Philip ; ‘‘ but I came as soon as the Company sent me word.” ‘©¥es, and as they know that you area matried man, and do not forget that you are a great sharcholder, they would not trouble you toosoon. J presume you will have the conimand of a vessel next voyage. In fact, you are certain of it, with the capital you have invested in their funds. I hada conyersation with one of the senior accountants on the sub- ject this very morning.” Philip was not very sorry that his money had been put out to such good interest, as to be the captain of aship was what he earnestly desired. He replied, that ‘‘he certainly did hope tocommand a ship after the next voyage, when he trusted that he should feel himself quite competent to the charge.” ‘‘No doubt, no doubt, Mr. Vanderdecken. I can see that clearly. You must be very fond of the sea.” “Tam,” replied Philip ; ‘‘ 1 doubt whether I shall ever give it up,” ‘ Never give it up! You think so now. You are young, active, and full of hope ; but you will tire of it by and by, and be glad to lay by for the rest of your days.” ‘How many troops do we embark?” inquired Philip. ‘““Two hundred and forty-five rank and file, and six officers. Poor fellows; there are but few. of them will ever return: nay, more than one-half will not see another birth-day. It is a dreadful climate. { have landed three hundred men at that horrid hole, and in six months, even before I had sailed, there were not one hundred left alive.”’ ‘Tt is almost murder to send them there,”’ observed Philip. ‘‘Pshaw! they must die somewhere, and if they die a little sooner, what matter ? Life is a commodity to be bought and sold like any other. We send out so much manufactured goods and so much money to barter for Indian commodities. We alsosend out so much life, and it gives a good return to the Company.” ‘But not to the poor soldiers, I am afraid.” ‘*No; the Company buy it cheap and sell it dear,’ replied the captain, who walked for- ward. True, thought Philip, they do purchase human life cheap, and make a rare profit of it, for without these poor fellows how could they hold their possessions in spite of native and foreign enemies? For what a paltry and cheap annuity do these men sell their lives ? for what a miserable pittance do they dare all the horrors of a most deadly climate, without a chance, a bope of return to their native land, where they might.haply repair their exhausted energies, and take a new lease of life! Good God! if these men may be thus heartlessly sacrificed to Mammon, why should I feel remorse if, in the fulfilment of a sacred duty imposed on me by Him who deals with us as He thinks meet, a few mortals perish? Not a sparrow falis to the ground without his knowledge, and it is for Him to sacrifice or to save. 1am but the creature of His will, and I but follow my duty,—but obey the com- mands of One whose ways are inscrutable. Still, if for my sake this ship be also doomed, I cannot but wish that I had been appointed to some other, in which the waste of human life might have been less. It was not until a week after Philip arrived on board, that the Batavia and the remainder of the fleet were ready for sea It would be difficult to analyse the feelings of Philip Vanderdecken on this his second embarkation. His mind was so continually directed to the object of: his voyage, that although he attended to his religious duty, yet the business of life passed before him as a dream. Assured of again meeting with the Phantom Ship, and almost equally assured that the meeting would be followed by some untoward event, in all probability by the sacrifice of those who sailed with him, his thoughts preyed upon him, and wore him down toa shadow. He hardly ever spoke, except in the execution of his duty. He felt likea criminal; as one who, by embarking with them, had doomed all around him to death, disaster, and peril; and when ove talked of his wife, and azother of his children —when they would indulge in anticipations, and canvass happy projects, Philip would feel sick at heart, and would rise from the table, and hasten to the solitude of the deck. At one time he would try to persuade himself that his senses had been worked upon in some moment of excitement, that he was the victim of an illusion; at another he would call to mind all the past—he would feel its terrible reality : and then the thought would suggest itself that with this supernatural vision Heaven had nothing to do; that it was but the work and jugglery of Satan, But then the relic— by such means the devil would not have worked. A few days after he had sailed, he bitterly repented that he had not stated the whole of his circumstances to Father Seysen, and taken his advice upon the propriety of following up his search ; but it was now too late ; already was the good ship Batavia morethan a thousand miles from the port of Amsterdam, and his duty, whatever it might be, must be fulfilled. As the fleet approached the Cape, his anxiety increased to such a degree that it was remarked by all who were on board. The captain and officers commanding the embarked, who all felt interested in him, vainly attempted to learn the cause of hi anxiety. Philip \ would plead ill health: and his haggard cot ntenance and sunken silently proved that he was under acute suffer- ing. ‘The major part of the night he passed on deck, res his eyes in every quarter, aid watching e he hori: roops é g h change in the horizon, in InN ; +} ANNCAIrArY rh } »} arene 101 the apps irance of the P] lantom 7 7 2 ; | + a Ship : and it was not till the day dawned that he sausht a perturbed repose in his c: sbin. After a favourable passage, the fleet anchored to refresh at Table Bay, and | ee felt some small relief, that up to the present time the supernatural visitation had not again occured. As soon as the fieet had watered, they again made sail, and again did Philip’s agi- as ae a och? a yo4 en eee tation become perceptible. With a favouring breeze, however, they rounded the Cape, passed by Madagascar, and arrived in the Indian Seas, when the Batavia parted com- pany with the rest of the fleet, which steered to Cambroon and Ceylon. ‘‘ And ave thought Philip, ‘‘ will the Phantom Ship mak her appearance? It has only waited till we should be left without a consort to assist us in distress. But the Batavia sailed in a smcotl sea and under a cloudless sky, and nothing was seen. In a few weeks she arrived cff Java, and previous to entering the splendid roads of Batavia, hove-to for the night. ‘This was the last night they would be under sail > , and Philip stirred not ate the deck, but valked to and fro, anxiously waiting for the mornin x. The morning Broke the sun rose in sple endour, and the Batavia steered into the roads. Before noon she was at anchor, and Philip, with his mind relieved, hastened down to his cabin, and took that repose which he so much required. He awoke refreshed, for a great weight had been taken off his mind, ‘‘ It does not follow, then,’’ thought he, ‘‘ that because I am on board the vessel that therefore the crew are doomed to perish; it does not follow that the Phantom Ship is to appear beeches 4 seek her. If so, I have no further weight conscience. I seek her, it is true, and wish to meet wit h her; I stand, however, 1ance as others; and it Is no Way. cert a that, because I seek, I am sure to find. That she brings , disaster upon all she meets, may be true, but bring wi! the disaster of not that I e e} Heaven, I thank thee! Now meeting her. L1HE PHANTOM SHTP. 53 Can He rable old man, apparently about x 1 of ¢ th a t ard, mild in his demeanour, and very pleasing his conversati« When Philip kept his watch that night, the old man walked with him, and it was then, after a long conversation, that Philip confided to him that he was of the Catholic persuasion. “Indeed, my son, that is unusual in a under.” ‘Tt isso,” replied . Philip ; nor is it known on board—not that I am hamed of my religion, but I 1 TO < d ( cusssion : ’ “Vou are prudent, my so! ! if the reformed religion produces no better fruit than what I have witnessed in the East, it is i ttle bette r toal id ol: itl ‘y- ; father, ’ said Philip—‘‘ they miraculous vision—of a ship not ] " + y 1 arn ey eae oe F manned by mortal men. Did you see it: Ps i + . ; a 3: 1 ‘ ‘“T saw what others saw, replied the 4 : flangd rfainh ‘ fay - my ns priest ; and certainly, aS Ida ad ILDy set es cts ey Ei oe ee Re nae } inne ; would ¢ ble me to judge, the appearance ‘ e : } ‘ ey ‘ ] was most unusual—I may say supernatural ; ] ] «1 F ths y ‘ but I] i 1 heard ot 5 PI ntom ip DelC FC, and moreover that its appearance \ tne precursor of disast So did it prove in our case, although, indeed, ad o1 1 board, now no more a S¢ iehe i 2 tw more than sufficient to fik any v¢ ; ne, the swallowing up of om, with all that wealth from which he anticipated ch enjoym¢ in his own country, has n ested that the Almi nty Vv . Ih a ; rid, sometimes wreak just and awful retribution on those who hav Lif rited H 1i¢ rice. ‘You rei to Ul Dutch Fresident, Who went down with tl p when it sank. ” ‘Ido; but the tale of tl n’s crime 1S lony morrow cht, I will walk with you, and narrate t whole Peace be with you I he 2 ee od n ht Tr} weather continued fine, anc the vening, Wily the in- tention of anchoring the next morning in the ; 1 i when | roadstead of St. Helena. Philip, when h 1 ; ay Bee OCoN ») KEeP Ul priest atthe gangway 1e middle watch, found the old waiting for him. In the ship all was quiet ; the men Slumber" d between the guns, and Philip, with his new LHE PHANTOM SHIP. r > Ot acquaintance, went elves on a hencoop, follows : “You are not, perhaps, aware tuguese, although anxious seives a country discovered by their 1 the aft, and seating them- the priest commenced as that the Por- ‘or them- ente rprise possession of which, I to secure f an 117 re wna COuUTrasg >“? © ’ fear, has cost them many crimes, have still never lost sig ht ot CT oint dear te yall Lor ad ¢ 1 ie > —that of spreading w | planting the banner of idolatry. Some of oul been wrecked on the c¢ ( d witl - Vards, Fran I h God, Xil O; Ci ren n months, d SUNS which and made many convert: barked. for Cl hind: ‘hi iS O1 est was not permitted toarrive there ; he died on his passage, and thus closed his pure and holy life. After h leath, notwithstanding the many ob- ee a . ] Keb ia ‘ try, ana the sponge riley Coed th Wwylicn they occa- onally visited the members of our faith, the the ynverts to our holy relig in the Japanese islands. fast, and many thousa true God. nds ment at “eal Gale wi they tound that tne 1e factories would in whom tne had confi dence, they became our enemies; and the man - of whom we have spoken, and who at eh period was the he .d of the Dutch ry, determ 1, in his lust for gold, to 6 ti Ch ist FS) I OuTCE of sus= pic 1 to the « the country, and thus to ruin t Portugu ind their adher- ents uu m1} , was the conduct of ont . professed to e embraced the reformed religion being of greater purity than ourown “4 ere Y¥ erreat wealth and 1 nd who, ith two iced Christianity, ; ie had two other sons, \ ror’ court. ‘This lord had made a present of: house fora nalieee aval schoalet instruction : at court, itting thus afforded lam- Fy thi IS ror SOnS however, his two insisted upen our qu on his death, who were idoiaters, his property. We Dutch principal an ing these young noblem¢ means he persuaded refused, and opportunity « of n against us: e Japanese empt hristians had formed that the Poriuguese< 1 1 conspiracy against his life and throne ; for, be it obse d, that when a Dutchman was ked if he was a Christian, he would reply, ‘No; lama Hollander.’56 ‘‘ Theemperor, believing in this conspiracy, gave an immediate order for the extirpation of the Portuguese, and then of all the Japanese who had embraced the Christian faith: he raised an army for this purpose and gave the command of it to the young noblemen I have mentioned, the sons of the lord who had given us the college. The Christians, aware that resistance was their only chance, flew to arms, and chose as their generals the other two sons of the Japanese lord, who,-with their father, had embraced Christianity. “Thus were the two armies commanded by four brothers, two on the one side and two on the other. ‘The Christian army amounted to more than 40,c00 men, but of this the emperor was not aware, and he sent a force of about 25,000 to conquer and exterminate them. The armies met, and after an obstinate combat (for the Japanese are very brave) the victory was on the part of the Christians, and, with the ex- ception of a few who saved themselves in the boats, the army of the emperor was cut to pieces. ‘““'This victory was the occasion of making more converts, and our army was soon in- creased to upwards of 50,000 men, On the other hand, the ermmperor, perceiving that his troops had been destroyed, ordered new levies and raised a force of 150,000 men, giving di- rections to his generals to give no quarter to the Christians, with the exception of the two young lords who commanded them, whom he wished to secure alive, that He might put them to death by slow torture. All offers of accommodation were refused, and the emperor took the field in person. The armies again met, and on the first day’s battle the victory was on the part of the Christians; still they had to lament the loss of one of their generals, who was wounded and taken prisoner, and, no quarter having been given, their loss was severe. ‘“The second day’s combat was fatal to the Christians. Their general was killed ; they were overpowered by numbers, and fell to a man. The emperor then attacked the camp in the rear, and put to the sword every old man, woman and child. On the field of battle, in the camp, and by subsequent tor- ture, more than 60,o00 Christians perished. But this was not all; a rigorous search for Christians was made throughout the islands for many years; and they were, when found, put to death by the most cruel torture. It was not until fifteen years ago, that Chris- tianity was entirely rooted out of the Japanese empire, and during a persecution of somewhat more than sixteen years, it is supposed that upwards of 409,000 Christians were destroyed ; and all this slaughter, my son, was occasioned by the falsehood and ayarice af that man who THE PHANTOM SHIP. met his just punishment but a few days ago. The Dutch Company, pleased with his con- duct, which procured for them such advan- tages, continued him for many years as the president of their factory at Japan. He was a young man when _he first went there, but his hair was grey when he thought of returning {o his own country. He had amassed im- mense wealth—immense, indeed, must it have been to have satisfied avarice such as his: All has now perished with him, and he has been summoned to his account. Reflect a little, my son. Is it not better to follow up our path of duty, to eschew the riches and pleasures of thig world, and, at our summons hence, to feel that we have hopes of bliss here- after ?”’ ‘‘Most true, holy father,’ replied Philip, musing. ‘‘T have but a few years to live,’’ continued the old man, ‘‘and God knows I shall quit this world without reluctance.” ‘‘ And so could I,” replied Philip. ‘‘ You, my son!—no. You are young, and should be full of hopes. You have still to do your duty in that station to which it shall please God to call you.” ‘‘T know that I have a duty to perform,” replied Philip. ‘‘ Father, the night air is too keen for one so aged as you. Retire to your bed, and leave me to my watch and my own thoughts.” ‘TE will, my son ; may Heaven guard you ! Take an old man's blessing. Good night.” ‘‘Good night,” replied Philip, glad to be alone. ‘‘Shall I confess all to him?” thought Philip. *‘I feel I could confess to him—but no. I would not to Father Seysen—why to him? Ishould put myself in his power, and he might order me——No, no, my secret is my own. I need no advisers.’ And Philip pulled out the relic from his bosom, and put it reverently to his lips. The Batavia waited a few days at St. Helena, and then continued her voyage. In six weeks Philip again found himself at anchor in the Zuyder Zee, and having the captain's permission, he immediately set off for his own home, taking with him the old Portuguese priest A7athzas, with whom he had formed a great intimacy, and to whom he had offered his protection for the time he might wish to remain in the Low Countries. CHAPTER Schity ‘“FAR be it from me to wish to annoy you, my son,’ said Father Mathias, as with diffi- culty he kept pace with the rapid strides of Philip, who was now within a quarter of a mile of his home; ‘‘ but still, recollect that this is buta transitory world, and that muchtime has elapsed since you quitted this spot. For that reason, I would fain desire you, if possible, to check these bounding aspirations after happiness, ‘these joyful anticipations in which you have indulged since we a tted the vessel. I hope and trustin the mercy of God, that all will be right, and that . a few minutes you will be in thearms of your much- loved wife; but still, in proportion as you allow your hopes to be raised, so will you inevitably have them crushed should dis- appointment cross your path. At Flushing we were told that there has been a dreadful itation in this land, and death may not have spared even one so young and f ‘«Let us haste on, father,” replied PI Philip ; what you s ly is true, and suspense becomes most dreadful. Philip increased his speed, leaving the old man to follow him: he arrived at the bridge vith its wooden gate. It was then about seven o'clock in the morning, for they had crossed the Scheldt a li f : «a t iwn of day. Philip observed that the lower shutters were still closed. ‘They might have been up and stirring before this,’ thought he, as he put his hanc to the latch of the door. It was not fastened. Philip entered; there was a light burning in the kitchen; he pushed open the door, and beheld a maid-servant leaning back in her chair, in a profound sl f hac time to go in and awake! voice at the top of the Stairs, saying, is that the doctor?”’ Philip waited no longer ; in three bounds he was on the landing-place above, and brushing by the ps ee who had spoken, he opened the door of Amine’s room. A floating wick in a tumbler of oil gave but a faint and glimmering light ; the cur- tains of the bed were drawn, and by the side of it was kneeling a figure which was well known to Philip—that of Father Seysen. *hilip recoiled ; the blood retreated to his heart; he could not speak: panting for breath, he BEEP OUER himself against the wall, and at last vented his agony of feeling by a deep groan, which aroused the priest, who turned his head, and perceiving who it was, rose Sa his knees, and ext@nded his hand in silence. ‘‘She is dead, then!” at last exclaimed Philip. ‘“No, my son, not dead ; there is yet hope. The crisis is at hand; in one more hour her fate will be decided : then either will she be restored to your arms, or cee the many hundreds whom this fatal epidemic has con- signed to the tomb,’ Father Sey ie then led Philip to the side of the bed, withdrew the curtain. Amine tne ¢ ier, eed a Marie, Joy seiaom kills, « THE PHANTOM SHIP. 57 lay insensible, but breathing heavily ; her eyes were closed. Philip seized her r burning hand, knelt down, pressed it to his lips, and burst into a paroxysm of tears. As soon as he had become somewhat composed, Father Seysen persuaded him to rise an¢ sit with him by the side of the bed. ‘This is a melancholy sight to witness at your return Philip,’ said- he; ‘‘and to-you who are so ardent, so impetuous, it must be doubly so ; but God's will be done. Remem- ber there is yet hope—-not strong hope, I } grant ; but still, there is hope, for so told ine » medical man who has attended her, and who will return, I expect, in a few minutes. f ich has swept i Her disease is a typhus fever, whic off whole families within these last two months, and still rages violently ; fortunate vhich has to mourn but that you had not arrived A 1sily communi- Many have fled from the country for security ». To add to our misfortunes, we have suff fered. from the want of medical advice, for the physician and the patient have been swept away together. The door was now slowly opened, and tall, dark man, ina brown cloak, holding to his nose a sponge saturated with vinegar, indeed, is the house y one victim. I would : just now, for it isa disease e: cated. entered the room. He bowed his head to Philip and the priest, and then went to the edside. Fora minute he held his fingers to b the pulse of the sufferer, then laying down her arm, he put his hand to her forehead, and covered her up with the bedclothes. He handed to Philip the sponge and’ vinegar, making a sign that he should use it, and beckoned Father Seysen out of the rdom, In a minute the priest returned. ‘‘ I have received his directions, my son; he. thinks that she may be saved. ‘The clothes must be kept on her, and replaced if she should throw them off ; but everything will depend upon quiet and calm after she recovers her senses,” ‘Surely, we can promise her that,” replied Philip. ‘It is not the knowledge of your return, or even the sight of you, which alarms me. en when the shock is great, ether causes for uneasiness,” but t ere are ‘What are they, holy Father ? ‘Philip, it isnow thirteen days tbat Amine has raved, and during that period I have sel- dom quitted her but to perform the duties of my office to others who required it. I have been afraid to leave her, Philip, for in her ravings she has told such a tale, even uncon- nected as it has been, as has thrilled my soul ith horror. It evidently has long lain heavily on her mind, and must retard her rec ve Philip Vanderdecken, you may remember that I would once have had the se- Li58 THE PHANTOM SHIP. cret from you—-the secret which forced your mother to her tomb, and which now may send your young wife to follow her, for it is € evident that she knows all. Is it not true?” “She does know all,” replied Philip, mournfully. ‘‘And she has in her Nay, I trust she has told more than all; but of that we will not speak now ; watch her, Philip. 1 will return in half an hour, for by that time, the doctor tells me, the symptoms will decide whether she will return to reason, or be lost to you for ever.” Philip whispered to the priest that he had been accompanied by Father Mathias, who was to remain as his cuest, and requested him to explain the circumstances of his present position to him, an > that he was attended to. Father Seysen then quitted the room, when Philip sat down by the bedside, and drew back the curtain. Perhaps there is no situation in life so agonizing to the feelings as that in which Philip was now placed. | His joyful emotions when expecting to embrace in health and beauty the object of his warmest affections, and of his continual thought during his long absence, suddenly checked by disappointment, delirium told all. see anxiety, and grief, at finding her lying ema- ciated, changed, corrupted with disease—her mind overthrown— her eyes unconscious of his presence—her existence hanging by a single hair—her frame prostrate before the king of terrors, who hovers over her with uplifted dart, and longs for the fiat which should per- mit him to p ierce his unc onscious victim. ‘Alas!” thought Philip, ‘‘is it thus we meet, Amine? ‘Truly did Father Mathias ad- vise me, as I hurried so impetuously along, not (as I fondly thought) to happiness, but to misery. God of Heaven! ~be merciful, and forgive me. If I have loved this angelic creature of thy formation, even more than I have thee, spare her, good Heaven, spare her —or 1 am lost for ever.’ Philip covered up hig face, and remained for some time in prayer. He then bent over his Amine, and impressed a kiss upon her burning lips. ‘They were burning, but still there was moisture upon them, and Philip perceived that there was also moisture on her forehead. He felt her hand, and the palm of it was moist; and carefully covering her with the bedclothes, he watched her with anxiety and hope. In a quarter of an hour he had the delight of perceiving that Amine was in a. profuse perspiration ; eradually her breathing became less heavy, and instead of the passive state in which she had remained, she moved and _ be- came restless. Philip watched, and replaced the clothes as she threw them off, until she at last appear es to have fallen into a profound and sweet sleep. Shortly.after, Father Seysen and the physician made their appearance, P hilip stated, in few words, what had occured. ‘The doctor went to the bedside, and in halfa minute returned. ‘‘Your wife is spared to you, Mynheer, but it is not advisable that she should see you so unexpectedly ; the shock may be too great in her weak state; she must be allowed to sleep as long as possible ; on her waking she will have returned to reason. You must Teave her then to Father Seysen.”’ ‘May I not remain in the room until she wakes? I will then hasten away unobserved. ’ ‘© That will be useless ; the disease is con- tagious, and you have been here too long already. Remain below; you must change your clothes, and see that they prepare ¢ a be od for her in another room, to which she must be transported as soon as you think she can bees it; and then let these windows be thrown open, that the room may be properly venti- lated. It will not do'to havea wife just res- cued from the jaws of death run the risk of falling a sacrifice to the attentions necessary to a sick husband.” Philip perceived the prudence of 4his ad- vice, and quitting the room with the medical man, he went and changed his clothes, and then joined Father Mathias, whom he found in the parlour below. a You were right, Father, throwing himself on the sofa. ‘‘T am old and suspicious, you are young and buoyant, Philip ; but I trust all may yet be well.” ‘I trust so too,” replied Philip. He then remained silent and absorbed in t hought, for now that the imminent danger was over, he was reflecting upon what Father Seysen had communicated to him, relative to Amine’s having revealed the secret while in a-state of mental aberration. The priest, perceiving that his mind was occupied, did not interrupt him. An hour had thus passed, when Father Seysen entered the room. ‘““Return thanks to Heaven, my son. Amine has awakened, and is perfectis y sen- sible and collected. There is now little doubt of her recovery. She has taken the restora- tive ordered by the doctor, though she was so anxious to repose once more, that she could hardly be persuaded to swallow it. She is now again fast asleep, and watched by one of the maidens, and in all probability will not move for many hours; but every moment of such sleep is precious, and she must not be dis- turbed. I will now see to some refreshment, which must be needful to usall. Philip, you have not introduced me to your companion, who, I perceive, is of my own calling.” said Philip,‘* Forgive mé, sir,” will have tance with Fathe to reside with me, I trust, for willleave you tog fast being prepare¢ replied Philip; ‘‘ you ire in making acquain- hias, who has promised great pleas er Mat ime. >I | Via some t x ] e delay trust Father Mathias willaccept my ay v7 Philip then left the room and went into the kitchen. Having ordered what was requisite to be taken into the par! , he put on his hat and walked out of the house. He could not eat: his mind was in a state of confusion ; the events of the morning had been too haras- Sing and exciting, and he felt as if the fresh air was necessary to his existence As he proceeded, careless in which direc- tion, he met many with whom he had beer acquainted, and D condolence at his supposed bereavement, an congratul fads pats po itions when they iearnt Ir that the r was over nd from them he also learn how fatal had been the pest el Not one-third of the inhabitants of Ller- neuse alive, and those wl state of from } ‘TT + , > trir + ; } and the surrounding country remained } ‘ic NM now I i I | i d a tone c \ te dj I who hath mu init ted me wi h count of the extension of our holy religion among t Pagans. He hath communicated to me much to rejoice at, and much to gre for ; but, among other questions put to! Ihave (in cons of what [I have learnt dur- ing the menta m1 of ¥ ) intér- rovated him 1 n the point of a er- Natural appearance of a vessel in the Eastern seas You ol Philip, that yout “et is known to! I L Ti l it that question To hath ted a Visit mn of tl KI! ) ¥ 1 bh \ ' Witness, and \ 1 Cal 1 be a counted for except b yernatural inter- position \ tran: Ls 2 ily nost awful visitation! Philip, would it not be . i 7 ipo ] =e doubt) that you now confided to us both all the facts connected with this strange history, so that we may ponder on. them, and give you the benefit of advice of those who are ITHE PHANTOM SHIP. 59 older than yourself, and who by their calling may be able to decide more correctly whether ) has been Is supel exercised by a good ¢ ence ? ' ‘The hb peaks well, Pl ) Vanderdecken,” observed Mathia re 2 ‘ ‘ ] f \ . ] ‘ iT tne eg th ALiImighnty to \ O! ould u connae nd by W 1 < cy)? l \ by oO go h ery ( t] } If Ol t] evil one, to wl bi ) wl aut nd WISNA it is to « his | ence? And FENEct, Philip, that 1 5 { cI t heavily on the mind of your « and may i ] OW mi 5 I L require ne Consola { et 4 : f ‘ ] { and help of « S \ ret lil this e | . a * I St D I \ mM, ine Stron¢g may D 4 must €n Her .ex- tey } t fr ; i } ly 1a l n¢ ut Tor t rt anc { I n she ; I rec n ministers of our faith. It s - ; } We C i€) nd sein Or 3 vee .: 60; Sea vO iit ‘ e woman, to | Loa 1 unst your al I G& at ti Line: Tt > Oppres ed if : ] ken j WIL » fatal KNOW if pf eas has cates va ie a ’ YOU DAY COnvInceG I Nol latner, ; 1] ‘i rat T ae tae eplied Philip [ feel that I should | t ve ma you acquainted with \ : co : ‘ hs, ke r in I CO! I will now te the whoie ol I ClT | | 5 Y { ] | V¢ O¢ t eh Dut iri ¢) ++ “ } ; \\ i) LLit pe YOuF aa Cé .cab DeiD Mie iii a ca »d 1 a ¢ O peremptory, ‘n entered Into 1 minute det of all L ca. *s d ! ¢ t irom the few days pi fo | ; death untu t} pres nt ti ‘ LW I qd con- clud | he ODSeTVE Fr ; been lf by a solemn vow h recorded and accepted ; and it appears to me that’ I have nothing now to do, but to follow my pe - destiny. ‘My yn, you have told us strange and tartline things—things not of this world—if you are not decel ve us now. Fathe Viathias and | It upon thi rious ; l, agli d, y« l hall Philip went upstairs to see Amine; she A e is stillin a deep sleep. He d ssed the J ’ . ‘ ata} | hx +} > } } le 1 " servant, and watched by the bedside. OY 1early two hours did he remain there,~ when summoned down to meet the two ‘‘We have had a long conversation, my son,” said Father Seysen, ‘‘upon this strange and perhaps supernatural occurrence. __ I say perhaps, for | would have rejected the frenziedSG ak 60 THE PHANTOM SHIP. communications o. your mother as the imagin- ings of a heated brain; and for the same reason | should have been equally inclined to suppose that the high state of excitement that you were in at the time of her death may have disordered your intellect ; but as Father Mathias positively asserts that a strange, if not supernatural, appearance of a vessel did take place, on his passage home, and which appearance tallies with and corroborates the legend—if so I may call it—to which you have given evidence, I say that it is not impos- sible but that it is supernatural.” “ Recollect that the same appearance of the Phantom Ship has been permitted to me and to many others,” replied Philip. ‘‘Ves,” replied Father Seysen; ‘‘ but who is there alive of those who saw it but yourself ? But that is of little importance. We will admit that the whole affair is not the work of man, but of a superior intelligence.” ‘Superior, indeed!" replied Philip. ‘‘It is the work of Heaven !” “That is a point not so easily admitted ; there is another power as well as that which is divine—that of the devil !—the arch-enemy of mankind! But as that power, inferior to the power of God, cannot act without his per- mission, we may indirectly admit that it is the willof Heaven that such signs and por- tents should be allowed to be given on certain occasions.” “Then our opinions are the same, good Father.” “Nay, not exactly, my son. Elymas, the sorcerer, was permitted to practise his arts— gained from the devil—that it might be proved by his overthrow and blindness, how inferior was his master to the Divine Ruler; but it does not therefore follow that sorcery generally was permitted. In this instance it may be true that the evil one has been permitted to exercise his power over the captain and crew of that ship, and as a warning against such heavy offences, the supernatural appearance of the vessel may be permitted. So far we are justifiable in believing. But the great ques- tions are, first, whether it be your father who is thus doomed ? and, secondly, how far you are necessitated to follow up this mad pur- suit, which, it appears to me—although it may end in your destruction—cannot possibly be the means of rescuing your father from his state of unhallowed abeyance? Do you un- derstand.me, Philip?” “T certainly understand what you would say, Father; but : ‘« Answer me not yet. It is the opinion of this holy Father as well as of myself, that, allowing the facts to be as you suppose, the revelations made to you are not from on high, but the suggestions of the devil, to lead you into danger and ultimately to death ; for if it were your task, as you Suppose, why did not the vessel appear on this last voyage, and how can you (allowing that you met her fifty times) have communication with that, or with those which are but phantoms and shadows, things not of this world ? Now, what we pro- pose is, that you should spend a proportion of the money left by your father in masses for the repose of his soul, which your mother, in other circumstances, would certainly have done; and that having so done, you should remain quietly on shore until some new sign should be given to you which may warrant our supposing that you are really chosen for this strange pursuit ?” “But my oath, Father—my recorded vow !"' ‘From that, my son, the holy Church hath power to absolve you ; and that absolu- tion you shall receive. You have put your- self into our.hands, and by our decision you must be guided. If there be wrong, it is we, and not you, who are responsible; but, at present, let us say no more. I will now go up, and so soon as your wife awakens, pre- pare her for your meeting.” When Father Seysen had quitted the room, Father Mathias debated the matter with Philip. A long discussion ensued, in which similar arguments were made use of by the priest ; and Philip, although not convinced, was at least doubtful and perplexed. He left the cottage. “A new sign—a corroborative sign,” thought Philip ; ‘‘ surely there have been signs and wonders enough. Still it may be true that masses for my father’s soul may relieve him fromhis state of torture. At all events, if they decide for me I am not to blame. Well, then, let us wait fora new sign of the divine will—if so it must be;” and Philip walked on, occasionally thinking on the argu- ments of Father Seysen, and oftener thinking of Amine. It was now evening, and the sun was fast descending, Philip wandered on, until at last he arrived at the very spot where he had knelt down and pronounced his solemn vow. He recognized it : he looked at the distant hills, The sun was at the. same height; the whole scene, the place and the time were before him. Again Philip knelt down, took the relic from his bosom and kissed it. Hewatched the sun—he bowed himself to the earth. He waited for a sign; but the sun sank down, and the veil of night spread over the land- scape. There was no sign; and Philip rose and walked home towards the €ottage, more inclined than before to follow the suggestions of Father Seysen. On his return, Philip went softly upstairs,THE FF and entered the room of Amine, whom he found awake and j conversation with the priests. The curtain was closed, and he was not perceived. Witha be heart he re- mained near the \ at at the he ad of the bed. *“ Reason to believe that my husband has arrived,” said Amine, in a "Oh, tell me, why so?” ‘* His sbip is arrived, who had seen her said that all were wel And why is not here, then? should sa g the news of his return but self? Father Sey: = either he has not rived or es ] I know he must be, if eating faint voice. we know ; 17 l here ar e l he 5 here Tat is safe and well. f k now my Philip too well. Say! Say! ishenothere? Fear not, if you Say yes; but if you s: ay no, you kill me!" “ He is here >, Amine, replied Father Sey- sen—“ here-and well.” ‘‘O God! I thank you; but where is he? If he is here, he must bein this room, or else you deceive me. Oh, this suspense is death !' ; “T am here,” cried Philip, opening the curtains, her arms, v seconds, proved the ‘that joy Amine rose witha shriek, held out and then fell senseless back. In a fey however, she was restored, and truth of the good father'’s-assertion, does not kill.”’ WwW s must now pass over the few days dur- ing which Philip watched the couch of his Amine, who rapidly regained her strength. As soon as she was well enough to enter upon the subject, Philip narrated all that had passed since his departure; the confession which he had made to Father Seysen, and the result. Amine, too glad that Philip should remain with her, added her persuasion to those of the priests, and for some little time, Philip talked no more of going to sea, CHAPTER XIV. SIx weeks had flown away, and Amine, re- Stored to health, wandered over the country, hanging on the arm of her adored Philip, or nestled by his side in their comfortable home. Father Mathias still remained their guest ; the masses for the repose of the soul of Vadern- decken had been paid for, and more money had been confided to the care of Father Sey- sen to relieve the sufferings of the afflicted poor. /It may be easily supposed that one of the chief topics of conversation between Philip and Amine, was the decision of the two priests relative to the conduct of Philip. He had been absolved from his oath, but at the same time that he submitted to his cleri- cal advisers, he was by no means satisfied. iNTOM SHIP. 6x His love for Amine, her wishes for his re- maining at home, certainly added weight to the fiat of Father Seysen ;. but although hein consequence obeyed it more willingly, his doubts of the propriety of his conduct re- mained the same. The arguments of Amine, who, now that she was supported by the opinion of the Prete had become opposed to Philip’s departure ; even her caresses, with which those argum ante were mingled, were effective but for the moment. No sooner was Philip left to himself, no sooner was the qt 1eS- tion, fora fi ward ac that he was n sacred duty. Amine perceived cloufd was upon his brow; she : : ime, dismissed, than he felt an in susation zlecting a how often the knew too well the cause, and constantly did she recom- mence her arguments and caresses, until Philip forgot that there was aught but Amine in the world. One morni ing, as wroen hak green DANK, they were seated upon a picking the flowers that somed round them, and tossing them away in pure listlessness, Amine took the opportunity, that she had often waited for, to enter upona subject hitherto unmentioned. ‘*Philip,” said she, ‘‘ go you believe in dreams? think you that we may have super- natural communications by ‘such means ?” blos- ‘Of course we may,”’ replied Philip; ‘‘ we have proof abundant of it in the holy writ- ings. ‘‘“Why, then, do you not satisfy your scruples by a dream ?” ‘‘My dearest Amine, dreams come un- bidden; we cannot command or prevent them . ‘‘We can command them, Philip: say that you would dream upon the subject nearest your heart, and you shad/ /” ‘1 shall?” ‘‘“Yes! I-have that power, Philip, al- though I have not spoken of it. I had it from my mother, with much more that of late I have never thought of. You know, Philip, I never say that which is not. I tell you, that, if you choose, you shall dream upon it.’ ‘And to what good, Amine? If you have power to make me dream, that power must be from somewhere.”’ ‘‘It is, of course: there are agenciés you little think of, which, in my country, are still called into use. I have a charm, Philip, which never fails.’’ ‘‘A charm, Amine! do you, then, deal in sorcery ? for such powers cannot be from Heaven.” ‘‘T cannot tell. given.” ‘«Tt must be from the devil, Amine.” ‘‘And why so, Philip? May I not use the argument of your own priests, who say, I only know the power iswee Seep eae ee eee 62 THE PHANTOM SHIP. ‘that the power of the devil is only permitted to be used by Divine intelligence, and that it cannot be used without that permission ? ’ Allow it then to be sorcery, or what you please,’ unless by heaven permitted, it would fail. But I cannot see why we should sup- pose that itis from an evil source. We ask fora warning ina dream to guide our con- duct in doubtful circumstances. Surely the evil one would rather lead us wrong than rishi: ‘‘ Amine, we may be warned in a dream, as the patriarchs were of old; but to use mystic or unholy charms to procure a vision, is making a compact with the devil.” ‘“Which compact the devil could not fulfil if not permitted by a higher power. Philip, your reasoning is false. We are told that, by certain means, duly observed, we may procure the dreams we wish. Our observance of these means is certainly the least we can attend to, to prove our sincerity. Forgive me, Philip, but are not observances as necessary in your religion—which I have embraced? Are we not told that the omis- sion of the mere ceremony of water to the infant wiil turn all future chance of hap- piness to misery eternal.”’ Philip answered not for some time. ‘I am afraid, Amine,” said he, at last, in a low tone; ‘‘[——” ‘“T fear nothing, Philip, when my in- tentions are good,’ replied Amine. ‘‘I fol- low certain means to obtain an end. Whatis that end? It is to find out (if possible) what may be the will of Heaven in this perplexing case. Ifit should be through the agency of the devil—what then ? He becomes my ser- vant, and not my master; he is permitted by heaven to act against himself ;’’ and Amine’s eyes darted fire, as she thus boldy expressed herself. ‘« Did your mother often exercise her art ?” inquired Philip, after a pause. ‘“ Not to my knowledge; but it was said that she was most expert. She died young (as you know), or I should have known much more. ‘Think you, Philip, that this world is solely peopled by such dross as we are?— things of clay—perishable and corruptible? Lords over beasts—and ourselves but very little better. Have you not, from your own sacred writings, repeated acknowledgments and proofs of higher intelligences mixing up with mankind and acting here below? Why should what was then, not be now ! and what more harm is there to apply for their aid now, than afew thousand years ago? Why should you suppose that they were permitted on the earth then—and not permitted now? What has become of them? Have they perished? hhave they been ordered back—to where—to heaven? If to heaven—the world and man- kind have been left to the mercy of the devil and his agents. Do you suppose that we, poor mortals, have been thus abandoned? I tell youplainly, I think not. _We_ no longer have the communications with those intel- ligences that we once had, because as we be- come more enlightened, we become more proud, and seek them not: but that they still exist—a host of good against a host of evil, invisibly opposing each other—is my convic- tion. But, tell me, Philip, do you im your conscience believe that all that has been re- vealed to you is a mere dream of the imagina- tion ?”’ «‘T do not believe so, Amine: you know well I wish I could.” “Phen is my reasoning proved ; for if such communications can be made to you, “hy cannot others? You cannot te!l by what agency ; your priests say it is that of the evil one ; you think itis from on high. By the same rule who is to decide from whence the dream shall come ?”’ ‘’Tis true, Amine, but are you certain. of your power?” ‘*Certain of this ; but if it pleases superior intelligence to communicate with you, 7hat communication may be relied upon. Either you will not dream, but pass away the hours in deep sleep, or what you dream will be connected with the question at issue.” ‘“Then, Amine, I have made my mind up —I will dream: for at present my mind is racked by contending and perplexing doubts. I would know whether [am right, or wrong. This night your art shall be employed.” ‘“Not this night, nor yet to-morrow night, Philip. Think you, one moment that in pro- posing this, I serve you against my own wishes ? I feel as if the dream would decide against me, and that you will be commanded to return to your duty ; for I tell you honestly, I think not with the priests; but I am your wife, Philip, and it is my duty that you should not be deceived. Having the means, as I suppose, to decide your conduct, I offer them. Promise me that, if I do this, you will grant me a favour which I shall ask as my re- ward?” 3 ‘‘It is promised, Amine, without its being known,” replied Philip, rising from the turf; ‘and now let us go home. We observed that Philip, previous to his sailing in the Batavia, had invested a large proportion of his funds in Dutch East Indian Stock : the interest of the money was more than sufficient for the wants of Amine, and on his return, he found that the funds left in her charge had accumulated. After paying to Father Seysen the sums for the masses, and for the relief of the poor, there was a con- ”LHE PHANTO. — 1 SHIP. 63 siderable residue, and Philip had employed And Philip threw himself down, and buried this in the purchase of more shares in the his face in the pillow, ; Si ts \ Sainte ebeuire ks ; as India Stock. Amine, in the meantime, had slipped into i Le te A Stee , oA } | : . Ane UDject OF (Their Cony 1 WaS not bed, and naa taken h Dp y Philip's side. renewed. Philip was rather averse to Amin¢ sleep, Philip, dear: aid she practising those mystical arts, w 1 if know putting her arms round him; “‘ we his a } : ] ee 0, to tne priests, La ve ¢ 1 JOY Her, wae > wake a n In. all prod ) j i i L ¢ l ] \ it & Amine ¢ T¢ pil 1 : T } | } j } c eP PON not 1h nire f » . . ] \y) ] (t. THis 13ah¢t wa alan . He could not } utc aaml i : ind coniu Ll, 1 thougnti I was alone; I have ower of Amine’s reasoni ar or d Pp f power of s\inine Ss reasonings, Dut still was ar led ANG FoOMWpP again was iast averse to l LO i i) third asICCp VD Te > could complete his sentence. Jav had ; 7 i ‘ : 4 ; Pits “Y igi | day had na no m > had been imine, too, tlred with watching, slum GL . . : 2 Sb - - sald Uj and was happy ] +, f. + Fr 7] ] i, and L ) last i lathias-had to U | AN : pt SO } fo1 | Dreaktast that ) ) ; 1t was not till ; ’ COnVITK ek ) VV 1 i “ ' ‘ ‘ ; ] ned, | 1 tro t i Ls L | = o od ) and 1n ee , QGuarte Oi al criecce. s J 1) I > hand a small | of lis and them she g y I 1 upon t forehead of her | ind, 1 the other upon his lef , she threw periu nto the brazier, and as the form of her husband was becoming indis tinct from tl nok hich filled the room, sit mutt | cl fi rh ’ \ ] O A him a nall Ol b Li¢ c held in her w te | i and ti l Ing the rhe t ve, indeed, communed with hich curtains and removing the brazier, she sat powers, as far as my poor intellect hath been down by the O bed ab] earn yught Am “Ses ‘The blessing of our Holy Church upon least the deed i tt hi tis mine; they thee, my « 1! uid t ld man, putting cannot say that he] prac 1 arts that hl 1and upon her head; ‘‘and on thee, too, unlawful and forbidden by Dea ee my head be it \ t \ a con )~ | P 1 it down to the table; tuous curl on Ami beautiful arched lip, Amine was collected as ever. She spoke little, which did not ich for her devotion to it is true, and appeared to commune with priest took up DIS Dreviary, and Amine bDeckOon- ing to Philip, they went out together. ‘The: walked in silence until they arrived at the green spot where Amine had first proposed to mystic power. aware of her silence. jut little exposition, se. «Amine, \ll I would know is, from | > dream has been fe- } f 1+ \y he Good Heavens, what a dream! Anothe . ; } ] + hix - } ‘ llioe? > } cried he, perceiving the scrolltied to his arm. what intelligence thi ‘‘T see it now. Amine, this is your doing.’ ceived?”ci 64. THE PHANTOM SHIP. ¥ ‘“Tell me your dream,” replied Amine, calmly. ‘‘T thought,” replied Philip, mournfully, *‘that I was sailing as captain of a vessel round the Cape; the sea was calm and the breeze light ; I was abaft ; the sun went down, and the stars were more than usually bril- liant ; the weather was warm, and I lay down on my cloak, with my face to the heavens, watching the gems twinkling in the sky and the occasionally falling meteors. I thought that I fell asleep, and awoke witha sensation as if sinking down. I looked around me; the masts, the rigging, the hull of the vessel all had disappeared, and I was floating by myself upon a large, beautifully-shaped shell on the wide waste of waters. I was alarmed, and afraid to move, lest I should overturn my frail bark and perish. At last I perceived the fore-part of the shell pressed down, as if a weight were hanging to it; and soon afterwards, a small white hand, which grasped it. I remained motionless, and would have called out that iny little bark would sink, but [I could not. Gradually a figure raised itself from the waters, and leaned with both arms over the fore-part of the shell, where I first had seen but the hand. It was a female, in form beautiful to excess ; the skin was white as driven snow; her long loose hair covered her, and the ends floated in the water ; her arms were rounded and like ivory ; she said, in a soft sweet voice— “Philip Vanderdecken, what do you fear? Have you not a charmed life?’ “¢T know not,’ replied I, ‘whether my life be charmed or not; but this I know, that it is in danger,’ ‘““TIn danger!’ replied she; ‘it might have been in danger when you were trusting to the frail works of man, which the waves love to rend to fragments—your good ships, as you call them, which but float upon suf- ferance ; but where can be the danger when in a mermaid’s shell, which the mountain wave respects, and upon which the cresting surge dare not throw its spray? Philip Vanderdecken, you have come to seek your father ! «+7 have,’ replied I; ‘is it nct the will of Heaven ?’ ‘Tt is your destiny—and destiny rules all above and below. Shall we seek him together? This shell is mine; you know not how to navigate it ; shall I assist you?’ *« « Will it bear us both ?’ *«* You will see,’ replied she laughing, as she sank down from the fore-part of the shell, and immediately afterwards appeared at the side, which was not more than three inches above the water. To my alarm, she raised herself up, and sat upon the edge, but her weight appeared to have no eifect. As soon as she was seated in this way—for her feet still remained in- the water—the shell moved rapidly along, and each moment in- creased its speed, with no other propelling power than that of her volition. “*Do you fear now, Philip Vander- decken ? OU Newereniied: |; ‘‘She passed her hands across her fore- head, threw aside the tresses which had partly concealed her face, and said— ‘« «Then look at me.’ “T looked, Amine, and beheld you!” ‘““Me;” observed Antine, with a smile upon her lips. * ‘“Yes, Amine, it wasyou. I called you by your name, and threw my arms round you. I felt that I could remain with you, and sail about the world for ever.” ‘‘Proceed, Philip,” said Amime, calmly. “JT thought we ran thousands and thou- sands of miles—we passed by beautiful islands, set like gems on the ocean-bed ; at one time bounding against the - rippling current, at others close to the shore, skim- ming on the murmuring wave which rippled on the sand, whilst the cocoa-tree on the beach waved to the cooling breeze. “Tt. s not in smooth seas that your father must be sought,’ said she ; ‘we must try elsewhere.’ ‘‘By degrees the waves rose, until at last they were raging in their. fury, and the shel was tossed by the tumultuous waters; but still not a drop entered, and we sailed in security over billows which would have swal- lowed up the proudest vessel. ‘““*Do you fear now, Philip?’ said you to _ me. “*No,’ replied I; ‘with you, Amine, I fear nothing.’ ‘We are now off the Cape again,’ said she ; ‘and here you may find«your father. Let us look well round us, for if we meet a ship it must be #zs. None but the Phantom Ship could swim in a gale like this.’ ‘““Away we flew over the mountainous waves—skimming from crest to crest between them, our little bark sometimes wholly out of the water ; now east, now west, north, south, in every quarter of the compass, changing our course each minute. We passed over hun- dreds of miles: at last we saw a vessel tossed by the furious gale. ‘““There,’ cried she, pointing with her finger, ‘there is your father’s vessel, Philip.’ ‘Rapidly did we approach—they saw us from on board, and brought the vessel to the wind. We were alongside—the gangway was clearing away—for though no boat could have boarded, our shell was safe.» I lookedIHE PHANTOM SHIP. 65 up. I saw my father. Amine! Yes, saw him, and heard him as he gave his orders. I pulled the relic from my bosom, and held out to him. He smiled as he stood on the gunwale, holding on by the main shrouds. I was just rising to mount on .board, for they had } and ed to me the man-ropes, when there was a loud yell, and a man jumped from the gangway into theshell. You shrieked, slipped from the side, and disappeared under the wave, andin a moment the shell, guided by the man who had taken your place, flew away from the vessel with the rapidity of thought. I felt a deadly chill pervade my cule’ I turned round to look at my new companion—it was the pilot Schriften !—the one-ey: A wretch who was drowned when we were Ww wrecked in Table Bay ! *“*No! no! not yet!’ cried he. “In an agony of despair and rage, I hurled him off his seat on the shell, and he floated on the waters. ‘«* Philip Vanderdecken,’ said he, as he Swam, ‘ we shall meet again !’ “‘T turned away my-head in disgust, when a wave filled my bark, and down it sank. I was struggling under the water, sinking still deeper and deeper, but without pain, when I awoke. ‘‘ Now, Amine,” said Philip, after a pause, ‘what think you of my dream?” ‘Does it not point out that I am your friend, Philip, and that the pilot Schriften is your enemy?” ‘*T grant it ; but he is dead.’ ‘“Ts that so certain ? “He hardly-ecould have eseaped my inowle: lge. ‘« That is true, but the dream would imply otherwise. Philip, it is my opinion that the only way in which this dream is to be ex- pounded is—that you remain on shore for the present. The advice is that of the priests. In either case you require some further in- timation. In your dream / was your safe guide—be guided now by me again.” ‘Be it so, Amine. If your strange art be in opposition to our holy faith, you expound the dream in conformity with the advice of its ministers.”’ Bs : do. And now, Philip, let us dismiss the subject from our thoughts. Should the time come, your Amine w ill not persuade you from your duty ; but recollect, you have pro- mised to grant ome favour when I ask it.” ‘‘T have: say, then, Amine, what may be your wish ?” ‘‘Oh! nothing at present. I have no wish on earth but what is grati ified, Have I not you, dear Philip?” replied Amine, fondly throwing herself on her husband's shoulder. without CHAPTER XV, IT was about three months after this con- versation that Amine and Philip were again seated upon the messy bank which we have mentioned, and which had become their favourite resort. Father Mathias had con- tracted a great intimacy with Father Seysen, and the two priests were almost as inseparable as were Philip and Amine. Having deter- mined to wait a summons previous to Philip’s again entering upon his strange and fearful task : and, happy in the possession of each other, the subject was seldom revived. Philip, who had, on his return, expressed his wish to the Directors of the Company for immediate employment, and, if possible, to have the command of a vessel, had, since that period, taken no further steps, nor had any com- munication with Amsterdam. ‘“‘T am fond of this bank, Philip,” said Amine: ‘‘I appear to have formed an inti- macy with it. It was here, if you recollect, that we debated the subject of the lawfulness of inducing dreams; and it was here, dear Philip, that you told me your dream, and that I expounded it.”’ ‘‘ You did so, Amine; but if you ask the opinion of Father Seysen, you will find that he would give rather a strong decision against you—he would callit heretical and damnable “ Let him, if he pleases. I have no ob- jection to tell him,’ ‘I pray not, Amine ; let the secret remain with ourselves only.’ ‘*Think you Father Mathias would blame me?” *‘T certainly do.’ ‘‘Well, Ido not: there is akindness and liberality about the old man that I admire. I should like to argue the question with him.’ As Amine spoke, Philip felt something touch his shoulder, and a sudden chill ran through his frame. In a moment his ideas reverted to the probable cause: he turned round his head, and, to his amazement, beheld the (supposed to be drowned) pilot of the Ter Schilling, the one-eyed Schriften, who stood behind him with a letter in his hand. The sudden appearance of this malignant wretch induced Pi lilip to exclaim. ‘‘ Merciful Heaven ! is oes: Amine, who had turned her head round at the exclamation of Philip, covered up her face, and burst into tears. It was not fear that caused this unusual emotion on her part, but the conviction that her husband was never to be at rest but in the grave. ‘‘ Philip Vanderdecken,” said Schriften, ‘he! he! I've a letter for you—it is from the Company.’ 5.1t possible 3 5 ooo eae ROT Ear! So eefi Philip took the letter, but previous to opening it, he fixed his eyes upon Schriften. “T thought,” said he, ‘‘that you were drowned when the ship was wrecked in False Bay. How did you escape? ”’ ‘‘ How did I escape,” replied Schriften. «« Allow me to ask, how did you escape ?”’ ‘‘T was thrown up by the waves,” replied Philip ; ‘‘but——” ‘ But,” interrupted Schriften, ‘‘ he ! he! the waves ought zo¢ to have thrown me up.’ ‘And why not, pray? I did not say that.” “No! but I presume you wish it had been so; but,' on the contrary, I escaped in the same way that you did—I was thrown up by the waves; he! he! but I can't wait here. I have done my bidding.”’ ‘Stop,’ replied Philip : ‘f answer me one’ question. Do you sail in the same vessel with me this time?” ‘‘T’d rather beexcused,” replied Schriften ; ‘‘T am not looking for the Phantom Ship, Mynheer Vanderdecken;” and, with this reply, the little man turned round, and went away at a rapid pace. ‘(Ts not this a summons, Amine?” said Philip, after a pause, still holding the letter in his hand, with the seal unbroken. ‘‘T will not deny it, dearest Philip. It is most surely so ; the hateful messenger appears to have risen from the grave that he might deliver it. Forgive me, Philip; but I was taken by surprise. I will not again annoy you with a woman’s weakness.” ‘‘My poor Amine,” replied Philip, mourn- fully. ‘‘Alas; why did I not perform my pilgrimage alone? It was selfish of me to link you with so much wretchedness, and join you with me in bearing the fardel of never- ending anxiety and suspense.” ‘‘ And who should bear it with you, my dearest Philip, if it is not the wife of your bosom? You little know my heart if you think I shrink from the duty. No, Philip, it is a pleasure, even in its most acute pangs ; for I consider that I am, by partaking with, relieving you ofa portion of your sorrow, and I feel proud that I am the wife of one who has been selected to be so peculiarly tried. But, dearest, no more of this. You must read the letter.” Philip did not answer. He broke the seal, and found that the letter intimated to him that he was appointed as first mate to the Vrow Katerina, a vessel which sailed with the next fleet; and requesting he would join as quickly as possible, as she would soon be ready to receive her cargo. The letter, which was from the secretary, further in- formed him that, after this voyage, he might be certain of having the command of a THE PHANTOM SHIP. vessel as captain, upon conditions which would be explained when he called upon the Board. “JT thought, Philip, that you_had re- quested the command of a vessel for this voyage,” obseryed Amine. mournfully. ‘“T did,” replied Philip; ‘‘ but not having followed up my application, it appears not to have been attendedto. It has been my own fault.” ‘« And now it is too late.” ‘‘Yes, dearest, most assuredly so: but it matters not; I would as willingly, perhaps rather, sail this voyage as first mate.” ‘Philip, I may as well speak now, ‘That Iam disappointed, I must confess; I fully expected that you would have had the com- mand of a vessel, and you may remember that I exacted a promise from you on this very bank upon which we now sit, at the time that you told me your dream. ‘That promise I shall still exact, and I now tell you what I had intended to ask. It was, my dear Philip, permission to sail with you. With you, I care for nothing. I can be happy under every privation or danger ; but to be left alone for so long, brooding over my painful thoughts, devoured by suspense, impatient, restless and incapable of applying to any one thing—that, dear Philip, isthe height of misery, and that is what I feel when you are absent. Recollect, I have your promise, Philip. As captain, you have the means of receiving your wife on board. I am bitterly disappointed in being left this time: do therefore to a certain degree, console me by promising that I shall sail with you next voyage, if Heaven permit your return.” ‘‘[T promise it, Amine, since you are so earnest. I can refuse you nothing; but 1 have a foreboding that yours and my hap- piness will be wrecked for ever. I am not a visionary, but it does appear to me _ that strangely mixed up as I am, at once with this world and the next, some little portion of futurity is opened tome. I have given my promise, Amine, but from it I would fain be released.” ‘* And if ill do come, Philip, it is our des- tiny. Who can avert fate?” ‘‘Amine, we are free agents, and to a certain extent are permitted to direct our own destinies.” ‘‘Ay, so would Father Seysen fain have made me believe ; but what he said in support of his assertion was to me incomprehensible. And yet he said thaf it was a part of the Catholicfaith. It may be so—I am unable to understand many other points. I wish your faith were made more simple. As yet the good man—for good he really is—has only led me into doubt.”‘Passing through doubt, you will at conviction, Amine.’ ; ‘Perhaps so,” replied Amine: “ but appears to me that I am asyet but on the ot set of my journey. But come, P! ilip, return. go with you. fter your labours of the d at least until you sail, your Amine’s smile must still enliven you. Is it not so?” ‘* Yes, duieced [ would have proposed it ) T ) ( t " - 1 ; 7 . I wonder much how Schriften co ld come here. . I did not see his body it is ; ‘rtain, bu his escape is to me mir S- not appear when saved? where could he } been ? What think you. An is a Ghoul with an evil eye. permitted f some cause to walk the earth in human form and is certainly, in some way, connected with your strange destiny. If it requires anything to convince me of the truth of all that has passed, it is his appearance—the wretched Afrit! Oh, that I had my mother’s powers ! —but I forget, it displeases you, Philip, that ? , I ever talk of such things. and I am sil nt. Philip replied not ; and, absorbed in their own med ions, t ry 1c] nee to the cotta ough Philip made up hi mind, he immedi l tt] Portuguese priest to summon Father Seysen i L . , a he might communicate with them a1 ake their opinion as to the summons he had received. Having entered into a fresh de- tail of the supposed death of Schriften, and his re-appearance as a messenger, he then left the two priests to consult together, and went upstairs was t two hours before Philip vw called down and Father Seysen appeart Path 4 a of great perpk ty plexed. Ve had hoy ed tl this strang icati that, all - 1 fron your mother and have seen yourself to have leception, still that it was the work masses would have destroyed this power. advised you to wait another summons you have recei' Th itself is course nothing, but the reappearance of the bearer of the letter is the question to be con- sidered. Tell me, Philip, what is your opinion on this point ? It is possible he might have been saved—why not as well as yourself ?”’ ‘‘T acknowledge the possibility, Father,”’ replied Philip ; ‘‘he may have been cast on shore and have wandered in another direc- tion. It is possible, although anything but probable ; but since you ask me my opinion, I must say C: andidly that I consider-he is no earthly messenger—nay, I am sure of it. That You must to Amsterdam, and_I will ‘What I have long thought, Philip. He i a a hs ' rh nvysteri ty co tiny Se der ie ay e oe 1 : * IS Cf in Bu | f is, of course | not t a C} ve S h ) ) the de. ter 7 ti 1 \ we sn not )] . “ao a a, r you. Ou Lyers Bet Heaven may till | you in holy keeping,”’ : - ae ‘ ++ . . +} ~ others, | old, and badly constructed : 1 rt he had be l -VeTal VOY ( ) i sea d had returned in safety, it sto imed that ‘ t have been tak ip by the Com- had not been s fied s to her uiness. Having given a few directions to the men who were on board, Philip re- turned to the hostelrie where he had secured apartments for himself and Amine. The next day, as Philip was superintend- ing the fitting of the rigging, the captain of w Katerina arrived, and stepping on board of her by the plank which communi- cated with the quay, the first thing he did was to run to the mainmast and embrace it with both arms, although there was no small por- tion of tallow on it to smear the cloth of his coat. ‘‘ Oh! my dear Vrow, my Katerina !”’ cried he, as if he were speaking to a female, LS SEEwre — ae 68 THE PHANTOM SHIP. ‘‘ How do you-do? Iam glad to see you again; you have been quite well, I hope? You do not like being laid up in this way. Never mind, my dear creature! You shall soon be handsome again.” The name of this personage who thus made love to his vessel was Wilhelm Barentz. He was a young man, apparently not thirty years of age, of diminutive stature and deli- cate proportions. His face was handsome, but womanish. ~ His movements were rapid and restless, and there was that appearance in his eye which would have warranted the supposition that he was a little flighty, even if his conduct had not fully proved the fact. No sooner were the ecstacies of the cap- tain over, than Philip introduced himself to him, and informed him of -his appointment. ‘Oh! you are the first mate of the Vrow Katerina. Sir, you are a very fortunate man. Next to being captain of her, first mate is the most enviable situation in the world.” ‘Certainly not on account of her beauty,” observed Philip; ‘‘she may have many other good qualities.” ‘Not on account of her beauty! Why, sir, I say (as my father has said before me, and it was his Vrow before it was mine) that she is the handsomest vessel in the world. At present you cannot judge; and besides being the handsomest vessel, she has every good quality under the sun.” 5 ‘‘ Tam glad to hear it sir,” replied Philip ; ‘‘it proves that one should never judge by appearances. But is she not very old?” _ ‘Old! not more than twenty-eight years— just in her prime. Stop, my dear sir, till you see her dancing on the waters, and then you will do nothing all day but discourse with me upon her excellence, and I have no doubt that we shall have a very happy time to- gether.” ‘Provided the subject be not exhausted,” replied Philip. “That it never will be on my part: and allow me to observe, Mr. Vanderdecken, that any officer who finds fault with the Vrow Katerina quarrels with me. Iam herknight, and I have already fought three men in her defence,—lI trust I shall not have to fight a fourth.” Philip smiled; he thought that she was not worth while fighting for; but he acted upon the suggestion, and from that time for- ward, he never ventured to express an opinion against the beautiful Vrow Katerina. ‘The crew were soon complete, the vessel rigged, her sails bent, and she was anchored in the stream, surrounded by the other ships composing the fleet to be dispatched: The cargo wag then received on board, and, as as soon as her hold was full, there came, to Philip’s great vexation, an order to receive on board 150 soldiers and other/passengers, many of whom were accompanied by their wives and families. Philip worked hard, for the captain did nothing but praise the vessel, and at last they had embarked everything, and the fleet was ready to sail. It was now time to part with Amine, who had remained at the hostelrie, and to whom Philip had dedicated every spare moment that he could obtain. The fleet was ex- pected to sail in two days, and it was decided that on the morrow they should part. Amine was cool and collected. She felt convinced that she should see her husband again, and with that feeling she embraced him as they separated on the beach, and he stepped into the boat in which he was to be pulled on board. “Ves,” thought Amine, as she watched the form of her husband, as the distance be- tween them increased—‘‘ yes, I know that we shall meet again. It is not this voyage which is to be fatal to you or me; but.I have a dark foreboding that the next, in which | shall join you, will separate us for ever—in ‘which way I know not—but it is destined. The priests talk of free-will. Is it free-will which takes him away from me? Would _ he not rather remain on shore with me? Yes. But he is not permitted, for he must fulfil his destiny. Free-will? Why, if it were not destiny it weretyranny. I feel, and have felt, as if these priests are my enemies ; but why I know not: they are both good men, and the creed they teach is good. Good-will and charity, love to all, forgiveness of injuries, not judging others. All this is good; and yet my heart whispers to me that——but the boat is alongside, and Philip is climbing up the vessel. Farewell, farewell, my dearest husband. I would I werea man! No! no! ‘tis better as it is.” Amine watched till she could no longer perceive Philip, and then walked slowly to the hostelrie. The next day, when she arose, she found that the fleet had sailed at day- light, and the channel, which had been so crowded with vessels, was now untenanted. ‘He is gone,” muttered Amine ; “ now for many months of patient calm endurance,—l cannot say of living, for I exist but in his presence.” CHAPTER: AVR WE must leave Amine to her solitude, and follow the fortunes of Philip. The fleet had sailed with a flowing sheet, and bore gallantly down the Zuyder Zee ; but they had not been under way an hour before the Vrow Katerinawas left a mile or two astern. Mynheer Barentz found fault with the setting and trimming ofthe sails, and with the man at the helm, who was peace changed ; in short, with everything but his dear Vrow Katerina: but all would not do; she still dropped astern, and pI roved to be the worst-sailing vessel in the fleet. WF Nemnhese Vanderdecken,’’ said he, at last, ‘‘ the Vrow, as my father used to say, is not so very fast before the wind. Vessels th: .t are good ona wind seldom are: but this | _ will say, that, in e every other point of sailing, there is no other vessel in the fleet equal to the Vrow Katerina.” ‘* Besides,” observed Philip, who perceived how anxious his captain was on the subject, ‘‘we are heavily laden, and have so many troops on deck. - The fleet cleared the sands and were then close-hauled, when the Vv row Katerina proved to sail even more slowly than before. “When we are so very close-hauled,’’ observed Mynheer Barentz, ‘‘the Vrow does not do so well; but a point free, and then you will see how she will show her stern to the whole fleet. She is a fine vessel, Mynheer Vanderdecken, is she not?”’ *“A very fine, roomy vessel,’ replied Philip, which was all that, in conscience, he could say. The fleet sailed on, sometimes on a wind, sometimes free, but let ihe point of sailing be what it might, the Vrow Katerina was in- Vi Poe. astern, and the fleet had to heave-to at sunset to enable Pa to keep company ; still “the Ce ae 1in continued to declare that the point of sailing on os Lich hey Ape 1ed to be was the 1¢ Only point in which : Vrow Kate- rina was s defici ient. rFatorrenatly the had aes points quite as bad as her sailin; ? >) she was crank, leaky, and did not answer the I helm well, but Mynheer Barentz was not to be convinced. He adored his ship, and, like all men desperately in love, he could see no fault in his mistress. But o thers were not so blind, and the admiral, finding the voyage so much delayed by the bad sailing of one vessel, de- termined to leave her to find her \ oe ed her- self as soon as they had passed the C | vas, however, spared the cruelty of de sah her, for a heavy gale came on which dispersed the whole fleet, and on the second day the good ship Vrow Katerina found herself alone, I: ubouring heavily in the trough of the sea, leaking much as to require hands con- stantly at the pumps, and drifting before the gale as fast to leeward almost as she usually SO o* : sailed. Fora week the gale continued, and each day did her situation become more alarming. Crowded with troops, encumbered with heavy stores, she groaned and laboured, THE PHANTOM SHIP. 69 while whole seas washed over her, and the men could hardly stand at the pumps. Philip was active, and exerted himself to the utmost, encouraging the worn-out men, securing where aught had given way, and little interfered with by the captain, who was himself no sailor. “Well,” observed the captain to Philipl as they he a on by the belaying pins, ‘‘you'l, ac bho! edge that she is a fine weatherly ves] selina sai is she not? Softly, my beauty, soitly, continue: as she pluneced as sne piunged he, speaking to the vesse- avily into the waves, and every timber groaned. Js Softly, my dear, softly ! Howthose poor devils in the other ships must be knocking about now, Heh! Mynheer Vanderdecl we have the start of them this time: they must be a terrible long way down to leeward. Don’t you think so?” ‘‘T really cannot pretend to say,” replied Philip, smiling, ‘* Why, there’s not one of them in sight. Yes! by Heavens, there is ! Look on our lee beam. I see one now. Well, she must be a capital sailer, at all events: look there, a point abaft the beam. Mercy on me; how stiff she must be to carry such a press of canvas!” Philip had already seen her. It was a large ship on a wind, and the same tack as they were, Ina gale, in which no vessel could carry the topsails, the Vrow Katerina being under close-reefed foresails and staysails, the p seen to leeward was standing under a press of sail—topgallant-sails, royals, flying- jib, and every stitch of canvas which could be in a light breeze. The waves were running set ] L 1 I 7 Sol mcuntains high, bearing each minute the Vrow Katerina down to the gunwale: and the ship seen appeared not to be affected by the tumultuous waters, but sailed steadily and smoothly on an even keel. At once Philip knew it must be the Phantom Ship, in which his father’s doom was being fulfilled. ‘Very odd, is it not?” observed Mynheer Barentz. Philip felt such an oppression on his chest that he could not reply. As he held on with one hand, he covered up his eyes with the other. 3ut the seamen had now seen the vessel, and the legend was too well known. Many of the troops had climbed on deck when the report was circulated, and all eyes were now fixed upon the supernatural vessel; when a heavy squall burst over the Vrow Katerina, accompanied with peals of thunder and heavy rain, rendering it so thick that nothing could be seen. Ina quarter of an hour it “cleared away, and, when they looked to leeward, the stranger was no longer in sig ht. “Merciful Heaven! she must have been upset, and has gone down in the squall,” said4o THE PHANTOM SHIP. Mynheer Barentz. ‘‘I thought as much, carrying such a press of sail. ‘There never was a ship that could carry more than the Vrow Katerina. It was madness on the part of the captain of that vessel; but I suppose he wished to keep up with us. Heh! Myn- heer Vanderdecken ?”’ Philip did not reply to these remarks, which fully proved the madness of his captain. He felt that his ship was doomed, and when he thought of the numbers on board who might be sacrificed, he shuddered. After a pause, he said— ‘‘Mynheer Barentz, this gale is likely to continue, and the best ship that ever was built cannot, in my opinion, stand such weather. I should advise that we bear up, and run back to Table Bay to refit. Depend upon it, we shall find the whole fleet there before us.”’ “Never fear for the good ship, Vrow Katerina,’ replied the captain; ‘‘see what weather she makes of it.” ‘“‘Cursed bad,’’ observed one of the sea- men, for the seamen had gathered near to Philip to hear what his advice might be. ‘‘ If I had known that she was such an old, crazy beast, I never would have trusted myself on board. Mynheer Vanderdecken is right ; we must back to Table Bay ere worse befall us. That ship to leeward has given us warning— she is not seen for nothing,—ask Mr. Vander- decken, captain; he knows that well, for he zs a sailor.” This appeal to Philip made him start ; it was, however, made without any knowledge of Philip's interest in the Phantom Ship. ‘‘T must say,’ replied Philip, ‘‘ that, when- ever I have fallen in with that vessel, mischief has ever followed.” f“Vessel ! why, what was there in that vessel to frighten you? She carried too much sail, and she has gone down.” ‘She never goes down,” replied one of the seamen. iINo {no |. “exclaimed -many~ voices; ‘but we shall, if we do not run back.” ‘“Pooh! nonsense! Mynheer - Vander- Cecien, what say you?” “‘T have already stated my opinion,”’ re- plied Philip, who was anxious, if possible, to see the ship once more in port, ‘‘that the best thing we can do, is to bear up for Table Bay.” “And, captain,” continued the old seaman who had just spoken, ‘‘ we are all determinec that it shall be so, whether you like it or not ; so up with the helm, my hearty, and Mynheer Vanderdecken will trim the sails.” ““Why! what is this?” cried Captain Barentz. ‘A mutiny on board of the Vrow Katerina? impossible! The Vrow Katerina ! the best ship, the fastest in the whole fleet !”’ ‘The dullest old rotten tub,” cried one of the seamen. ‘““What !” cried the captain, ‘‘ what do I hear? Mynheer Vanderdecken, confine that lying rascal for mutiny.” ‘‘Pooh ! nonsense! he’s mad,’’ replied the old seaman. ‘‘ Never mind him; come, Mynheer Vanderdecken, we will obey you ; but the helm must be up immediately.’ The captain stormed, but Philip, by ac- knowledging the superiority of his vessel, at the same time that he blamed the seamen for their panic, pointed out to him the necessity of compliance, and Mynheer Barentz at last consented. The helm was put up, the sails trimmed, and the Vrow Katerina rolled heavily before the gale. ‘Towards the even- ing the weather moderated,. and the sky cleared up ; both sea and wind subsided fast ; the leaking decreased, and Philip was in hopes that in a day-or two they would arrive safely in the Bay. As they steered their course, so did the wind gradually decrease, until at last it fell calm ; nothing remained of the tempest but a long heavy swell which set to the westward, and before which the Vrow Katerina was gradually drifting. This was respite to the worn-out seamen, and also to the troops and passengers, who had been cooped below or drenched on the main-deck, The upper deck was crowded ; mothers basked in the warm sun, with their children in their arms; the rigging was filled with the wet clothes, which were hung up to dry on every part of the shrouds: and the seamen were busily employed in repairing the injuries of the gale. By theirreckoning, they were not more than fifty miles from-Table Bay, and each moment they expected to see the land to the southward of it. All was again mirth, and every one on board, except Philip, considered that danger was no more to be apprehended. The second mate, whose name was Krantz, was an active, good seaman, and a great favourite with Philip, who knew that he could trust to him, and it was on the afternoon of this day that he and Philip were walking to- gether on the deck. ‘‘ What think you, Vanderdecken, of that strange vessel we saw ?” ‘‘T have seen her before, Krantz; and—” ‘*And what?” ‘“‘'Whatever vessel I have been in when I have seen her, that vessel has never returned into port—others tell the same tale. ‘‘Is she, then, the ghost of a vessel ?” ‘“‘T am told so; and there are various stories afloat concerning her : but of this, I assure you— that I am fully persuaded that some accident will happen before we reach port, although everything at this moment ap-THE PHANTOM SHIP. at pears so calm, and our port is so near at you have prophesied right. Up—quick! The pr? hand.” ship's on fire : ‘‘ You are supe rstitious,”’ replied Krantz ; “ On fire, exclaimed V ander lecken, ‘and yet, I must say, that, to me, the ap- jump! ing out of his berth —‘‘ where?’ pearance was not like a re lity. No vessel The main-hold.”’ could carry such sail in the gale ; but yet, ‘‘] will up immediately, Krantz. In the there are madmen afloat who will sometimes meantime keep the h tches on and rig the SO attempt the most absurd things. If it was a pumps.” vessel, she must have gone down, for when it In less than a minute Philip was on deck, cleared up she was not to be seen. Iam not whe he found Captain Bi wrentz, who had very credulous, and nothing but the occur- also ‘been informed of the case by the second rence of the ang ts Ree which you antici- mate. Ina few words all was explained by pate will make me believe that there was any- Krantz 7 there was a strong smell of fire pro- thing supernatural in the affair.” ceeding from the main-hold ; and, onremoving “ Well! I shall not be sorry if the event one of the hatches, which he had done without proves me wrong,” replied Philip ; ‘‘but I calling for any assistance, from a knowledge have my forebodings—we are not in port yet.’ of the panic it would create, he found that the “No! but we are but a trifling distance hold was full of smoke; he had put it on from it, and there is every prospect of acon- again immediately y, and had only made it other things to fear a n the voletve gale.” “True,” replied Krantz; “ but neverthe- dang less, don't let us croak. Notwithstanding all us: but how ] in two: days, at the main-hold ?”’ Table ‘“T never heard of the Vrow Katerina taking fire before, observed the captain; “I think it is impossible. It must be some ‘mis- take—she is—— tinuance of fine weather.” kn wn to Philip and the ¢ see ‘‘ There is no saying fom what quarter the ‘Thanks for your presence of mind,’ danger may come,’ lied Phi ‘“ we have lied Philip; ‘‘ we have now time to reflect ice of the eet tly on what is to be done. If the troops and the poor women and children knew their - their alarm would have much impeded - could she have taken fire in the you say, I prophesy that farthest, we are safely anchored in Bay. The conversation here dropped, and P hilip was glad to be lef ft alone. A melancholy had seized him—a depression of spirits, even ‘“‘T now recollect that we have in our cargo greater than he had ever felt before. He several cases of v itriol in bottles,’ interrupted leant over the gangway and watched the Philip. ‘In the gale, they must have been heaving of the sea. disturbed and broken. I kept them above “ Merciful Heaven!” ejaculated he, “ be all, in case of accident: this rolling, gunwale pleased to spare this vessel; let not the wail for so long a time must have occasioned of women, the shrieks of the poor children, one of them to fetch way. now embarked, be heard ; the numerous body mn That s it, depend upon it,”? observed her ees: —let not them Krantz. under, of men, trusting to be sacrificed for my father's crimes.” AI id « T did object to receive them, stating that Philip mused. ‘“ The ways of He aven are they ought to go out in some vessel which indeed. mysterious,” thought he. ‘Why was not so encumbered with troops, So that has they might remain on the main-deck ; but should others suffer because my father sinned? And yet, is it not so every™ wh ere? they How many thousands fall on ee Id of and >d by the am bition of My ) that the invoices were made out Itered. But now to act. battle in a war occasioned ‘dea is, to keep the hatches on, so as to a king, or the influence of a cen |! How smother it if possit ble.’ many millions have been destroyed for hold- “Yes,” replied Krantz ; *’ and, at the same ing a different creed of faith! Me works in time, cuta hole in the deck just large enough cut his own way, leaving us to wonder and to to admit the hose, and pump as much water doubt!" as we can down into the hold. " The sun had set before Philip had quitted ‘* You-are right, Krantz; send for the car- the gangway and gone down below. Com- penter, and set him to work. I will turn the ‘and those embarked with hands up, and speak to the men. I smell the now very strong - there is no time to lose. of Providence, he at la ist fell fire If we can only kee] p the troops an d the women mending himself, him, to the care asleep; but, before the bell was struck eight > times, to announce midnight, he was awa ikened quiet we may do something. by a rude shove of the shoulder, and perceiv d The hands were turned up, and soon Krantz, who had the first w atch, standing by m ade their appearance on deck, wondering m why they were summoned. ‘The men had not ‘‘ By the Heaven above us |! Vanderdecken, perceived the state of the vessel, for. theat 72 THE PHANTOM SHIP. hatches having been kept on, the little smoke that issued ascended the hatchway, and did not fill the lower deck. “My lads,” said Philip, ‘‘I am sorry to say that we have reason to suspect that there is some danger of fire in the main-hold.” “IT smell it!” cried one of the seamen. “So do I,”’ cried several others, with every show of alarm, and moying away as if to go below. “Silence, and remain where you are, my men, Listen to what I say: if you frighten the troops and passengers we shall do nothing ; we must trust to ourselves; there is no time to be lost. Mr. Krantz and the car- penter are doing all that can be done at present ; and now, my men, do me the favour to sit down on the deck, every one of you, while I tell you what we must do.” This order of Philip's was obeyed, and the effect was excellent : it gave the men time to compose themselves after the first shock ; for, perhaps, of all shocks to the human frame, there is none which creates a greater panic than the first intimation of fire on board of a vessel—a situation, indeed pitiable, when it is considered that you have to choose between the two elements seeking your destruction, Philip did not speak for a minute or two. He then pointed out to the men the danger of their situation, what were the measures which he and Krantz had decided upon taking, and how necessary it was that all should be eool and collected. He also re- minded them that they had but little powder in the magazine, which was far from the site of the fire, and could easily be remeved and thrown overboard ; and that, if the fire could not be extinguished, they had a quantity of spars on deck to ferm a raft, which, with the boats, would receive all on board, and that they were but a short distance from land. Philip's address had the most beneficial effects; the men rose up when he ordered them; one portien went down to the maga- zine and handed up the powder, which was passed along and thrown overboard ; another went to the pumps ; and Krantz, coming up, reported the hole to have been cut in the _Pplenking of the deck above the main-hold: the hoses were fixed, anda quantity of water soon poured down, but it was impossible that the danger could be kept secret. The treops were sleeping on the deck, and the very em- ployment of the seamen pointed out what had occurred, even if the smoke, which now in- creased very much, and filled the lower deck, had not betrayed it. In a few minutes the alarm of fi%re/ was heard throughout the vessel, and men, women, and children, were Seen, some hurrying on their clothes, some running frightened about the decks, some shrieking, some praying, and the confusion and terror were hardly to be described. The judicious conduct of Philip was then made evident : had the sailors been awakened by the appalling cry, they would have been equally incapable of acting as were the troops and passengers. All subordination would have ceased: some would have seized the boats, and left the majority to perish: others would have hastened to the spirit-room, and, by their drunkenness, added to the confusion and horror of the scene: nothing would have been effected, and almost all would in all pro- bability have perished miserably. But this had been prevented by the presence of mind shown by Philip and the second-mate, for the captain was a cipher :—not wanting in cou- rage certainly, but without conduct or a knowledge of his profession. The seamen continued steady to their duty, pushing the soldiers out of the way as they performed their allotted tasks: and Philip perceiving this, went down below, leaving Krantz in charge; and by reasoning with the most collected, by degrees he brought the ma- jority of the troops to a state of comparative coolness. The powder had been thrown overboard, and another hole having been cut in the deck onsthe other side, the other pump was rigged, and double the quantity of water poured into the hold ; but it was evident to Philip that the combustion increased. The smoke and steam now burst through the interstices of the hatchways and the holes cut in the deck, with a violence that proved the extent of the fire which raged below, and Philip thought it advisable to remove all the women and children to the poop and quarter-deck of the ship, desiring the husbands of the women to stay with them. It was a melancholy sight, and the tears stood in Philip’s eyes as he looked upon the group of females—some weeping and straining their children to their bosoms ; some more quiet and more collected than the men: the elder children mute or crying beeause their mothers criecd,and the younger ones, unconscious of danger, playing with the first object which attracted their attention, or smiling at their parents. The officers commanding the troops were two en- signs newly entered, and very young men, 7 ignorant of their duty and without any authority—for men in cases of extreme dan- ger will not obey those who are more ignorant than themselyes—and, at Philip's request, they remained with and superintended the women and children. : So soon as Philip had given his orders that the women and children should be pro- perly clothed (which many of them were not), he went again forward to superintend thelabour of the seamen, who areny beg show symptoms of fatigue, from the ex cess of their exertions ; but many of the soldiers now 1 to work at the pumps, and thei orered Ser- vices were wulingly: § uccepted. ‘Their efforts were in vain. In about half an hour more, the hatches were blown up with a loud noise, and a column of intense and searching flame darted up perpendicularly from the hold, high as the lower mast-head. Then was heard the loud shriek of the women, who pressed. their 1 children in agony to their breasts, as the sea- men and ee who had been working the pl ee in their precipitate retreat from the S os ‘ching aes rushed aft, and fell among eh adie d erowd. ‘e Be steady, my Basa Shee ly, my gor »d fellows,” exclaimed Philip ; ‘‘ there is no dan- ger yet. RecoHect we have our boats and raft, and although we cannot subdue the fire, and save the vessel, still we may, if you are cool and collected, not only save ourselves, but every one—even the poor infants, who now app alt Oo you as men to exert yourselves im their behalf. Come, come, may lads, let us do our duty—we have the means of escape in our power if we lose no time. Carpenter, get the boom-lashings. us get our boats out, and -women and children ; land. Krantz eich: a 1 your and cut away Now, my men, let make a raft for these poot we are not ten miles from the to the boats wi starboatd larboard watch with launch over the booms. Gunners, take any of the cordage you can, ready for lashing. Come, my lads, there is no want of light—we can work without lanterns.” The men obey q < axes, i tue me, to ak red: as P hilip, to encourage them, had almost jocularly remarked (for a joke is often well-timed, when apparently on the threshold of eternity) there was no want of light. The column of fire now ascended above the main-top—licking with its forky tongue the top-mast Hegmg ae embracing the mainmast in its folds :.and the Joud roar with which it ascended el he violence and rapidity of the combustion below, and how little time there was to be lost. The lower and maindecks were now so filled with smoke that no one could remain there: some few poor fellows sick in their cots had long been smothered, for they had been forgotten. The swell had much subsided, and there not a breath of wind: the smoke whick rose from the hatchways ascended straight up in the air, ag as the vessel had lost all steerage way, was fortunate. ‘The boats were soon in the water, and trusty men placed in them : the spars were launched over, arranged by the men in the boats, and lashed together. All the gratings were then collected and firmly fixed upon the spars for the people tosit upon ; Was LHE PHANTOM SHIP. & an td 23 and Philip’s heart was glad at the prospect which he now had of saving the numbers which were embarked. CHAPTER XVII. But their difficulties were not surmounted— the fire now had communicated to the main- deck, and burst out of the port-holes amid- ships—and the raft which had been forming alongside was obliged to be drifted astern, where it was more exposed to theswell. This retarded their labour, and, in the meantime, the fire was making rapid progress; the mainmast which had long been burning, fell over the side with the lurching of the vessel, and the flames out of the main-deck ports soon showed their points above the bulwarks, while volumes of smoke were poured in upon the upper-deck, almost suffocating the num- bers which were crowded there ; for all com- munication with the fore-part of the ship had been for some time cut off by the flames, and every one had retreated aft. The women and children were ‘now earried on to the poop not only to remove them farther from the suffocating smoke, but that they might be lowered down. to the raft from the stern. it was about four o'clock in the morning when all was ready, and by the exertions of Philip and the seamen, .notwithstanding the swell, the women and children were safely placed on the raft, where it was considered that they would be less in the way, as the men could relieve each other in pulling when they were tired. After the women and children had been lowered down, the troops were next ordered to descend by the ladders; some few were lost in the attempt, falling under the boat’s bottom and not reappearing ; but two-thirds of them were safely put on the berths they ordered to take who had were by Krantz, gone down to superintend this important ar- rangement. Such had been the vigilance of Philip, who had requested Captain Barentz to stand over the spirit-room hatch, with pistols, until the smoke on the main-deck rendered the precaution unnecessary, that not a single person was intoxicated, and to this might be ascribed the order and regu- larity which had preety ed duri ing ae trying scene. But before one-third of the sok diers had descended by the stern adder the fire burst out of the stern windows with a violence that nothing could withstand ; spouts of vivid flame extended several feet from the vessel, roaring with the foree of a blowpipe ; at the same time the flames burst through all the after-ports of the main-deck, and those re- maining on board found themselves encircledwi 74 THE PHANTOM SHIP. vith fire, and suffocated with smoke and heat. The stern ladders were consumed in a minute and dropped into the sea; the boats which had been receiving the men were obliged also to back astern from the intense heat of the flames; even those on the raft shrieked as they found themselves scorched by the ignited fragments which fell on them as they were enveloped in an opaque cloud of smoke, which hid from them those who still remained on the deck of the vessel. Philip attempted to speak to those on board, but he was not heard. A scene of confusion took place which ended in great loss of life. The only object appeared to be who should first escape; though, except by jumping over- board, there was no escape. Had _ they waited, and (as Philip would have pointed out to them) have one by one thrown them- selves into the sea, the men in the beats were fully prepared to pick them up; or had they climbed out to the end of the latteen mizen- yard which was lowered down, they might have descended safely by a rope, but the scorching of the flames which surrounded ‘them, and the suffocation from the smoke was overpowering, and most of the soldiers sprang over the taffrail at once, or as nearly so as possible, ‘The consequence was, that there were thirty or forty in the water at the same time, and the scene was as heartrending as it was appalling ; the sailors in the boats dragging them in as fast as they could—the women on the raft, throwing to them loose garments to haul them in ; at one time a wife shrieking as she saw her husband struggling and sinking into eternity ; at another, curses and execrations from the swimmer who was grappled with by the drowning man, and dragged with him under the surface. Of eighty-men who were left of the troops on board at the time of the bursting out of the flames from the stern windows, but twenty- five were saved. There were but few seamen left on board with Philip, the major part having been employed in making the raft or manning the three boats ; those who were on board remained by his side, regulating their motions by his. After allowing full time for the soldiers to be picked up, Phwip ordered the men to climb out to the end of the latteen yard which hung on the taffrail, and either to lower themselves down on the raft if it was under, or to give notice to the boats to receive them. The raft had been dropped farther astern by the seamen, that those on board of it might not suffer from the smoke and heat ; and the sailors one after another lowered themselves down and were ‘received by the boats. Philip desired Captain Barentz to go before him, but the captain refused. He was too much choked with smoke to say why, but no doubt but that it would have been something in praise of the Vrow Katerina, Philip then climbed out : he was followed by the captain, and they were both received into one of the boats. The rope, which had hitherto held the raft to the ship, was now cast off, and it was taken in by the boats; and ina short time the Vrow Katerina was borne to leeward of them ; andPhilip and Krantz now made arrangements for the better disposal of the people. ‘The sailors were almost all put into boats, that they might relieve one another in pulling ; the remainder were placed on the raft, along with the soldiers, the women, and the children. Notwithstanding that the boats were all as much loaded as they could well bear, the numbers on the raft were so great, that it sunk nearly a foot under water, when the swell of the sea poured upon it; but stan- chions and ropes to support those on board had been fixed, and the men remained at the sides, while the women and children were crowded together in the middle. As soon as these arrangements were made, the boats took the raft in tow, and just as the dawn of day appeared, pulled in the direction of the land. The Vrow Katerina was, by this time, one volume of flame; she had drifted about half a mile to leeward, and Captain Barentz, who was watching as he sat in the boat with Philip, exclaimed—‘‘ Well there goes a lovely ship, a ship that could do everything but speak—I'm sure that not a ship in the fleet would have made such a bonfire as she has— does she not burn beautifully—nobly? My poor Vrow Katerina ! perfect to the last, we never shall see such a ship as you again. Well, I’m glad my father did not live to see this sight, for it would have broken his heart, poor man.” Philip made no reply; he felt a respect even for Captain Barentz’s misplaced regard for the vessel. They made but little way, for the swell was rather against them, and the raft was deep in the water. The day dawned, and the appearance of the weather was not favourable ; it promised a return of the gale. Already a breeze ruffled the surface of the water, and the swell appeared to in- crease rather than go down. The sky was overcast and the horizonthick, Philip looked out for the land, but could not perceive it, for there was a haze on the horizon, so that he could not see more than five miles. He felt that to gain the shore before the coming night was necessary for the preservation of so many individuals, of whom more than sixty were women and children, who, without any nourishment, were sitting on a frail raft, immersed in the water. No land in sight—THE PHANTOM SHIP. es ed ta gale coming on, and in all ee a approach their haven, they murmured, and heavy sea and dark night. The ance was talked of the necessity of casting loose the raft 7 lanr cr \ay 11 hhili ; lA] 7 7 e ] e indeed desperate, and Philip was miserable— and I oking out for themselves. A feeling « : y) +} 7Q hile her 1, ic 7 : : . 4 most miserable—when h at ind they were mutinous: bt ] | I nis ] d with them, and out c fre continued € rtions when a circumstance occur- 1 the question, upon which iced a debate. well and the fresh breez« nd tossed the raft, that it ty, for some time, that its > that he had his duty occupants could hold themselves on it. A ‘ull ‘his loud shout, mingled with screams, attracted imself, the attention of those in the boats, and e I y looking back, perceived that the headmost boat, and the raft had yielded to the force of the waves, 1 with ashout ofjoyfrom and that it had separated ouienie The The anticipation and scene was agonizing - husbands were sepa- W like manna in ratedfrom their wives and children—each float- women onthe ing away from each other—for the part of the vhich was still towed by eo boats had ped the children in already left the other far astern. The women and cried—‘‘ My dar- rose up and screamed, aha “held up their ae children ; some, more frantic, dashedinto the n the stern-sheets to water between them, and attempted to. gain he had the satisfaction the floating wreck upon which their husbands not Se a s distant, stood, and sank before they could be assisted. But the horror increased—one lashing having given way, all the rest soon followed ; and, before the boats could turn and give assist- ance, the sea was strewed with the spars which composed the raft, with men, women, and children clinging to som Loud were the yells of despair, and the shrieks of the women as they embraced their offspring, and in attempting to save them were lost them- and double-banked the selves. The spars of the raft still close to- way; but the towing gether, were hurled one upon the other by 1der water was no easy the swell, and many found death by being ta ‘t, with all their exer- aang between them. Although wl the tions, advance more than halfa mile an hour. boats hastened to their assist there was Until noc ath ey continued their exertions so much difficulty and daz in forcing them not rithont success; they were not three between the spars, that bit few were saved, miles from the land ; but assed and even those-few were more than the > boat the meridian, a chans breeze could ‘Well take in. The seamen and a few ble trong ; the h idly; soldiers were picked up, but all the females and the children had sur and the raft was oftenso deeply immer ed in 1k beneath the wave he waves as to alarm them for the safety of The effect of this catastrophe may be hose upon her. ‘Their way was propor- i agined, but eee described. The seamen hree o'cloc y who had debated < » casting them adrift to rish, wept as the y pied towards the shore. hilip was overcome, he covered his face, and remained for some time without giving direc- tions, and heedless of what passed. their exertions. : It was now five o'clock i a the evening ; the vane appealed boats had cast off the tow-lines, and vied with t L refreshment of any excitement of so n pressed by a irom the e child who ap] to its m ane to thy seaman who strained at each other in their exertions. 3efore the sun the o ir Philip did all he could to encourage had set, they all had arn Ye d at the beacl Lic “ . hil il « l COU L ii Ju isc 4 ves so near to and were safely landed in the little sand bay into which they had segened for the wind was off the shore and there was no surf. ‘The the men; but finding thems¢ the land, and so overcome ii fatigue, and i LAL lh that the raft in tow would not allow them toai 76 boats were hauled up, and the exhausted men lay down on the sands, till warm with the heat of the sun, and forgetting that they had neither eaten nor drunk for so long a time, they were soon fast asleep. Captain Barentz, Philip, and Krantz, assoon as they had seen the boats secured, held a short consultation, and were then glad to follow the example of the seamen ; harassed and worn out with the fatigue of the last twenty-four hours, their senses were soon drowned in oblivion. For many hours they all slept soundly, dreamt of water, and awoke to the sad reality that they were tormented with thirst, and were on a sandy beach with the salt waves mocking them ; but they reflected how many of their late companions had been swallowed up, and felt thankful that they had been spared. It was early dawn when they all rose from the forms which they had impressed on the yielding sand ; and by the directions of Philip, they separated in every direction, to look for the means of quenching their agony of thirst. As they proceeded over the sand- hills, they found growing in the sand a low spongy-leaf sort of shrub, something like what in our greenhouses is termed the ice-plant ; the thick leaves of which were covered with large drops of dew. They sank down on their knees, and proceeded from one to the other licking off the moisture which was abun- dant, and soon felt a temporary relief. ‘They continued their search till noon without suc- cess, and hunger was now added to their thirst; they then returned to the beach to ascertain if their companions had been more successful. They had also quenched their thirst with the dew of heaven, but had found no water or means of subsistence ; but some of them had eaten the leaves of the plant which contained the dew in the morning, and had found them, although acid, full of watery sap and grateful to the palate. The plant in question is the one provided by bounteous Providence for the support of the camel and other beasts in the arid desert, only to be found there, and devoured by all ru- minating animals with avidity. By the ad- vice of Philip they collected a quantity of this plant and putit into the boats, and then launched, They were not more than fifty miles from Table Bay ; and although they had no sails, the wind was in their favour. Philip pointed out to them how useless it was to remain, when before morning they would, in all probability, arrive at where they would obtain all they re- quired. ‘The advice was approved of and acted upon ; the boats were shoved off and the oars resumed. So tired and exhausted were the men, that their oars dipped mechani- cally into the water, for there was no strength THE PHANTOM SHIP. left to be applied; it was not until the next morning at daylight, that they had arrived opposite False Bay, and they had still many miles to pull. The wind in their favour had done almost all—the men could do little or nothing. Encouraged, however, by the, sight of land, which they knew, they rallied ; and about noon they pulled, exhausted, to the beach at the bottom of Table Bay, near to which were the houses, and the fort protecting the settlers, who had for some few years re- sided there. They landed close to where a broad rivulet at that season (but a torrent in the winter) poured its stream into the bay. At the sight of fresh water, some of the men dropped their oars, threw themselves into the sea when out of their depth—others when the water was above their waists—yet they did not arrive so soon as those who waited till the boat struck the beach and jumped out upon dry land. And then they threw them- selves into the rivulet, which coursed over the shingle, about five or six inches in depth, allowing the refreshing stream to pour into their mouths till they could receive no more, - immersing their hot hands, and rolling in it with delight. Despots and fanatics have exerted their ingenuity to invent torments for their victims —how useless—the rack, the boot, fire,—all that they have imagined are not to be com- pared to the torture of extreme thirst. In the extremity of agony the sufferers cry for water, and it is not refused : they might have spared themselves their refined ingenuity of torment, and the disgusting exhibition of it, had they only confined the prisoner in his cell, and re- fused him wafer. As soon as they satisfied the most pressing of all wants, they rose dripping from the stream, and walked up to the houses of the factory ; the inhabitants of which, perceiving that boats had landed when there was no ves- sel in the bay, naturally concluded that some disaster had happened, and were walking down to meet them. Their tragical history was soon told. The thirty-six men that stood before them were all that were left of nearly three hundred souls embarked, and they had been more than two days without food. At this intimation no further questions were asked by the considerate settlers, until the hunger of the sufferers had been appeased, when the narrative of their sufferings was fully detailed by Philip and Krantz. ‘‘T have an idea that I have seen you be- fore,’’ observed one of the settlers. ‘‘ Did you come on shore when the fleet anchored ?”” ‘' I did not,”’ replied Philip ; ‘‘ but I have been here.”’ ‘‘T recollect now,” replied the man ; ‘‘ youwere the only survivor of the Ter Schi which was lost in False Bay.’ ** Not the only survivor,” **T thought so myself; the pilot, a one-eyed Schriften, who was my lling, replied Philip ; but I aherwatts met man, of the name of shipmate : he must have arrived here after me. You saw him, of course ?”’ ““No, I did not. No one belonging to came here after you; the Ter Schilling ever for I have been a settler here ever since, and it is not likely that I should forget such a circumstance.” ‘‘He must, then, have returned to Hol- land by some other means.”’ ‘*T know not how. Our ships near the coast after they leave the too dangerous.’ “ Neverthele: ss, Is musing. ‘“If you saw him, that is sufficient ; per- haps some vessel h ad been blown down to the never go bay ; it is lied Philip aw him,” rep eastern side, and picked him up; but the na- tives in that part are not likely to ‘have spared the life of a European. The Caffres area cruel people. The information that Schriften had not been seen at the Cape was a subject of medi- tation to Philip. He had always had an idea, as the reader knows, that there was some- thing supernatural about the man ; and this opinion was.corroborated by the report of the settler. We months, were treated must pass over the space of two during which the wrecked seamen with kindness by the settlers, and at the expir of which a small brig arrived at the bay, and took in refreshments she was homeward bound, with a full cargo, and being chartered by the Company, could not refuse to receive on board the crew of the Vrow Katerina. Philip, Krantz, and the sea- but Barentz re- men embarked ; Captain mained behind to settle at the Cape. ‘«Should I go home,”’ said he to Philip, who argued with him, ‘‘ I have nothing inthe world to return for. I have no wife—no children. I had but one dear object, my Vrow Katerina, who was my wile, my chi ld, my everything ;—she is gone, and [ never shalt find another vessel like her; and if I could, I should not love itas I did her. No, my affections are buried with her—are en- tombed in the deep sea. How beautifully she burnt ! she went out of the world like a phoenix, as she was. No! no! _ I will be faithful to her—I will send for what little money I have, and live as near to her tomb as I can—I never shall forget her as long:as I live. I shall mourn over her, and Vrow Katerina, when I die, will be*found engraven on my heart.’ IHE PHANTOM SHIP. aE Philip could not help wishing that his affections had been fixed upon a more de- serving object, as then, probably, the tragical loss had not taken place ; but he changed the subject, feeling that, being no sailor, Captain Barentz was much better on shore thanin the command of a vessel. ‘They’shook hands and parted— Phi lip promising to execute Barentz’s commission, which was to turn his money into articles most useful to a settler, and have them sent out by the first fleet which should er Zee. But this commission good fortune to execute. sail from the Zuyd it was not Philip's The brig named the Wilhelmina, sailed and soon arrived at St. Helena. After watering, she proceeded on her voyage. They had made the Western Isles, and Philip was con- soling himself with the anticipation of soon joining his Amine, when, to the northward of the islands they met with a furious gale, be- fore which they were obliged to scud for many days, with the vessel's head to the south-east ; and as the wind abated, and they were able to haul to it, they fell in with a Dutch fleet of five vessels, commanded by an admiral, which ha s left Amsterdam more than two months, and had been buffeted about by con- trary pate for the major part of that period. Cold, fatigue. and bad provisions, had brought on the scurvy ; and the ships were so weakly manned, that they could hardly navi- gate them. When the captain of the Wilhel- mina reported to the admiral that he had part of the crew of the Vrow Katerina on board, he was ordered to send them im- mediately to assist in navigating his crip- pled fleet. Remonstrance was useless. Philip had but time to write to Amine, acquainting her with his misfortunes and disappointment ; and confiding the letter to his wife, as well as his narrative of the loss of the Vrow Katerina for the directors, to the charge of the captain of the Wilhelmina, he hastened to pack up his eff-cts, and repaired on board of the admiral's ship with Krantz and the crew. To them were added six of the men belonging to the Wilhelmina, whom the admiral insisted on retaining: and the brig, having received the admiral’s dispatches, was then permitted to continue her voyage. Perhaps there is nothing more trying to the seamen’s-feelings than being une xpectedly forced to recommence another series of trials, at the very time when they anticipate repose from their former; yet how often does this happen! Philip was melancholy. “‘ It is mw destiny,” thought he, using the words of Amine, ‘‘and why should I not submit?” Krantz was furious, and the seamen dis- contented and mutinous ; but it was useless. Might i is right on the vast ocean, where there is no ‘appeal, no trial or injunction to be obtained.Se But hard as their case appeared to them, the admiral was fully justified in his proceed- ing. His ships were almost unmanageable with the few hands who could still perform their duty ; and this small increase of physical power might be the means of saving hundreds who lay helpless in their hammocks. In his own vessel, the Lion, which was manned with two hundred and fifty men when she sailed from Amsterdam, there were not more than seventy capable of doing duty; and the other ships had suffered in proportion. The first captain of the Lion was dead, the second captain in his hammock, and the admiral had no one to assist him but the mates of the vessel, some of whom crawled up to their duty more dead than alive. The ship of the second in command, the Dort, was even ina more deplorable plight. The commodore was dead ; the first captain was still doing his duty; but he had but one more officer capable of remaining on deck. The admiral sent for Philip into his cabin, and having heard his narrative of the loss of the Vrow Katerina, he ordered him to go on board the commodore’s ship as captain, giv- ing the rank of commodore to the captain at present on board of her ; Krantz was retained on board his own vessel, as second captain ; for by Philip’s narrative, the admiral perceived at once that they were both good officers and brave men, CHAPTER XVIII. THE fleet under Admiral Rymelandt’s com- mand was ordered to proceed to the East Indies by the western route, through the Straits of Magellan into the Pacific Ocean —it being still imagined, notwithstanding previous failures, that this route offered facili- ties which might shorten the passage to the Spice Islands. ‘The vessels composing the fleet were the Lion of forty-four guns, bearing the admiral’s flag ; the Dort of thirty-six guns, with the commodore’s pendant—to which Philip was appointed ; the Zuyder Zee of twenty; the Young Frau of twelve, and a ketch of four guns, called the Schevelling. The crew of the Vrow Katerina were divided between the two larger vessels ; the others, being smaller, were easier worked with fewer hands. Every arrangement having been made, the boats were hoisted up, and the ships made sail. For ten days they were baffled by light winds, and the victims to the scurvy increased considerably on board of Philip’s vessel. Many died and were thrown overboard, and others were carried down to their hammocks, THE PHANTOM SHIP. The newly-appcinted commodore whose name was Avenhorn, went on board of the admiral, to report the state of the vessel, and to suggest, as Philip had proposed to him, that they should make the coast of South America, and endeavour by bribery or by force to obtain supplies either from the Spanish inhabitants or the natives. ~ But to this the admiral would not listen. He was an imperious, bold, and obstinate man, not to be persuaded or convinced, and with little feeling for the sufferings cf others. Tenacious of being advised, he immediately rejected a proposition which, had it originated with him- self, would probably have been immediately acted upon ; and the commodore returned on board his vessel, not only disappointed, but irritated by the language used towards him. ‘What are ‘we to do, Captain Vander- decken ? you know too well our situation—it is impossible we can continue long at sea; if we do the vessel will be drifting at the mercy of the waves, while the crew die a wretched death in their hammocks, At present we have forty men left ; in ten days more we shall probably have but twenty; for as the labour becomes more severe, so do they drop down the faster. Is it not better to risk our lives in combat with the Spaniards, than. die here like rotten sheep ?”’ ‘‘T perfectly agree with you, commodore,” replied Philip ; ‘‘ but still we must obey orders. The admiralisan inflexible man.” ‘“‘And acruel one. I have a great mind to part company in thenight, and'if he finds fault, I will justify myself to the Directors_on my return,” ‘Do nothing rashly—perhaps, when day by day he finds his own ship’s company more weakened, he will see the necessity of follow- ing your advice.” A week had passed away after this con- versation, and the fleet had made little pro- gress. In eachship the ravages of*the fatal disease became more serious, and, as the commodore had predicted, he had but twenty men really able to do duty. Nor had the admiral’s ship and the other vessels suffered less. ‘The commodore again went on board to reiterate his proposition. Admiral Rymelandt was not only a stern, but a vindictive man. He was aware of the propriety of the suggestion made by his second in command, but having refused it, he would not acquiesce ; and he felt revengeful against the commodore, whose counsel he must now either adopt, or by refusing it be prevented from taking the steps so necessary for the pre- servation of his crew, and the success of his voyage. ‘Too proud to acknowledge himself in error, again did he decidedly refuse, and the commodore went back to hisown ship. Thefleet was then ren three days of the coast, steering to the southward for Straits of Magellan, and that night, after Philip had returned to his cot, the commodore went on deck and ordered the course of the vessel to be altered some po! he westward. ; the nintc more ft Lits il rc to The night was very dark, and the S the only ship which carried a p« l 1, SO that the parting company of the Dort 1 not perceived by the admir ul and the other sl lps of the fleet. When Philip went on deck nex morning, he found that their consorts werenot in sight. He looked at the compass, and per- ceiving that the course was al inquired at what hour and by whose directions, Fir g that it was by his ficer, he of course said nothing, When the commodore came on deck he stated to Philip that he felt hi self warranted in not complying with the admiral’s orders as it would have been sacri- ficing the whole ship's company. ‘This was, indeed, true. In two days they made the land, and run- ning into the shore, perceived a large town, and Spaniards on thebeach. They anchored iCU, iding superior oO at the eee = the river, and hoisted English col urs, whe 1. boat came ge bi aro to ask them Ww ho the - were and what they. required. ‘The commodore » replied t pe the » vessel was English, for he knew that the hatrec of the Spanish to the Dutch was so great that, if known to belong to that nation, he would have no chance of procuring any supplies, ex- cept by force. He stated that he aller in with a Spanish vessel, a complete wrec from the whole of the crew being afflicted taken tl ‘Sy with the scurvy ; that he had le men out, who were now in their hammocks below, as he considered it cruel to leave so ey of atures aaa ha » had come out of his course to land them first Spanish fort he could reach. He quested that they would immediately send on board vegetables and fresh provisions for the sick men, whom it would be death to re- move, until after a few days, when they would be a little restored ; and added, that in re- ; - } to perish, I his fellow ~CTé turn for their assisting the Spaniards, he trusted the governor would also send sup- plies for his own people. This well made-up story was confirmed by the officer sent on board by the Spanish go- yernor. Being requested to go down below and see the patients, the s sight of so many poor fellows in the last stage of that hot rid disease—their teeth fallen out, gums ulcerated, bodies full of tumours and sores—was quite sufficient ; and hurrying up from the lower deck, as he would have done from a charnel- house, the officer hastened on shore and made his report. In two hours a large boat was sent Oi! FPHE PHANTOM SHIP. 79 with fresh beef and vegetables sufficient for three days’ supply for the ship's company, and these were immediately distributed among the men. etter of thanks was returned by tl y h- hy »4 14) ; . that His health was 1€ con moder. § stating t so indifferent as to prevent his coming on shore in person to thank the govern r, and fi ding a ] 1 ist of the Spaniards on board, in w en ed some officers und peeple of i; m he imagined be con h the family of the { ior, ¥ se nd titl he had received from the messenger sent on board ; or the Dutch kne | well the majority of the noble Sp nilies—indeed, alliances had continu place between them, previous to rtion of er mde- pendence. ] comm re conc d his l by ¢ 2 hope fat. in a | das or I ), he 1 ¢ to pay his respects, nd make arrangements for the landing of the sick, as he was anxious to Sisched ‘on his voyage of discovery. On the third day, a fresh supply of pro- visions was sent on board, and so soon as they were received, the commodore, in an English uniform, went on shore and called upon the governor, gave a long detail of the sufferings of the pe 20P le he had rescued, and agreed that they should be sent on shore in two days, as they would by that time be well enough to be moved. After many compliments, he went i on board, the nor having intention to return his visit POV S 44 ; > followil rough, day, Fortunately, the weather was rough for the next two days, and it was not until the third that th overnor made his appearance. [his nrecisal iat tl commodore d. Chere is no d >, perhaps, so dre or so rapid in effects upon the human frame, and at the time so instantaneously checked, as the scurvy, if the remedy can be procured \ few days were sufficient to restore those, who were not able to turn in their hammocks, to their former vigour. In the course OF the six days nearly all bes crew of the Dort were convalescent, and able to go on deck ; ee still they were not cure d. ‘The the commodore waited for the arrival of sovernor, received him with a\ due honours, and then, so soon % he was in th cabin, told him very no ly that he and all his officers with him wet pee ‘rs. That the vessel was a Dutch man-of-war, and that it his W own people, and not Spaniards who had been dying of the scurvy. oF | however _ by pointing out th at | it prefers ible to obtain provisions by t than to sacrifice lives on both sides hem by force, and that his xcellency’s cap- console Beebe thought 11S TUSE, _ taking’———— a a as ee aes So zs tivity would endure no longer than wfhtil he had received on board a sufficient number of live bullocks and fresh vegetables to insure the recovery of -the ship’s company; and, in the meantime, not the least insult would be offered to him. Whereupon the Spanish governor first looked at the commodore and then at the file of armed men at the cabin- door, and then to his distance from the town ; and then called to mind the possibility of his being taken out to sea. Weighing all these points in his mind, and the very moderate ransom demanded (for bullocks were not worth a dollar apiece in that country), he resolved, as he could not help himself, to comply with the commodore’s terms. He called for pen and ink, and wrote an order to send on board immediately all that was demanded. Before sunset the bullocks and vegetables were brought off, and, so soon-as they were alongside, the commodore, with many bows and many thanks, escorted the governor to the gangway, complimenting him with a salvo of great guns, as he had done before, on his arrival. The people on shore thought that his Excellency had paid a long visit, but, as he did not like to acknowledge that he had been deceived, nothing was said about it, at least in his hearing, although the facts were soon well known. As soon as the boats were cleared, the commodore weighed anchor and made sail, well satisfied with having preserved his ship’s company; and as the Falkland Islands, in case of parting com- pany, had been named as the rendezvous, he steered for them. In a fortnight he arrived, and found that his admiral was not yet there. His crew were now all recovered, and his fresh beef was not yet expended, when he perceived the admiral and the three other vessels in the offing. It appeared that so soon as the Dort had parted company, the admiral had immediately acted upon the advice that the commodore had given him, and had run for the coast. Not being so fortunate in a vwse as his second in command, he had landed an armed force from the four vessels, and had succeeded in obtaining several head of cattle, at the expense of an equal number of men killed and wounded. But at the same time they had collected a large quantity of vegetables of one sort or another, which they had carried on board and distributed with great success to the sick, who were gradually recovering. Immediately ; that the admiral had an- chored, he made the signal for the commodore to repair on board, and taxed him with dis- obedience of orders in having left the fleet. The commodore did not deny that he had so done, but excused himself upon the ‘plea of necessity, offering to lay the whole matter THE PHANTOM SHIP. before the Court of Directors so soon as they returned; but the admiral was vested with most extensive powers, not only of the trial, but the condemnation and punishment of any person guilty of mutiny and insubordination in his fleet. In repty, he told the commodore that he was a prisoner, and to prove it, he confined him in irons under the half-deck. A signal was then made for all the cap- tains: they went on board, and of course Philip was of the number. On their arrival, the admiral held a summary court-martial, proving to them by his instructions that he was so warranted to do. The result of the court-martial could be but one—condemnation for a breach of discipline, to which Philip was obliged reluctantly to_sign his name. ‘The admiral then gave Philip the appointment of second in command, and the commodore’s pendant, much to the annoyance of the cap- tains commanding the other vessels; but in this the admiral proved his judgment, as there was no one of them so fit for the task as Philip. Having so done, he dismissed them. Philip would have spoken to the late commo- dore, but the sentry opposed it, as against his orders; and with a friendly nod, Philip was obliged to leave him without the desired com- munication. The fleet remained three weeks at the Falkland Islands, to recruit the ships’ com- panies. Although there was no fresh beef, there was plenty of scurvy-grass and penguins. These birds were in myriads on some parts of the island, which, from the propinquity of their nests, built of mud, went by the name of towns. ‘There they sat, close together (the whole area which they covered being bare of grass), hatching their eggs and rearing their young. The men had but to select as many eggs and birds as they pleased, and so numerous were they, that when they had supplied themselves, there was no apparent diminution of the numbers. This food, although in a short time not very palatable to the seamen, had the effect of restoring them to health, and before the fleet sailed, there was not a man who was afflicted with the scurvy. In the meantime, the commodore remained in irons, and many were the con- jectures concerning his ultimate fate. The power of life and death was known to be in the admiral’s hands, but no one thought that such power would be exerted upon a delinquent of so high a grade. The other captains kept aloof from Philip, and he knew little of what was the general idea. Occasionally when on board of the ‘admiral’s ship, he ventured to bring up the question, but was immediately silenced ; and feeling that -he might injure the late commodore (for whom he had a regard) he would risk nothing by importunity ; a: } Asthe fleet sailed for the Straits of Magellan, without anybody being aware of what “might be the result of the court- martial. : It was about a forfnight after they had left the Falkland Islands, that they entered the Straits. At first they had a leading wind which carried them half through, but this did not last, and they then had to contend not only against the wind, but against the current, and they daily lost ground. The crews of the ships also began to sicken from fatigue and cold. Whether the admiral had before made up aie mind, or whether irritated by his fruitless endeavours to continue hi is impos: ible to say; but after three w useless struggle against the winds and cur- 5 rents, he hove to and ordered all the captains on board, when he prop 1 that the prisoner 7 * . - . . 1 should receive his punishment, - and that punishment was—/o de deserted ; that is, to be sent on shore with a day's food, where there vas no means of obtaining support, so as to die miserably of hunger. This was a punish- ment frequently resorted to by the Dutch at that period, as will be seen by reading an account of their voyages; but at the same time, seldom, if ever, awarded to one of so high a rank as that of commodore. Philip immediately protested against it, and so did Krantz, although they were both aware, that by so doing, they would make the admiral their enemy; but the other captains, who viewed both of them witha jealous eye, and considered them as interlopers and inter- fering with their advancement, sided with the admiral. Notwithstanding this majority, Ph ilip though i his duty to expostulate. ‘You kno vy well, admiral,’’ said he, ‘‘ that I joined a his condemnation for a breach of discipline : but at the same time there was much in extenuation. He committed a breach of discipline to save his ship’s company, but not an error in judgment as you yourself proved, by taking the same measure to save your own men. Do not, therefore, visit an offence of so doubtful a e with such cruelty. Let the Company decide the point when you send him home, which you can do so soon as you arrive in India. He is sufficiently punished by losing his command : to do what you propose will be ascribed to feelings of revenge more than to those of justice. What success can we deserve if we commit an act of such cruelty ; and how can we expect a merciful Providence to protect us from the winds and waves, when we are thus barbarous towards each other?” Philip’s arguments were of no avail. The admiral ordered him to return on board his ship, and had he been able to find an excuse, he would have deprived him of his command. This he could not well:do; but Philip was LHE PHANTOM SHIP. 8k aware that the admiral was now his inveterate enemy. ‘The commodore was taken out of irons and brought into the cabin, and his sentence was made known to him. ee Be it so, admiral,” replied Avenhorn ; ~ for to attempt to turn you from your pur- e, I know would be unavailing. Jam 10t punished for disobedience of orders, but or having, by my disobedience, pointed out Oo you your duty—a duty which you were orced to perform afterwards by necessity. len be it so; let me perish on these black rocks, as I shall, and my bones be whitened by the chilly blasts which howl over their desolation. But mark me, cruel-and vindic- tiveman! I shall not be the only one whose bones will bleach there. I prophesy that inany others will share my fate, and even you, admiral, may be of the number,—if I Taian not, we shall lie side by side.’’ The admiral made no reply, but gave a sign for the prisoner toberemoved. He then had a conference with the captains of the. three smaller vessels ; and, as they had been all along retarded by the heavier sailing of his own ship, and the Dort commanded by Philip, he decided that they should part company, and proceed on as fast as they could to the Indies—sending on board of the two larger vessels all the provisions they could spare, as they already began to run short, Philip had left the cabin with Krantz after the prisoner had been removed. He then wrote a few lines upon a slip of paper --‘‘ Do not leave the beach when you are put on shore, until the vessels are out of sight ;” and requesting Krantz to find an opportunity o deliver this to the commodore, he returned on board of his own ship. When the crew of the Dort heard of the punishment about to be inflicted upon their old commander, they were much excited. They felt that he had sacrificed himself to to save them, and they murmured much at the cruelty of the admiral. About an hour after Philip’s return to his ship, the prisoner was sent on shore and landed on the desolate and rocky coast, with a supply of provisions for two days.: Not a single article of extra clothing or the means of striking a light, was permitted him. When the boat's keel grazed the beach, he was ordered out. ‘The boat shoved off, and the men were not permitted even to bid him farewell. The fleet, -as aD had expected, re- mained hove to shifting the provisions, and it was not till after dark that everything was arranged. This opportunity was not lost. Philip was aware that it would be considered a breach of discipline, but to that he was indifferent ; neither did he think it likely that 6 STORM NRTA82 it would come to the ears of the admiral, as the crew of the Dort were partial both to the commodore and to him. He had desired a seaman whom he could trust, to put into one of the boats a couple of muskets, and a quantity of ammunition, several blankets, and various other articles, besides provisions for two or three months for one person ; and as soon as it was dark the men pulled on shore with the boat, found the commodore on the beach waiting for them, and supplied him with all these necessaries. They then rejoined their ship, without the admiral's having the least suspicion of what had been done, and shortly after the fleet made sail on a wind, with their heads off shore. ‘The next morning, the three smaller vessels parted company, and by sunset had gained many miles to windward, after which they were not again seen. The admiral had sent for Philip to give him his instructions, which were very severe, and evidently framed so as to be able to afford him hereafter some excuse for depriv- ing him of his command, Among others, his orders were, as the Dort drew much less water than the admiral’s ship, to sail ahead of him during the night, that if they approached too near the land as they beat across the Channel, timely notice might be given to the admiral, if in too shallow water. ‘This re- sponsibility was the occasion of Philip's being always on deck when they approached the land on either side of the Straits. It was the second night after the fleet had separated that Philip had been summoned on deck as they were nearing the land of Terra del Fuego: he was watching the man _ in the chains heaving the lead, when the officer of the watch reported to him that the admiral's ship was ahead of them instead of astern. Philip made inquiry as to when he passed, but could not discover; he went forward, and saw the admiral’s ship with her poop-hght, which, when the admiral was astern, was not visible, ‘‘ What can be the admiral’s reason for this?” thought Philip; ‘‘ has herun ahead on purpose to make a charge against me of neglect of duty? it must be so. Well, let him do as he pleases; he must wait now till we arrive in India, for I shall not allow him to desert me; and with the Company, I have as much, and I rather think, as a large pro- prietor, more interest than he has. Well, as he has thought proper to go ahead, I have nothing to do but to follow. ‘ Youmay come out of the chains there,’ ” Philip went forward: they were now, as he imagined, very near to the land, but the night was dark and they could not distinguish it. For half an hour they continued their course, much to Philip’s surprise, for he now THE PHANTOM SHIP. thought he could make out the loom of the land, dark as it was. . His eyes were con- stantly fixed upon the Ship ahead, expecting every minute that she would go about ; but no, she continued her course, and Philip fol- lowed with his own vessel. ‘We are very close to the land, sir,” ob- served Vander Hagen, the lieutenant, who was the officer of the watch. ‘So it appears to me: but the admiral is closer, and draws much more water than we do,’’ replied Philip. ‘‘T think I see the rocks on the beam to leeward, sir.” “‘T believe you are all right,” replied Philip: ‘‘I cannot understand this. Ready about, and get a gun ready—they must sup- pose us to be ahead of them, depend upon hee! Hardly had Philip given the order, when the vessel struck heavily on the rocks. Philip hastened aft ; he found that the rudder had been unshipped, and the vessel was im- movably fixed. His thoughts then reverted to the admiral. ‘‘Was he onshore?” He ran forward, and the admiral was still sailing on with his poop-light, about two cables’ length ahead of him. ‘Fire the gun, there,” cried Philip, per- plexed beyond measure. The gun was fired, and immediately fol- lowed up by the flash and report of another gun close astern of them. Philip looked with astonishment over the quarter. and pert- ceived the admiral’s ship close astern to him, and evidently on shore as well as his own. “(Merciful Heaven!’ exclaimed Philip, rushing forward, ‘‘what can this be?” He beheld the other vessel, with her light ahead, still sailing on and leaving them. The day was now dawning, and there was sufficient light to make out the land. The Dort was on shore not fifty yards from the beach, and surrounded by the high and barren rocks ; yet the vessel ahead was apparently sailing on over the land. The seamen crowded on the forecastle, watching this strange pheno- menon ; at last it vanished from their sight. “'That’s the Flying Dutchman, by all that’s holy !” cried one of the seamen, jump- ing off the gun. Hardly had the man uttered these words when the vessel disappeared. Philip felt convinced that it was so, and he walked away aft in a very perturbed state. it must have been his father’s fatal ship which had decoyed them to probable destruc- tion. He hardly knew how to act. -The admiral's wrath he did not wish, just at that moment, to encounter, He sent for the officer of the watch, and having desired him to selecta crew for the boat, out of those men~who had been on deck, and could substantiate his assertions, ordered him to go on board of the admiral, and state what had happened. As soon as the boat had shoved off, Philip turned his attention to the state of his own vessel. The daylight had increased, and Philip perceived that they were sur- rounded by rocks, and had run on shore between two reefs, which extended hai a mile from the mainland. He sounded round his vessel, and discovered that she was fixed from forward to aft, and that without lis ighten- ing her, there was no chance of cetting her off. He then turned to where the admiral's Ship lay aground, and found that, to all ap- pearance, she was in even a worse plight, as the rocks to leeward of her were above the water, and she was much more exposed, should bad weather -come on. Nev er, perhaps, was there a scene more cheerless and aj ppalli ng: a dark intry sea—a sky loaded with heavy clouds—the wind cold and piercing—the whole line of aeae coast one mass of barren rocks, without the slightest appearance of vegetation ; the inland part of the country presented an equally sombre appearance, and the higher points were capped with snow, although it was not yet the winter season. Sweeping the coast with his eye, Philip perceived, not four mile: s to leeward of them (so little progress had they made) the spot where they had eared the commodore. ‘* Surely this has been a judgment on hi for his cruelty,” thought Philip, ‘‘and the prophecy of poor Avenhorn will come true— more bones than his will bleach on those rocks.” Philip turned round again to where the admiral’s ship was on shore, and started back, as he beheld a sight even more ad lread- ful than all that he had viewed—the body of Vander Hagen, the officer sent on board of the admiral, hanging at the main-yardarm. ‘*My God ! is it possibl le?” exclaimed Philip, stamping with sorrow a indignati His boat was returning on board, and Philip awaited it with impatience. The men hastened up the side, and breathlessly in- formed Philip that the admiral, as soon as he had heard the lieutenant’s report, and his ac- knowledgment that he.was officer of the watch, had ordered him to be hung,-and that he had sent them back with a summons for him to repair on board immediately, and that they had seen another rope preparing at the other yardarm. ‘‘But not for you, sir,” cried the men: “that shall never be—you shall not go on board—and we will defend you with our lives.” The whole ship's company joined in this resolution, and expressed their determination to resist the admiral, Philip thanked them THE PHANTOM SHIP. . 83 kindly—stated his intention of not going on board, and requested that they would remain quiet, until it was ascertained what steps the en went down to admiral might take. He th his cabin, to reflect upon W hat plan he should he looked: out of the stern win- proceed. As dows, and perceived the body of the young man still swinging in the wind, he almost wished that he ; in his place, for then there would be an end to his wayward fate: but he thought of Amine, ae felt that for her he wished to live. That the Phantom Ship should have tepoyed HRA’ to destruction was also a source of much painful feeling, and Philip meditated, with his hands pressed to h : temples. ‘It is my destiny,”’ thought he a last, ‘‘and the will of Heaven must be don : we could not have be en SO deceived if Heaven had not permitted it.” And then his thoughts reverted to his present situation. That the admiral had rere ed his powers in taking the life of the officer was undeniable as although his insti Rating gave him the power of life and death, still it was only to be cea ded by the sentence of the court-martial held by the captains sles tte the vessels ¥ the fleet ; he therefore felt himself justified in resistance. But PI ip was troub led with the idea that such resistance mi rht lead to much bloodshed ; ae he was still debating 1ow to act, when they reported to him that there was a boat coming from the admiral’s ship. Philip went upon deck to receive the officer, who stated that it was the admiral’s hat he should immec diately come on board, and that he must consider himself now under arrest, and deliver up his sword: ‘*No! no!” exclaimed the ship's company of the Dort. ‘‘He shall not go on board. We wi ill stand by our captain to the last, “Silence, men ! silence!” cried Philip. ‘’You must be aware, sir,’ said he to the officer, ‘‘ that in the cruel punishment of that innocent young man, the admiral has ex- ceeded his powers : and, much as | regret to see any symptoms of mutiny and in subordina- tion, it must be reme! mbered, that if those in company disobey the orders they have re- ceived, by exceeding them, they not only set the ex en le, but af ean excuse for those who otherwise would be bound to obey them, to do th esame,. ‘Tell the admiral that his mur- der of that innocent man has determined me no longer to consider myself under his authority, and that I will hold myself as well as him answerable to the Company whom we serve, for our conduct. I donot inte nd y go on board and put myself in his power, hat he might gratify his resentment by my fei omery ous death. It is a duty that I owe the se men under my command to preserve my life, that I may, if possible, preserve theirs in this ! h84 THE PHANTOM SHIP. strait: and you may also add, thata little re- flection must point out to him that this is no time for us to war with, but to assist each other with all our energies. We are here, shipwrecked on a barren coast, with provisions insufficient for any lengthened stay, no pros- pect of succour, and little of escape. As the commodore truly prophesied, many more are likely to perish as well as him—and even the admiral himself may be of the number. I shall wait his answer; if he choose to lay aside all animosity, and refer our conduct to a higher tribunal, I am willing to join with him in rendering that assistance to each other which our situation requires—if not, you must perceive, and of course will tell him, that I have those with me who will defend me against any attempt at force. You have my ‘answer, sir, and may return on board.” The officer went to the gangway, but found that none of his crew, except the bow- man, were in the boat; they had gone up to gain from the men of the Dort the true history of what they had but imperfectly heard ; and before they were summoned to return. had re- ceived full intelligence. They coincided with the searnen of the Dort, that the appearance of the Phantom Ship, which had occasioned their present disaster, was a judgment upon the admiral, for his conduct in having so cruelly deserted the poor commodore. Upon the return of the officer with Philip's answer, the rage of the admiral was beyond all bounds. He ordered the guns aft, which would bear upon the Dort, to be double-shott- ed, and fired into her; but Krantz pointed out to him that. they could not bring more guns to bear upon the Dort, in their present situation, than the Dort could bring to bear upon them : that their superior force was thus neutralized, and that no advantage could result from taking sucha step. The admiral \mmediately put Krantz underyarrest, and pro- ceeded to put into execution his insane inten- tions. In this he was, however, prevented by the seamen of the Lion, who neither wished to fire upon their consort nor to be fired at in return. The report of the boat's crew had been circulated through the ship, and the men felt too much ill-will against the admiral, and perceived at the same time the extreme diffi- culty ef their situation, to wish to make it worse, They did not proceed to open mutiny, but they went down below, and when the offi- cers ordered them up, they refused to go upon deck ; and the officers who were equally dis- gusted with the admiral’s conduct, merely informed him of the state of the ship’s com- pany, without naming individuals so as to excite his resentment against any one in par- ticular, : Such was the state of affairs when the sun went down. Nothing had been done on board the admiral’s ship, for Krantz was under arrest, and the admiral had retired ina state of fury to his cabin. In the meantime, Philip and the ship's company had not been idle—they had laid an anchor out astern, and hove taut: they haa started all the water, and were pumping it out, when a boat pulled alongside, and Krantz made his appearance on deck, ‘‘Captain Vanderdecken, I have come to put myself under your orders, if you will re- ceive me—if not, render me your protection ; for, as sure as fate, I should have been hanged to-morrow morning, if I had remained in my own ship. The men in the boat have come with the same intention—that of joining you if you will permit them.” Although Philip would have wished it had been otherwise, he could not well refuse to receive Krantz, under the circumstances of the case. Hewas very partial to him, and to save his life, which certainly was in danger, he would have done muchmore. He desired that the boat’s crew should return ; but when Krantz had stated to him what had occurred on board the Lion, and the crew earnestly begged him not to send them back to almost certain death, which their having effected the escape of Krantz would have assured, Philip reluctantly allowed them to remain. The night was tempestuous, but the wind being now off shore, the water was not rough. The crew of the Dort, under the direction§ of Philip and Krantz, succeeded in lightening the vessel so much during the night, that the next morning they were able to haul her off, and found that her bottom had received no serious injury. It was fortunate for them that they had not discontinued their exertions, for the wind shifted a few hours before sunrise, and by the time that they had shipped their rudder, it came on to blow fresh down the Straits, the wind being accompanied with a heavy swell. The admiral’s ship still lay aground, and apparently no exertions were used to get her off. Philip was much puzzled how to act: leave the crew of the Lion he could not > nor indeed could he refuse, or did he wish to re- fuse the admiral, if he proposed coming on board : but he now made up his mind that it should only be as a passenger, and that hé would himself retain the command, At present he contented himself with dropping his anchor outside, clear of the reef, where he was sheltered bya bluffcape, under which the water was smooth, about a mile distant from where the admiral’s ship lay on shore; and he employed his crew in replenishing his water- casks from a rivulet close to where the ship was anchored. He waited to see if the other vessel got off, being convinced that if she didnot, some communication must soon take place. As soon as the water was complete, he sent one of his boats to the place where the commodore had been landed, having re- solved to take him on beard, if they could find him ; but the boat returned without having seen anything of him, although the men had Clambered over the hills to a considerable distance yn the bauled his vessel off, boats of the admiral’s ee es +1, repassing morning after Philip had they robsery -d that the ot were piesa and second stores > from th , landing her and provisions ; the next day, from the 1 on shore, it was evi I was abandoned, although the boats were still employed in taking articles out of her and tents pitcher lent that she night it biew frésh, and the sea was heavy ; the next morning her masts were gone, and she turned on her broadside : she was evi- }i dently a wreck, and Philip now consulted with Krantz how to act. To leave the crew of the Lion on shore was_impossible : they must all perish when the Winter set in upon such a desolate coast. On the whole, it was con- sidered advisable that the first communication should come from the other party, and Philiy resolved to remain quietly at anchor. It was very plain that there was no longer any subordination among the crew of the Lion, who were to be seen, in the daytime, climbing over the rocks in every direction, and at night, when their large fires were lighted, carousing and drinking. ‘This waste of provisions was a subject of much vexation to Philip. He had not more than sufficient for his own crew, and he took it for granted that, as soon what they had taken on Shore should be expended, the crew of the Lion would ask to be received on board of the Dort. For more than a week did affairs continue in this state, when one morning a boat was seen pulling towards the ship, and in the stern- Sheets Philip recognized the officer who had been sent on board to put him under arrest. as When the officer came on deck, he took off his hat to Philip. “You do, then, acknowledge me as in command,” observed Philip. Yes, sir, most certainly; you were second.in command, but now you are first— for the admiral is dead."’ Dead !’* exclaimed Philip; ‘and how ?"’ ; ‘* He was found dead ot the beach, und a hich cliff, and the body the commoc ee Was in his arms; inde oe they were both grappled fogether. It is supposed that in his walk up tothe top of the hill, which he used to take every day, to see if any vessels might be in the Straits, he fell in with the commo- THE PHANTOM SHIP. 85 2 dore—that they had come to contention, and had both fallen over the precipice together. No one saw the meeting, but they must have fallen over the rocks, as the bodies are dread- fully mangled.” 8 On inquiry, Philip ascertained that all chance of-saving the Lion had been lost after the second night, when she had beat in her larboard streak, and six feet water in the hold ; that the crew had been very insubor- dinate, and had consumed almost all the spirits ; and that not only all the sick had already perished, but also many others who had either fallen over the rocks, when they were intoxicated. orhad been found dead in the morning from their exposure during the night. ‘Then the poor commodore’s prophecy has been fulfilled !’’ observed Philip to Krantz. ‘* Many others, and even the admiral himself, have perished with him—peace be with them ! And now let us get away from this horrible place as soon as possible.” Philip then gave orders to the officer to collect his men, and the provisions that re- mained, for immediate embarkation. Krantz followed soon after with all the boats, and before night everything was on board. The bodies of the admiral and commodore were buried where they lay, and the next morning the Dort waS under weigh, and with a slant- ing wind was laying a fair course through the Straits, } i 1 I ) CHAPTER XIX. IT appeared as if their misfortunes were to cease, after the tragical death of the two commanders. In a few days the Dort had passed through the Straits of Magellan, and was Sailing in the Pacific Ocean, with a blue sky and quiet sea. The ship’s company re- and the ves- the duty was covered their health and spirits, sel being now well manned, carried on with cheerfulness, In about a fortnight, they had gained well up on the Spanish coast, but although they had’seen many of thei nhabitants on the beach, they had not fallen in with any ves- ‘longing to the Spaniards. ® Aware that if he met with a Spanish ship of superior force it would attack him, Philip had made every preparation, and had trained his men to the guns. He had now, with the joint crews. of the vessel, a well-manned ship, and the antici- pation of prize-money had made his men very eager to fall in with some Spaniard, which they knew that Philip would capture if he could. Light winds and calms detained them fora month on the coast, when Philip deter- mined upon running for the Isle St. Marie, ; Want Se€iS Dea 86 THE PHANTOM SHIP. where, though he knew it was in possession of the Spaniards, he yet hoped to be able to pro- cure refreshments for the ship’s company, either by fair means or by force. The Dort was, by their reckoning, about thirty miles from the island, and having run in until after dark, they had hove to till the next morning. Krantz was on deck ; he leant over the side, and as the sails flapped to the masts, he at- tempted to define the line of the horizon. It was very dark, but as he watched, he thought that he perceived a light for a moment, and which then disappeared. Fixing his eyes on the spot, he soon made out a vessel, hove to, and not two cables’ length distant. He hastened down to apprise Philip and procure a glass. By the time Philip was on deck, the vessel had been distinctly made out,to be a three-masted zebecque, very low in the water. After a short consultation, it was agreed that the boats on the quarter should be lowered down, and manned and armed without noise, and that they should steal gently alongsice and surprise her. The men were called up, silence enjoined, and in a few minutes the boat's crew had possession of the vessel ; hay- ing boarded her and secured the hatches be- fore the alarm could be given by the few who were on deck. More men were then*taken on board by Krantz, who, as agreed upon, lay to under the lee of the Dort until the day- light madeits appearance. The hatches were then taken off; and the prisoners sent on board of the Dort. There were sixty people on board,—a large number for a vessel of that description. On being interrogated, two of the prisoners, who were well-dressed and gentlemanlike per- sons, stepped forward and stated that the vessel was from St. Mary’s, bound to Lima, with a cargo of flour and passengers; that the crew and captain consisted of twenty-five men, and all the rest who were on board had taken that opportunity of going to Lima. That they themselves were among the pas- sengers, and trusted that the vessel and cargo would be immediately released, as the two nations were not at war. ‘Not at war at home, I :grant,’’ replied Philip, ‘‘but in these seas, the constant ag- gressions of your armed ships compel me to retaliate, and I shall, therefore make a prize of your vessel and cargo. At the same time, as I have no wish to molest private individuals, I will land all the passengers and crew at St. Mary’s, to which place Iam bound in erder to obtain refreshments, which now I shall expect will be given cheerfully as your ransom, so as to relieve me from resorting to force.’’ ‘The prisoners protested strongly against this, but without avail. They then requested leave to ransom the vessel and cargo, offering a larger sum than they both appeared to be worth : but Philip, being short of provisions, refused to part with the cargo, and the Spaniards appeared much disap- pointed at the unsuccessful issue of their re- quest. Finding that nothing would induce him to part with the provisions, they then begged hard to ransom the vessel; and to this, after a consultation with Krantz, Philip gave his assent. ‘The two vessels then made sail, and steered on for the island, then about four leagues distant. Although Philip had not wished to retain the vessel, yet, as they stood in together, her superior speed became so manifest, that he almost repented that he had agreed to ransom her. At noon, the Dort was anchored in the roads, out of gunshot, and a portion of the passengers allowed to go on shore and make arrangements for the ransom of the remainder, while the prize was hauled alongside, and her cargo hoisted into the ship. Towards even- ing, three large boats with live stock and vege- tables, and the sum agreed upon for the ran- som of the zebecque, came alongside; and as soon as one of the boats was cleared, the prisoners were permitted to go on shore in it, with the exception of the Spanish pilot, who, at the suggestion of Krantz, was retained, with a promise of being released directly the Dort was clear of the Spanish seas. A negro slave was also at his own request, allowed to remain on board, much to the annoyance of the two passengers before mentioned, who claimed the man as their property, and in- sisted that it was infraction of the agreement which had been entered into. ‘‘You prove my right by your own words,” replied Philip ; ‘‘I agreed to deliver up all the passengers, but no gropferty; the slave will remain on board.” Finding their endeavours ineffectual, the Spaniards took a haughty leave. The Dort re- mained at anchor that night to examine her rigging, and the next morning they discovered that the zebecque had disappeared, having: sailed unperceived by them during the night. . As soon as the anchor was up and sail made on the ship, Philip went down to his cabin with Krantz, to consult as to their best course. They were followed by the negro slave, who, shutting the door and looking watchfully round, said that he wished to speak with them. His information was most important, but given rather too late. The vessel which had been ransomed, was a govern- ment advice-boat, the fastest sailer the Spaniards possessed. The pretended two passengers were officers of the Spanish navy, and the others were the crew of the vessel. She had been sent down to collect the bullion and take it to Lima, and at the same time towatch for the arriv al of the Dutch fleet, intel- ligence of whose sai iling had been some time bef fore received over! land. When the Dutch fleet made its appearance, she was to “return to Lima with the news, and a Spanish force learnt that some of the supposed casks of flour Cestiemed 2,000 pod dai ibloons each, havine | the ves- sel had now cailed for ima there was no doubt. The reason why ti » Spaniards were SO anxious not to leave the 1 oon board of the Dort, was, that they knew that h yuld disclose what he now had « pilot, he was a man w they could trust, anc better be careful of to meet and cope \ fore he could make seas ; but there was sulted with Krantz they should send for make them acqua ing thata knowl io > whic y had mad to 1g mulate them with the hopes tess. The ship's com- pany heard the intelligence with delight, pro- fessed themselves ready to meet - {] r force, and then by the directions of Philip, the casks were brought up on the quarter-deck, opened, and the bullion taken out. ‘The whole, whe n collec ad, amot 1 to about half a million of dollars, as nearas they could estimate it, and a distribution of the coined money was made from the capstan the next day ; the bars of metal being reserved until they could be sol S and i r value ascertained Foe six weeks Phil worked hi lL up the coast, with rot falling in with any \ l under sail. Notice ha £ advice-boat, as it SEP Pr E and et craft, large and small; was at ancl teries. They had nearly run up 't oast, and Philip had determined that the next day he would stretch across to Batavia when a ship was seen in-shore under a press of sail, running towards Lima. Chase was immediately given, but the water shoaled, and the pilot was asked if they could stand on. He replied in the affirmative, stating that they were now in the shallowest water, and that it was deeper within, The leadsmen was ordered into the cha but at the first heave, the lead-line broke ; athe: was sent for, and the Dort still batted on under a heavy press of sail. Just then, the negroslave went up to Philip, and told him that he had seen the THE PHANTOM uld be detached against it. They further SHIP. 87 pilot W Hy his knife in the phains and that he thought he must have cut the lead-line thiol, o as to oceasion its ae carried away, and told Phil ip not to trust him. The helm was immedi .tely put down ; but as the ship so far wen’r r nnd c} e ft ‘ne » 6g f went round she touched on the bank, dragged, ‘ : ‘ cael eh ee - gain clear ‘Scoundrel !’’ cried eee 7 7 > ry > you cut the lead-line? ‘The W yo 1d has saved us,” i = ] 7 ] Cnn i 1 The Span | down from off the c ry > r ry > Lh gun efo ( d prevented, had buried his knife in ¢] 1 ad C4] UTE 1S K C 4 Ane Cait. OF. Lane Beare): \ 7 7] Fa ‘MVM } to | Ire t f vO! r) cried L as ) : f : h ‘ no } { and flonrichine ; : tCCL nOoOurisnins a 2 } e “ | {1] J a i ] negro dead The pilo was ; 3 ; ; fa ned by the crew, who were partial to t negro, as it was from his in- : : formation that they had becor rich (ey +h } ‘ } > r T 4? et them do y MN him as they please, Se Anns P} : : DALAL MA caALIL } de y ] } 1 tm + ze Ye 5; id | ) Summary justice L ¥ minutes, and lashed the pilot to the negro, and I There was a heavy plunge, and he disappeared aioe the Ly ing y \ of the vessel. Philip now determined to shape his course for Batavia. He was within a few days’ sail of Lima, and had every reason to believe that vessels had be n sent out to intercept him. With a favourable wind he now stood away from the coast, ‘and for three days made a rapid pas : On the fourth, at daylight, two vessels appeared to windward, bearing down upon him. That they were large armed vessels was evident ; and the displagar Spanish ensigns and pennants, as they rounded to, about a mile to windward, soon showed that they were enemies. They proved to be igate of alarger size than the Dort, and ‘The crew of the Dort stowed no alarm at : they clinked their | yt to re- disparity of force doubloons in their pockets ; vowe : turn them to their lawful owners, if they could help it ; and flew with alacrity to ei n Dutch ensign was displayed i eflance, and the two ‘Spanish vessels, again fu ~~ or 1 ‘ir heads towards the Dort, that it lessen their distance, received some J §} raking shot, which somewhat dl s;composed th aor hry ] 1th Atn at 9 eal we | - them, but they rounded to at a cable's length, and commenced the action with great spirit, yeam, and the cor- vette on the bow of Ph ps vessel. After half an hour's determined exchange of broad- sides, the mesa t of the Spanish frigate fell, carrying away with it the maintop-mast ; and this sheen im] peded her firing, The Dort immediately made sail, stood on to the corvette, which she crippled with three or the frigate lying on ; I88 four broadsides, then tacked, and fetched alongside of the frigate, whose lee guns were still impeded with the wreck of the foremast. The two vessels now lay head and stern, within ten feet of each other, and the action recom- menced to the disadvantage of the Spaniard. Ina quarter of an hour, the canvas hanging overside, caught fire from the discharge of the guns, and very soon communicated to the ship, the Dort still pouring in a most de- structive broadside, which could not be ef- fectually returned. After every attempt to extinguish the flames, the captain of the Spanish vessel resolved that both vessels should ‘share the same fate. _He put his helm up, and running her on to the Dorty grappled with her, and attempted to secure the two vessels together. Then raged the conflict ; the Spaniards attempting to pass their grappling-chains so as to prevent the escape of her enemy, and the Dutch en- deavouring to frustrate their attempt. The chains and sides of both vessels were crowded with men fighting desperately ; those struck down falling between the two vessels, which the wreck of the foremast still prevented from coming into actual collision. During this conflict Philip and Krantz were not idle. By squaring the after-yards, and putting all sail on forward, they contrived that the Dort should pay off before the wind with her an- tagonist, and by this manoeuvre they cleared themselves of the smoke which so incom- moded them; and having good way on the two vessels, they then rounded to-so as to get on the other tack, and bring the Spaniard to leeward. This gave them a manifest advan- tage, and soon terminated the conflict. The smoke and flames were beat back on the Spanish vessel—the fire which had communi- cated to the Dort was extinguished—the Spaniards were no longer able to prosecute their endeavours to fasten the two vessels to- gether, and retreated to within the bulwarks of their own vessel; and after great exertions, the Dort -was disengaged, and forged ahead of her opponent, who was soon enveloped in a sheet of flame. The corvette remained a few cables’ length to windward, occasionally firing agun. Philip poured in a broadside, and she hauled down her colours. The action might now be considered at an end, and the object was to save the crew of the burning frigate. The boats of the Dort were hoisted out, but only two of them would swim. One of them was immediately dispatched to the corvette, with orders for her to send all her boats to the assistance of the frigate, which was dene, and thé major part of the surviving crew were saved. For two hours the guns of the frigate, as they were heated by the flames, discharged themselves; and then, the fire THE PHANTOM SHIP. having communicated to the magazine, she blew up, and the remainder of her hull sank lowly and disappeared. Among the prisoners, in the uniform of the Spanish service, Philip perceived the two pretended passengers ; this proving the correctness of the negro’s state- ment. The two men-of-war had been sent out of Lima on purpose to intercept him, an- ticipating, with such a preponderating force, an easy victory. After some consultation with Krantz, Philip agreed that as the corvette was in such a crippled state, and the nations were not actually at war, it would be ad- visable to release her with all the prisoners. This was done, and the Dort again made sail for Batavia, and anchored in the roads three weeks after the combat had taken place. He found the remainder of the fleet, which had been dispatched before them, and had arrived there some weeks, had taken in their cargoes, and were ready to sail for Holland. » Philip wrote his despatches, in which he com- municated to the Directors the events of the voyage ; and then went on shore, to reside at the house of the merchant who had formerly received him, until the Dort could be freighted for her voyage home. CHAPTER XxX. WE must return to Amine, who is seated on the mossy bank where she and Philip con- versed when they were interruped by Schriften, the pilot. Sheisin deep thought, with her eyes cast down, as if trying to recall the past. ‘Alas ! for my mother’s power,” exclaimed she; ‘‘but it is gone—gone for ever! This torment and suspense I cannot bear—those foolish priests too!’’ And she rose from the bank and walked towards her cottage. Father Mathias had not returned to Lisbon. At first he had not found an op- portunity, and afterwards, his debt of grati- tude towards Philip induced him to remain by Amine, who appeared each day to hold more in aversion the tenets of the Christian faith. Many and manywere the consulta- tions with. Father Seysen, many were the exhortations of both the good old men to Amine, who at times, would listen without reply, and at others, argue boldly against them. It appeared to them, that she rejected their religion with an obstinacy as unpardon- able as it was incomprehensible. But, to her; the case was more simple: she refuted to believe, she said, that which she could not understand. She went so far as to acknow- ledge the beauty of the principles, the purity of the doctrine; but when the good priests would enter into the articles of their faith, Amine would either shake her head, or ate41 tempt to turn the conversation. This only increased the anxiety of the good Father Mathias to convert and save the soul of one So young and beautiful; and he now no longer thought of returning to Lisbon, but devoted his wh Amine, who \ wearied by his incessant impor- tunities, almost 16 bathed ie presence. Upon ne. it will not appear sur- prising that Amine rejected a creed so dis- sonant to her wishes and human mind is of that proud nature, that it requires all its humility ye called into action before it will bow, even to the Deity. Amine knew that her mother had pos- sessed superior knowledge, intimacy with unearthly intelligences. She had secr xy } intentinne 7 Intentions. LOC < o> oF VY ~ her practise her art wit! ss, although so young at the time, that could not n recall to mind the mystic preparations by which her mother had succeeded in her wishes ; and it was now that her thoughts were wholly bent upon recovering what she had forgotten, that Father Mathias was horting her to a creed which positively forbadeeven the attempt. The peculiar and awful mission of her husband strengthened bet opinion in the lawfulness of calling in the id of supernatural agencies ; and the argu- ments brought forward by these worthy, but not ove r-talente d, professors of the Chri L creed, had but little effect uzron a mind so g and so decided as that of Amine which, bent as it 1 was upon one rejected with scorn tenets, in proof of they could offer no visib if which would have bound her blindly to believe what appeared to her contrary to common sense. ‘That her mother’s art could 4 ] evidence of z¢s truth she had already shown, and satisfied herself in the effect of the dream . which she had proved upon Philip :—but what proof could th ¥ bring forward ?—Records= which the y Ww ould not permit her to read / “Oh! that I had my mother’s art,” re- peated Ami ne once more as she entered the cottage; ‘‘then would I know where my Philip was at this moment. Oh! for tl black mirror, in which I used to peer at her command, and tell her what passed in array before me. How well do I remember that time—the time of my father’s absence, whe I looked into the liquid*on the palm of my hand, and told her of the Bedouin camp—of the skirmish—the horse without a rider—and the {urban on the sand!" And again Amine fell into deep hangin. “' Yes,- cned she after a time, -‘‘ thou canst assist me, mother pare me in-a dream thy knowledge; thy daughter begs it as a ase Let me think again. The word—what was the word? what was the name of the poudica Fiala > , LHE PHANTOM SHIP. he Oe mn the instruction of ‘ fes, methinks it was Turshoon. mother ! help you r daughter.” ‘Dost thou call upon the Blessed Virgin, my child?” said Father Mathias, who had ntered the room as she pronounced the last Sate “If so, thou dost well, for she may to thee in thy dreams, and strengthen in the true faith.” called upon my own mother, who is in the land of spirits, good father,” replied not, I fear, in Mv ch wd ed for follow- i SF Where Sue known ?”’ re- If the good on : I t world—if she ere she had, a oul to be saved immortal spirit—He who made that will not destroy it because she wor- d as her fath ers did. Her life was good ; why should she be punished for igno- rance of that creed which she never had an opportunity of rejecting: ‘Who shall dispute the will of Heaven, my child? Bethar nkful that you are permitted to be instructed, and to be received into the bosom of the holy church.” Ce ful fo rmany things, but I am wish you a good night.” mines to her room—but not to sieep. Once more did she attempt the cere- — monies used by Bet mother, changing them each time doubtful of her success. Again 1 1 the censer was lighted —the charm essayed ; again the room was filled with smoke as she threw in the various herbs which she had knowledge of, for all the papers thrown aside a th had been carefully col- ‘e directions found as é ‘*’The word ! the word! [I tha —the second word ! H elp me, mother !”’ cried Amine, as she sat by the de of the bed in the room, which was now so fu l of smoke that nothing could ti ngul shed. ‘‘It is of no use,” thought she, at la I sttinge her hands fall at her side; ‘‘T have fsigatten the art. Moti her mother! help me in my dreams this nigh ( 1 ae tye f c . t BM tHe ws I . ” ] The smoke gradually cleared away, and, lifted up her eyes, she perceived inding before her. At first she had been successful in her charm ; it. a igure became more distinct, she perceived that it was Father Mathias, who was looking at her with a severe frown and contracted brow, his arms folded before him. ‘‘ Unholy child ! what dost thou ?” Amine had roused the suspicions of the priests, not only by her conversation, but by several attemps which she had before made to Mother !go recover her lost art ; and on one occasion, in which she had defended it, both Father Mathias and Father Seysen had poured out the bitterest anathemas upon her, or any one who had resort to such practices. ‘The smell of the fragrant herbs thrown into the censer, and the smoke, which afterwards had escaped through the door and ascended the stairs, had awakened the suspicions of Father Mathias, and he had crept up Cail, and entered the room without her perceiving it. Amine at once perceived her danger. Had she been single, she would have dared the priest ; but, for Philip's sake, she de termined to mislead him. ‘‘T do no wrong, father,” replied she, calmly ; ‘‘but it appears not seemly that you should enter the chamber of a young woman during her husband’s absence. I might have been in my bed. It is astrange intrusion. ” “Trou canst not mean this, woman ! My age—my profession—are a sufficient war- ranty,” replied Father Mathias, somewhat confused at this unexpected attack. ‘“‘ Not always, father, if. what I have been told of monks and priests be true,” replied Amine. ‘‘I ask again, why comest thou here into an unprotected woman’s chamber? ”’ ‘‘Because I felt convinced that she was practising unholy arts.”’ ‘‘Unholy arts !—what mean you? Is the leech’s skill unholy? Is it unholy to ad- minister relief to those who suffer?—to charm the fever and the ague, which rack the limbs of those who live in this unwhole- some climate?” ‘‘ All charms are most unholy.’ ‘"When I said charms, ee ae not what you mean ; | simply would have said aremedy. Ifa knowledge of certain powerful herbs, ‘which, properly combined, will form a specific to ease the suffering wretch—an art well known unto my mother, and which I now would fain recall—if that knowledge, or a wish to regain that knowledge, be unholy, then are you correct.” ‘‘T heard thee call upon thy. mother for her help.” “1 did, for she well knew the ingredients ; but I, I fear, have not the knowledge that she had. Is that sinful, good father ?”’ ‘Tis, then, a remedy that you would find ?” replied the priest ; ‘‘I thought that thou didst practise that which is most unlawful.” ‘‘Can the burning of a few weeds be then unlawful? What did you expect to find? Look you, father, at these ashes—they may, with oil, be rubbed into the pores and give relief—but can they do more? What do you expect from them—a ghost ?—a spirit >—like the prophet raised for “the King of Israel?” And Amine laughed aloud. > meant THE PHANTOM SHIP. ‘‘T am perplexed, but not convinced,” replied the priest. ‘‘T, too, am perplexed and notconvinced,” responded Amine, scornfully. ‘‘I cannot satisfy myself that a man of your discretion could really suppose that there was mischief in burning weeds; nor am I convinced that such was the occasion of your visit at this hour of the night to a lone woman’s chamber. There may be natural charms more powerful than those you call supernatural. I pray you, father, leave this chamber. It is not seemly Should you again presume, you leave the house. I thought better of you. In future, I will not be left at any time alone.’ This attack of Amine’s upon the reputation of the old priest was too severe. Father Mathias immediately See the room, saying, as he went out, ‘‘ May God forgive you for your false suspicions Gad great injustice ! I came here for the cause I have stated, and no more.” ‘“Yes!” soliloquized Amine, as the door closed, ‘‘I know you did; but I must rid myself of your unwelcome company. I will have no spy upon my actions—no meddler to thwart me in my will. In your zeal you have committed yourself, and I will take the advan- tage you have given me. Is not the privacy of a woman’s chamber to be held sacred by you sacred men? In return for assistance in distress—for food and shelter—you would becomea spy. How grateful, and how worthy f the creed which you profess!’’’ Amine opened her dcor as soon as she had removed the censer, and summoned one of the women of the house to stay that night in her room, stating that the priest had entered her cham- ber, and she did not like the intrusion. ‘‘ Holy father! is it possible?” replied the woman. Amine made no reply, but went to bed; but Father Mathias heard all that passed as he paced the room below. The next day he called upon Father Seysen, and communicated to him what had occurred, and the false sus- picions of Amine. ‘“You have acted hastily,” replied Father Seysen, ‘‘ to visit a woman’s chamber at such an hour of the night.” ‘““I had my suspicions, good Father Se eysen And she will have hers. and beautiful.’ ‘‘ Now, by the blessed Virgin—— ‘‘T absolve you, good Mathias,” replied Father Seysen, ‘‘but still, if known, it would occasion much scandal to our church.” And known it soon w e for the woman who had been summoned by Amine did not fail to mention the circumstance; and Father Mathias found himself everywhere so coldly She is young »received, and, besides, so ill at ease with him- self, that he very soon afterwards quitted the country, and returned to Lisbon ; angry with himself for his ee but. still more angry with Amine for her unjust suspicions. CHAPTER THE cargo of Philip sailed a AXI, vas soon ready, and 1 arriwvpad ’ oigt nd arrived at Amsterdam wi ith- dLEL out any further adventure. T hat he reached his cottage, and was received with delight by Amine, need hardly } id. SI ie had been expecting him; for the two ships of the squadron, Which Bi id sailed on ‘his arrival at Batavia, ese. 1 had charve of de patches, had at) course, carried letters to her from Philip, ‘the first letters she had ever r ceived from him during his voyages. Si weeks after the letters, Philip himself made his appearance, and Amine was happy. The Directors were, of course, hi: -d with Philip's conduct, and he was eee to the command of a large arme ship, which was to proceed to India in the spring, and one- third of which, according to agreement, was purchased by Philip out of the funds which he had in the hands of the Company. He had now five months of quiet and repose to pass away, previous to his once more trusting to the elements; and this time, as it wa agreed, he had to make arrangements on board for the reception of Amine. Amine narrated to Philip what had oc- curred between her and the priest Mathias, and by what means she > had rid herself of his unwished for surveillance ‘*And were you practi sing your mother’s rts, Amine?” ‘‘ Nay, not practising them, for I could not recall them, but I was trying to recover them.” ‘““Why so, Amine? this must not be. It is, as the good father said, ‘ unholy.’ Promise me you will abandon them, now and for ever.” “Tf that act be unholy, Philip, so is your mission. You would deal and co-ope eu with the spirits of another world—I would « lo no more. Abandon your terrific mission—aban- don your seeking after disembodied spirits, stay at home with your Amine, and s she will cheerfully comply with your request,’ ‘‘Mine is an awful summons from the Most High.” ‘“‘'Then the Most High permits you munion with world ?” ‘‘ He does ; not gainsay it, very thought.”’ ‘‘If then He permits to one, He will to 6 " com- those who are not of this you know even the priests do although they shudder at the THE PHANTOM SHIP. gI another ; nay, aught that I can do is but with His permissi on, “Yes, Amine, so does He permit evilto stalk on the earth, but H e€ countenances it not,” “‘ He countenances your seek ng oo your doomed father, your attempts to t him ; nay, more, He commands it. If you are thus permitted, why may not I be? I am your wife, a portion of [ yourself; and when I am left over a desolate hearth, while you pursue ve r cour Ls nger, may not ] ADD 1] ] oO to the ] ] Ley xg a my burden. and which at the me time, cal il ULUCiI, AllG \ A, AL Ui Lii¢ Lithé can It NO ivine creature ? Pid. | attem ipt to practise tl vil purposes, it were just to ly them me, and wrong to continue them ; but | ld but follow in the steps of I husband, and seek, as he seel Ss, with -a food intent.” eI it is cont to our faith.” ‘" Have the priests di red. your mission contrary to their faith? or, if t 1ey have, have 1 : } . they not been convinced to the contrary, and been awed to silence? But why argue, my dear Philij hall I not now be with you? and while you I will attempt no more. You have my promise ; but if separated, I will not say but I shall then require of the invisible a knowledge of my husband's motions, when in aot of the invis a also.” ‘The y bse iP ssed 1 pidly away, for it was passed b yy Phi lip in onic and happ yiness : the spring car on, the vessel was to be fitted ne and Philip and Amine fern. e Utrecht was the name of the vessel to 1 he had been appointed, a ship of 400 5, newly launched, and pierced for twenty- repaired to Am- ton four guns. ‘Two more months passed away, during which Philip superintended the fitting ald loading of the vessel, assisted by his fa- vourite Krantz, who served inher as first mate. Every convenience and comfort that Philip could think of was prepared for Amine ; and in the month of May he started, with orders to stop af Gambroom and Ceylon, run down the Straits of Sumatra, and from thence to force his a into the China seas, the Com- pany having every reason to expe ct from the Portuguese the most dete pened opposition to the attempt. His ship’s company was nu- merous, and he had a small detachment of soldiers on board to assist the supercargo, who carried out many thousand dollars to make purchases at ports in China, where their goods might not be appreciated. Every care had been taken in the equipment of the vessel, which was perhaps the finest, the best manned, and freigt ited with the most valuable cargo, which had ever been sent out by the India Company.92 The Utrecht sailed with a flowing sheet, and was soon clear of the English Channel ; the voyage promised to be auspicious, fa- vouring gales bore them without accident to within a few hundred miles of the Cape of Good Hope, when, for the first time, they were becalmed. Amine was delighted : in the evenings she would pace the deck with Philip ; then all was silent, except the splash of the wave as it washed against the side of the ves- sel—all was in repose and beauty, as the bright southern constellations sparkled over their heads. ‘‘ Whose destinies can be in these Stars, which appear not to those who inhabit the northern regions?’’ said.Amine, as she cast her eyes above, and watched them in their brightness ; ‘‘and what does that falling me- teor portend? what causes its rapid descent from heayen ?”’ ‘‘Do you then put faith in stars, Amine?” “In Araby we do; and why not? They were not spread over the sky to give light— for what then ?”’ ‘“To beautify the world. They have their uses, too.” oe ‘“Then you agree with me--they have their uses, and the destinies of men are there concealed. My mother was one of those who could read them well. Adas! for me they are a sealed book.”’ ‘“Ts it not better so, Amine ?.”’ ‘‘ Better !—say better to grovel on this earth with our selfish, humbled race, wander- ing in mystery and awe, and doubt, when we we can communicate with the intelligences above! Does not the soul leap at her ad- mission to confer with superior powers? Does not the proud heart bound at the feel- ing that its owner is one of those more gifted than the usual race of mortals? Is it not a noble ambition? ”’ ‘« A dangerous one—most dangerous.” ‘And therefore most noble. They seem as if they would speak to me: look at yon bright star—it beckons to me.”’ For some time, Amine’s eyes were raised aloft ; she spoke not, and Philip- remained at her side. She walked to the gangway of the vessel, and looked down upon tlie placid wave, pierced by the moonbeams far below the surface. “And does your imagination, Amine, conjure up» a race of beings gifted to live beneath that deep blue wave, who sport amidst the coral rocks, and braid their hair with pearls?” said Philip, smiling. ‘‘T know not, but it appears to me that it would be sweet to live there. You may call to mind your dream, Philip: I was then, ac- cording to your description, one of those same beings.” MH“ THE PHANTOM SHIP. ’ ‘‘You were,” replied Philip, thoughtfully. ‘‘ And yet I feel as if water would reject me, even if the vessel were to sink. In what manner this mortal frame of mine may be re- solved into its elements, I know not; but this I do feel, that it never will become the sport of, or be tossed by, the mocking waves. But come in, Philip, dearest ; it is late, and the decks are wet with dew.” When the day dawned, the look-out man at the masthead’ reported that he perceived something floating on the still surface of the water, on the beam of the vessel. Krantz went up with his glass to examine, and made it out to be a small boat, probably cut adrift from some vessel. As there was no appear- ance of wind, Philip permitted a boat to be sent to examine it, and after a long pull, the seamen returned on board, towing the small boat astern. “There is a body of a man in it, sir, said the second mate to Krantz, as he gained the gangway ; ‘‘ but whether he is quite dead or not, I cannot tell.” Krantz reported this to Philip, who was at that time sitting at breakfast with Amine, in the cabin, and then proceeded to the gang- way, to where the body of the man had been already handed up by the seamen. The surgeon, who had been summoned, declared that life was not yet extinct, and was ordering him to be taken below, for recovery, when to their astonishment, the man turned as he lay, Sat up, and ultimately rose upon his feet and staggered to a gun, when, aftera time, he appeared to be fully recovered. In reply to questions put to him, he said that he was in a vessel which had been upset in a squall, that he had time to cut away the small boat astern, and that all the rest of the crew had perished. He had hardly made this answer, when Philip, with Amine, came out of the cabin, and walked up to where the seamen were crowded round the man; the seamen retreated so as to make an opening, when Philip and Amine, to their astonishment and horror, recognizec their old acquaintance, one-eyed pilot Schriften. ‘‘He! he! Captain Vanderdecken,. I believe—glad to see you in command, and you too, fair lady.” Philip turned away with a chill at his heart ; Amine’s eye flashed as she surveyed the wasted form of the wretched creature. After a few seconds she turned round and fol- lowed Philip into the cabin, where she found him with his face buried in his hands. ‘‘Courage, Philip, courage !” said Amine ; ‘‘]t was indeed a heavy shock, and I fear me, forebodes evil ; but what then? it is our des- tiny.” ‘“Itis ! it ought perhaps to be mine,” re- ,LHE PHA) plied Philip, raising his head: ‘but you, Amine, why should you be a partner - 1am your partner, Philip, in life and in death. I would not die first, oD because it would grieve you ; but your death will be the signal for mine, and Iwill join you quickly.”’ f Surely, Amine, you would not your own?” ‘ " a 5! and require but one moment for this little steel to do its duty.” a San ! Amine, that is not lawful—our religion forbids it.” ‘“It may do so, t I cannot tell why. I came into this w ta without my own con- Sent ; surely I may leave it without asking the leave of priests! But let that pass for the present: what will you do with that Schriften ?” ‘* Put him on shore at the Cape ; I cannot bear the edious wretch ‘S presence. Did you 10t feel the chill, as before, when you ap- ached him?” ‘““I did—I knew that he was there before I saw him ; but still I know not why, I feel as if I would not send him away.” "Why not ?” ‘‘T believe it is because I am inclined to brave destiny, not to quail at it. The wretch can do no harm.” ‘“Yes, he can—much: he can render the ship’s company mutinous’ and disaf- fected ; besides, he attempted to deprive me hasten ; of my relic.’ ¢ “I almost. wish he had done so: then must you have discontinued this wild searc : Nay, sae say not so; it is my duty, and I have taken my solemn oath : ‘But this Schriften—you cannot well put him ashore at the Cape ; being a Company’s officer, you might send him home if found a ship there homeward bound were I you, { would let de tiny work. He is woven in w ith ours, that iscertain. Courage Philip, and fét him remain.” ‘Perhaps you are aight, retard, but cannot escape, my i intended fate.’ ‘Let him remain, then, and let him do his worst. ‘Treat him with kindness—who kno vs what we may gain from him?” ‘ETHe. Seria: Amine; he has been my Amine: I may whatever may be enemy without cause. Who can tell ?—per- haps hie may become my friend.” ‘And if wot,” you wiil have done your duty. Send for him now.” ‘Nb, not now—to-morrow ; in the mean time, I will order a every comfort. ‘We are talkir as if he were one of us, which I feel that He a not,’ replied Amine; but still, mundane or not, we cannot but ofier mundanekindness, and what this world, VTOM SHIP. 93 or rather what this ship, affords. I long now to talk ¥ with him, to see if I can produce any effect Bees his icelike fr: ume. Shall I make love to the ghoul?” And Amine burst into a bitter ie xh. Here the conversation dropped, but its substance The next morning, ving reported that Schriften was apparently quite recovered, he was summoned into the cabin. His frame was wasted aay to.a_ skeleton, but his motions and his guage were as sharp and petulant as ever. ‘““T have sent for you, Schriften, to know if there is anything that I can do to make you more comfortable, Is there anything that you want?” ‘“Want ?” replied Schriften, eyeing first Philip and then Amine. “He! he! I think I want filling out a little.” “That you will, I trust, in good time ; my steward has my orders to take care of you.” ‘‘Poor man,” said Amine, with a look of pity, ‘‘how much he must have suffered! Is notythis the man who brought you the letter from the Company, P hilip ? : * He! he] yes | Not very welcome, was it, lady ?” ‘“No, my good fellow; it’s never a wel- come message to a wife that sends her husband away from her. But that was not your fault.” ‘‘If a husband will go to sea and leave a handsome wife, when he has, as they say, plent y of meney to live upon on shore, he! iS not disregarded. surgeon ha ” ff Ves. replied A: ‘« Better give it up. —eh, ca ‘‘I must finish this voyage, at all events, replied Philip to Amine, ‘‘ whatever | may do afterwards. I have suffered much, and so have you, Schriften. You have been twice wrecked ; now tell me, what do you wish to do? Go home in the first ship, or go ashore at the e /Ape, or——"’ ‘Or do anythin —he! he!’ ‘“Not so. _ If you prefer sailing with me, as I know you are a good seaman, you shall have your rating and pay of ’ pilot_—th: it is, if you choose to follow my fortunes.” ' ‘*Follow?—Must follow. Yes! I'll sail with you, Mynheer Vanderdecken, I wish to be always near you—he ! he!” “Be it so, then; aS soon as you are strong again, you will go to your duty; till then, I will see that you want for nothing.” ‘“Nor I, my good fellow. Come to me if you do, and I will be your help,”’ said say that,’ All folly, all madness ptain ?”’ ce g, sol get out of this ship94 Amine. ‘‘ You have suffered much ; but we will do what we can to make you forget it.” “Very good!—very kind!” replied Schrifteh, survéying the lovely face and figure of Amine. After a time, shrugging up his shoulders, he added—‘‘A pity ! BEES; itis! Must be, though.” “Farewell!” continued Amine, holding out her hand to Schriften. The man took it, and a cold shudder went to her heart; but she, expecting such a result would not appear to feel it. Schriften held her hand for a second or two in his own, looking at it earnestly, and then at Amine's face. ‘So fair—so good! Mynheer Van- derdecken, I thank you! Lady, may Heaven preserve you!’ Then squeezing the hand of Amine, which hehad not released, Schriften hastened out of the cabin. So great was the sudden icy shock which passed through Amine’s frame when Schriften pressed her hand, that when with difficulty she gained the sofa, she fell upon it. After remaining with her hand pressed against her heart for some time, during which Philip bent over her, she said, ina breathless voice, ‘That creature must be supernatural—I am sure of it—I am now convinced. Well,” continued she, after a pause of some little while, ‘‘all the better, if we can make hima friend ; and if Ican I will.” “But think you, Amine, that those who are not of this world have feelings of kindness, gratitude, and ill-will, as we have? Can they be made subservient? ” ‘‘Most surely so. If they have ill-witl— as we know they have—they must also be en- dowed with the better feelings. Why are there good and evil intelligences? They may have disencumbered themselves of their mior- tal clay, but the soul must be the same. A soul without feeling were no soul at all. The soul is active in this world, and must be so in the next. If angels can pity, they must fee like us. If demons can vex, they must feel like us. Our feelings change, then why not theirs? Without feelings, there were no heaven, no hell.. Here our souls are confined, cribbed, and overladen—borne down by the heavy flesh by which they are, for the time, polluted ; but the soul that has winged its flight from clay is, I think, not one jot more pure, more bright, or more perfect, than those within ourselves. Can they be made subser- vient, say you! Yes, they can; they can be forced, when mortals possess the means and power. The evil-inclined may be forced to good, as well astoevil. It is not the good and perfect spirits that we subject byart, but those that are inclined to wrong. It is! over them that mortals have the power. Our arts have no power over the perfect spirits, but THE PHANTOM SHIP. over those which are ever working evil, and which are bound to obey and do good, if those who master them require it.” ‘You still resort to forbidden arts, Amine. Is that right ?” ‘Right ! If we have power given to us, it is right to use it.” ‘Yes, most certainly, for good ; but not for evil.” “Mortals in power, possessing nothing but what is mundane, are answerable for the use of that power ; so those gifted by superior means are answerable as they employ those means. Does the God above make a flower to grow, intending that it should not be gathered ! No! neither does he allow super- natural aid to be given, if he did not intend that mortals should avail themselves of it.”’ As Amine’s eyes beamed upon Philip's, he could not for the moment subdue the idea rising in his mind, that she was not like other mortals ; and he calmly observed, ‘‘Am I sure, Amine, that I am wedded to one mortal as myself?” “Yes ! yes! Philip, compose yourself, I am but mortal ; would to Heaven I were not. Would to Heaven I were one of those who could hover over you, watch you in all your perils, save and protect you in this your mad career; but I am but a poor weak woman, whose heart beats fondly, devotedly for you— who for you would dare all and everything— who, changed in her nature, has become courageous and daring from her love—and who rejects all creeds which would prevent her from calling upon heaven, or earth, or hell, to assist her in retaining with her, her soul's existence !” ‘‘ Nay! nay! Amine,—say not you reject the creed. Does not this,’’—and Philip pulled from his bosom the holy relic,—-‘‘does not this, and the message sent by it, prove our creed is true?” ‘‘T have thought much of it, Philip. At first, it startled me almost into a belief; but even your own priests helped to undeceive me. They would not answer you ; they would have left you to guide yourself ; the message and the holy word, and the wonderful signs given, were not in unison with their creed, and they halted. May I not halt, if they did? The relic may be as mystic, as powerful as you describe ; but the agencies may be false and wicked—the power given to it may have fallen into wrong hands; the power remains the same, but itis applied to uses not inten ded.” “The power, Amine, can only be exer- cised by those who are friends to Him who died upon it.”’ ‘Then is it no power at all; or if a power, not half so great as that of the arch- fiend ; for his can work for.good and evilboth. not well 3ut on this point, dear Philip, we do agree, nor can we convince each other. You have been taught in one way, I another. ‘That which our childhood has im- bibed—which has grown up witl - growth, and strengthened with our year is not to be €radicated. I have seen my mother work great charms, and succeed. You have knelt to priests. I blame not, you !—blame not then, your Amine. We both m |—I trust, « do well.’’ wit a life of innocence and purity were all Amine would that were required, of future bliss.” my **T think it is ; and think , it is my creed. There are many créeds, who shall say Which is the true one? And what matters it?—they all have the same end in view—a future Heaven.” ‘True Amine, true,” replied Philip, pac- ing the cabin thoughtfully; ‘‘and yet our priests say otherwi ** What is the basis of ‘‘ Charity and g “ Does charity cx those who have lived and died worshipping Being, after their best en knowledge?” y0d-will.” mdemn to eternal misery have never heard this-creed—who and proceeded on her voyage, anc fter two } ie = ] : cc months of difficult navigation, « wnchor ol Gambroon. During this tim had been attempts She to gain the good- will of Schriften. had often conversed with him on deck, and had done him every kindness, and had overcome that fear which his near approach had generall Schriften gradually unce: in her ising’ | re é Lp] pe kindness, and at last to “be pleased wit Amine’s comp To Philip he was at times civil phe courteous, but not always; but to Amine he was always de ferent. Hislanguage was mao = she could not prevent his chuckling laugh, Hie occasional ‘‘ ae, he from breaking forth. Bat Sab they anchore od at Gambroon, he was on such ter ms with h her, that he would Becasione lly come into the cabin: and, although he would not sit down, ’ ‘ to Amine for a few minutes, and While the vessel lay at anchor W oulc d ti lk then depart. at Gambroon, Schriften one evening walked up to Amine, who was sitting on the poop. ‘‘Tady,” said he, after a pause, ‘‘ yon ship sails for your own country in a few days.” ‘*So I am told,” replied Amine. “Will you take the advice of one who Wishes you well? Return in that vessel—go LHE PHANTOM SHIP. 95 back to your own cottage, and st ay there till your husband comes to you once more.” ‘Why is this advice given?” ‘* Because | danger—nay, per- haps death, a cruel death—to one I would not harm.” . : forebode “To me !"’ replied Amine fixing her eyes upon schriften, and meeting his piercing gaze. “Ves, to you. some people futurity further thar Lol “Not if they are “€¥ eS. they are not, I do see that w not de sstiny further “Who can ay ert it? Ifl take your coun- still was it my destiny to take your counsel. can see mortal,’” replied Amine. mortal, But, mortal or h ich I would avert. Tempt sel, If I take it not, still it we As my destiny.” ‘‘ Well, then, avoid what threatens you,’ ‘“‘T fear not, yet do r tl hank you. Tell me, Schriften, hast thou not thy interwoven with that of my that thou hast.” ‘Why think you so, For many reasons : twice you have sum- moned hiw—twice have you been wrecked, and miractlously reappeared and recovered. fate some way husband? I feel lady ?” You know, too, of his mission—that is evi- dent.’ ** But proves nothing.” ‘Ves lit proves mucli h you knew what was suppose to him alone.’ for it proves that -d to be known but ‘Tt was knov wn to you, anc | holy men de- bated on it,’’ replied Schriften with a sneer. ‘* How knew you that, again?” ‘*He! he!” replied Sel hriften, " Forgive me, lady ; I meant not to affront you. ‘‘ You cannot deny that you are connected mysteriously and incomprehensively with this mission of my husband's. ‘Tell me, is it, as he believes, true and holy?” as he thinks that it is true and holy, it become 5:50; Vhy, then, do you appear his enemy?” ‘Tam not As énemy, fair lady.” You are not his ene amy ? —why, then, did you once attempt to deprive him of the mystic relic by which his mission is to be accom- (é lished? ‘*T would which ve that I is further search -for must not be told, Does that am his ens ? Wouldit not be should remain on shore with nce and you, than be crossing the wild seas on this mad search? Without the relic it is not to be accomplished. It were a kindness, then, to take it from him.” Amine answered not, for she was lost in thought. “Tad. ‘TI wish you well, pre vent ] ft ILY compe continued Schriften, after a time, For your husband, I care96 not, yet do I wish him no harm, Now, hear me ; if you wish for your future life to be one of ease and peace— if you wish to remain long in this world with the husband of your choice, of your first and warmest love—if you wish that he should die in his bed ata good old age, and that you should close his eyes, with children's tears lamenting, and their smiles reserved to cheer their mother—all this I see, and can promise in futurity, if you will take that relic from his bosom and give it up to me. Butif you-would that he should suffer more than man has ever suffered, pass his whole life in doubt, anxiety, and pain, until the. deep wave receive his corpse, then let him keep it. If you would that your own days be shortened, and yet those remaining be long in human sufferings—if you would be separated from him, and die a cruel death—then let him keep it. I can read futurity, and such must be the destiny of both. Lady, consider well ; I must leave you now. ‘To-morrow, I will have your answer.” Schriften walked away and left Amine to her own reflections. For a long while she repeated to herself the conversation and de- nunciations of the man, whom she was now convinced was not of this world, and was in some way or another deeply connected with her husband's fate. ‘‘’To me he wishes well, no harm to my husband, and would prevent his search. Why would he?—that he will not tell. He has tempted me, tempted memost strangely. How easy ’twere to take the relic whilst Philip sleeps upon my bosom—but how treacherous! And yet a life of competence and ease, a smiling family, a good old age; what offers to a fond and doting wife! And if not, toil, anxiety, and a watery grave; and forme! Pshaw! that’s nothing. And yet to die separated from Philip, is that nothing? Oh, no, the thought is dreadful.—I do believe him. Yes, he has foretold the future, and told it truly. Could I persuade Philip? No! I know him well; he has vowed, and is not to be changed. And yet, if the relic were taken without his knowledge, he would not have to blame himself. Who then would he blame? Could I deceive him? I, the wife of his bosom, tella lie? No! no! it must not be. Come what will, it is our destiny, and I am resigned. I would that Schriftent had not spoken! Alas! we search into futurity, and then would fain retrace our steps, and wish we had remained in ignorance.” ‘“What makes you so pensive, Amine?” said Philip, who some time afterwards walked up to where she was seated. Amine replied not at first. ‘ Shall I tell him all?” thought she. ‘‘It is my only chance—I will.” Amine repeated the con- versation between her and Schriften, Philip LHE PHANTOM SHIP. made no reply; he sat down by Amine and took her hand. Amine dropped her head upon her husband's shoulder. ‘‘ What think you, Amine?” said Philip, after a time. ‘“T could not steal your relic, Philip; per- haps you'll give it to me.”’ ‘‘And my father, Amine, my poor father —-his dreadful doom to be eternal! He who appealed, was permitted to appeal to his son, that that dreadful doom ‘might be averted. Does not the conversation of this man prove to you that my mission is not false? Does not his knowlege of it strengthen all? Yet, why would he prevent it?” eontinued Philip, musing. ‘“Why, I cannot tell, Philip, but I would fain prevent it. I feel that he has power to read the future, and has read aright.” ‘‘ Be it so; he has spoken, but not plainly. He has promised me what I have long been prepared for—what I vowed to Heaven to suffer. Already have I suffered much, and am prepared to suffer more. I have long looked upon this world as a pilgrimage, and (selected as I have been) trust that my reward will be in the other. But, Amine, you are not bound by oath to Heaven, you have made no compact. He advised youto go home. He talked of a cruel death. Follow his advice and avoid it.”’ : ‘“T am not bound by oath, Philip; but hear me; as I hope for future bliss, I now bind myself.” ‘* Hold, Amine! ”’ “Nay, Philip, you cannot prevent me; for if you do now, I will repeat it when you are absent. A cruel death were a charity to me, for I shall not see you suffer. Then may I never expect future bliss, may eternal misery be my portion, if I leave you as long as fate permits us to be together. I am yours—your wife ; my fortunes, my present, my future, my all, are embarked with you, and destiny may do its worst, for Amine will not quail. I have no recreant heart to turn aside from danger or from suffering. In that one point, Philip, at least you chose, you wedded well.”’ “hilip raised her hand to his lips in silence, and the conversation was not resumed. The next evening, Schriften came up again to Amine. ‘‘ Well, lady?” said he. “Schriften, it cannot be,” replied Amine; “yet do I thank you much.” ‘‘Lady, if he must follow up his mission, why should you?” ‘Schriften, Iam his wife—his for ever, in this world, and the next. You cannot blame ere ‘“ No," replied Schriften, ‘I do not blame, I admire you. I feel sorry. But, after all, what is death? Nothing. He! he!” andSchriften hastened away, and left Amine to herself. SEAPTER xx. THE Utrecht sailed from Gambroon, touched at Ceylon, and proceeded on her voyage in the Eastern seas. Schriften still remained on board; but since his last conversation with Amine he had kept aloof, and appeared to avoid both her and Philip ; still there was not, as before, any attempt to make the ship's 1 Som: any disaffected, nor did he usual taunts and sneers. he had made to Amine her and Philip ; indulge in his The communication had also its effect upon they were more pensive and thoughtful; each attempted to conceal their gloom from other; and when they em- braced, it was with the mournful patie that perhaps it was an indulgence they would soon be deprived of: at the same time, they steeled their hearts to endurance, and prepared to meet the worst. Krantz wondered at the change, but of course could not account for it. The Utrecht was not far from the Andaman isles, when Krantz, who had watched the barometer, came in early one morning and called Philip. ‘"'We have every prospect of a typhoon, sir,’ said Krantz; ‘‘ the glass and the weather are both threatening.”’ “Then we must make all snug. down topgallant yards and small rectly.. We will strike topgallant will be out in a minute.”’ Philip hastened on deck. smooth, but already the moanin gave notice o “ iching storm. The Vacuum in th ae was to be filled up, and the convuls terrible ; a white 1 +h Loe Send sails di- masts.< =i The sea was gz of the wind ne appro ?} about ‘ lA YT n wouid de haze gathered pe thicker and thicker; the men were turned up, everything of weight Was sent below, and the guns were secured. Nowc came a blast of wind which careened the ship, passed over, and in a minute she righted as before ; then another and another, fiercer and fiercer still. The sea, although smooth, at last appeared white as a sheet with foam, as the typhoon swept along in its impetuous career ; it burst upon the vessel, Which bowed down to her gunwale and there remained : in a quarter of an hour the hurri- cane had passed over, and the vessel was re- lieved ; but the sea had risen, and the wind Was strong. In another hour the blast again came, more wild, more furious than the first, the waves were dashed into their faces, tor- rents of rain descended, the ship was thrown on her beam ends, and thus rem ae till the Wild blast had passed away, 4 to sweep destr 110. tion far beyond them, eetce | paisa ita tumultuous angry sea, LHE PHANTOM SHIP. 97 ‘© Tt is nearly gver, I believe, sir,” said Krantz...“ His clearing up a little to wind- ward.” ‘We have had the worst of it, I believe,” said Philip. ‘*No ! there is worse to come,’”’ voice near to Philip. said a low It was Schriften who spoke ‘“A vessel to windward scudding before the gale,” cried Krantz. Philip looked to windward, and in the spot where ao horizon was clearest, he saw a vessel under topsails and foresail, standing right down. ‘‘ “She is alarge vessel; bring me my glass.” The telescope was brought from the cabin, but before Philip could use it, a haze had again gathered up to windward, and the vessel was not to be seen. “Thick again,” observed Philip, as he shut in his telescope ; ‘‘ we must look out for that vessel, that she does not run too close to us: “She has seen us, no doubt, sir, Krantz. After a few minutes the typhoon again raged, and the atmosphere was of a murky gloom. Itseemed as if some heavy fog had been hurled along by the furious wind ; nothing was to be distinguished except the ” said white foam of the sea, and that not the distance of half a cable's length, where it was lost in one dark grey mist., The storm- staysail, yielding to the force of the wind, was rent into strips, and flogged and cracked with a noise even louder than the gale. The furious blast again blew over, and the mist cleared up alittle. “ Ship on the weather beam close aboard of us,’ cried one of the men. Krantz and Philip sprang upon the gun- wale, and beheld the large ship bearing right down upon them, not three cables’ length distant. ‘Helm up! she does not see us, and she will be aboard of us!’ cried Philip. ‘‘ Helm I say, hard up, quick !”’ The helm was put up, as the men, per- ceiving their imminent danger, climbed upon the guns to look if the vessel altered her course; but no—down she came, and the head-sails of the Utrecht having been car- ried away, to their horror they perceived that she would not answer her helm, and pay off as they required. . Ship ahoy!” roared Philip through but the gale drove the sound back. ‘Ship ahoy !” cried Krantz on the gun- wale, waving his hat. It was useless—down she came, with the waters foaming under her bows, and was now within pistol-shot of the Utrecht. 7‘(Ship ahoy !”’ roared all the sailors, with a shout that must have been heard: it was not attended to : down came the vessel upon them, and now her cutwater was within ten Maras Of the Utrecht. --Lhe meén-.of the Utrecht, who expected that their vessel would be severed in half by the concussion, climbed upon the weather gunwale, all ready to catch at the ropes of the other vessel and climb on board of her. Amine, who had been | sur- prised at the noise on deck, had come oitt, and had taken Philip by the arm. “Trust to me—the shock ; Philip. He said no-more; the cutwater of the stranger touched their sides; one general cry was raised by the sailors of the Utrecht, —they sprang to catch at the rigging of the other vessel’s bowsprit, which was now pointed between their masts—they caught at nothing—nothing—there was no shock— i the stranger appeared to cleaye through them—her hull passed along in silence—no cracking of timbers—no falling of masts—the foreyard passed through their mainsail, yet the canvas was unrent—the whole vessel appeared to cut through the Utrecht, yet left no trace of injury ast, but slowly, as if she were really sawing through her by the keaving and tossing of the sea with her sh larp prow. The stranger S Erne nate had passed their gun- wale before Ph ilip could recover h imself, ‘‘Amine,’’ cried heat last, ‘‘the Phantom Ship !—my father!’’ The” seamen of the Utrecht, more astounded by the marvellous result than by their former danger, threw themselves down upon deck: some hastened below, some prayed, others were dumb with astonishment and fear. Amine appeared more calm than any, not excepting Philip; she surveyed the vessel as it slowly forced its way through ; she beheld the seamen on board of her coolly leaning over ae suas le, as if deriding the destruction they. had occasioned ; ked for Vanderdecken himself, and on the poop of the vessel, with his trumpet under his arm, she beheld the i image of her Philip—the same hardy strong build—the same features —about » a Said by she lool the same age apparently—there could be no doubt it. was the doomed Vane derdecken. ‘See, Philip,” said she, ‘‘see your father |!” ‘‘Even so—Merciful Heaven! It is—it is!’ and Philip, overpowered by his feelings, sank upon deck. The vessel had now Utrecht; the form of decken was seen to walk aft and look over the affrail; Amine perceived it to start and turn away suddenly—she looked down, and saw passed over the the elder Vander- THE PHANTOM SHIP. Schriften shaking his fist in defiance at the supernatural being! Again the Phantom Ship flew to leeward before the gale, and was soon lost in the mist ; but before that, Amine had turned and perceived the situation of Philip. Noone but herself and Schriften ap. peared able to act or move. She caught the pilot's eye, beckoned him, and with his assistance Philip was into the cabin. to led CHAPTER XA ” ‘‘T HAVE then seen him, he had lain down on the soft soine minutes to recover himself, while bent over him. ‘‘I have at last se Amine! Can you doubt now ?”’ ‘No, Philip, I have now no doubt,” plied Amine, mournfully ; ‘‘ but take Phahp 2 “For myself, I want not courage—but for you, Amine—you know that his appear- ance portends a mischief that will surely come.”’ ‘‘Let it come,” replied Amine, calmly ; ‘‘T have long been prepared for it, and se have you.” wy BSc Oy, said Philip, after i cabin for Amine en him, re- courage, for myself ; but not for you.” ou es ve been wrecked often, and have been saved—then why should not Bp? Bi t 1e sufferings. . “Those suffer lea ist who courage to bear up ag but a woman, weak and trust I have that with in make you feel ashamed of sue you willhave no wailing oO a console yi ou, she ci if she “can assist you, she will; but come at may, if she cannot serve you, at least he vill prove no burden to you. ‘“ Your presence in misfortune would un- » nerve me, Aint 1e. “Tt shall not ; tion. Let fate do its worst.’’ “‘ Depend upon it, Amin , that will be ere long. © Be it wemlod - Amina.) (Chui fe se WSO, Frephed-Amine-* DUt, FNP, it were as well you showed yourself on deck ; 1 the men are frightened, ai will be observed.”’ ‘You are right, and embracing h d your absence “‘Tt is but too true, then,’’ thought Amine, ‘“Now to prepare oi ai aster and death ; the could know *- look down bait the warning has cont. I would I more, Oh ! eon t upon thy child, and in a mystic arts a icl uae I oe m Philip, that unle: 7. .ore ; but I have S separated—yes, ce C mised that ideais worse than death, and I have a sad fore- boding ; my courage fails me only when I think of that !' Philip, on his return to the deck, found the crew of the vessel in great consternation. Krantz himself appeared bewildered—he had not forgotten the appearance of the Phantom Shi KD tion H ‘} war, al 1 the VE ssel's following her to their destruction. ‘This second nee, mor 1 than the for- J qu ant en | Lip Cal ( t] nh d We I j n » i ’ , said he to Philip, ime up to him. «Silence, ence; ft men may hear you.” fOtr y BOE <4 C% thinl < the same,” replied Kran ‘* But they < wrong,” 1 ed Philip, turning to t en. ‘‘ My lads! that some di {el 1tO1 tl ap] r- ance of pre ble; I have seen |] ( nd disasters did th happen I am, alive and well, tl > j not p! that we ean- not « [ before done. We must do : ist in He 1. The gale is | , and in a few hou ill have f weatb Cy > met this Phantom | ind care not how often I meet it I Mr. Krantz, get up the spirits—U men have had hard work and must be fatioued he very prospect of « 1g liquor ap- pear d LO § af CT ti I } i Vy I ee tened to « the order, and the quantity served out t tO £ coura to the m< iu and 1] ly othet to ¢ fy old Va ( “| cl I ] hole I y of i The 1 ma the nel nN sea m | nd t LJ ( {t went sf: | on he! ) 10 ( ” - e Many days of gentle breez | favouring Wind Ta U: Oo thep OCC: oned by the super: pp - and if not forgotten, it was referred to « r in jest or with indifferen: They now had run through th str of Malacca nd ¢ the Poly- nesian ar lago I Dp: were to refresh and -call for instructions at the small i land Ol Boton th hn 1n po )] of the Dutch. ‘They arrived there in safety, and after remaining two days, again iled on their voyage, intending to make their passage between the Celebes and the island of Galago. The weather was still clear and the wind c 1x Ih 1utious y, on account lig ght ; > the y proceeded ci of the reefs and with a careful watch for the piratical vesseis, which have for centuries infested those seas ; but they were not molested, and had gained well up among and currents, THE PHANTOM SHIP. 99 the islands to the north of Galago, when it fell calm, and the vessel was borne to the eastward of it by the current. The calm lasted several days, and they could procure no anchorage: at last they found themselves among the cluster of islands near to the nor- thern coast of New Guinea. lhe anchor was dropped, and the sail furled for the night; a drizzling small rain came on, the weather was thick, and watches were st in every part of the ship, that they might not be surprised by the pirate proas, for the current ran past the ship at the ate of eight or nine miles vessels, if hid among the i down upon them u It was twelve o'clock at night, — Philip, who was in bed, was awakened by < shock ; he thought it mi icht be a proa ist a alongside, and he started from his bed and ran out. He found Krantz, who had been awakened by the same cause, running up un- ( ed. Another shock succeeded, and the ship careened to port. Philip then knew that the ship was on shore. The thickness of the night pre oe them from ascertaining where they were, but the lead was thrown over the side, and they found that hae were lying on shore on a sandbank. per hour, and these slands, might sweep iperceived. Sos iress with not more than fourteen feet of water on the deepest side, and that they were broadside on with a strong current pressing them furthe up on the bank ; indeed -the current ran like a mill-race, and each minute they were swept into s! water. : Jn examination they found iallow that the ship hi eee her anchor, which, with the C , was still taut from the starboard bow, a t this did not appear to prevent the vessel from being swept further up on the bank. It the anchor d that and anothe1 14 Nothing more could at was suppost the } sNAaANnK, had parted anchor was | be done till daybreak, and impatiently did they wait till the next morning. As the sun rose, the mist cleared away, and they discovered that they were on shore on a sandbank, a small portion of which was above water, and round which the current ran with great impetuosity. About three miles from them was a cluster of small islands with cocoa-trees growing on them, but with no appearance of inhabitants, ‘I fear we have little chance, observed Krantz to P hilip. ‘‘ If we lighten the vessel he anchor may not hold, and we shall be swept further on, and it is impossible to lay out an anchor against the force of this current.’ ‘* At all events we must try: but I grant that our situation is anything but satisfactory. Send all the hands aft.” The men came aft, gloomy and dispirited, et go. biLoo “My lads!"’ said Philip, ‘‘why are you disheartened ?”’ ‘We are doomed, sir ; we knew it would be so.” ‘‘T thought it probable that the ship would be lost—I told you so ; but the loss of the ship does not involve that of ‘the ship's company—nay, it does not follow that the ship is to be lost, although she may be in great difficulty, as she is at present. What fear is there for us, my men?—the water is smooth—we have plenty of time before us— we can make a raft and take to our boats—it never blows among these islands, and we have land close under our lee. Let us first try what we can do with the ship; if we fail we must then take care of ourselves.” The men caught at the idea and went to work willingly ; the water-casks were started, the pumps set going, and everything that could be spared was thrown over to lighten the ship; but the anchor still dragged, from the strength of the current and bad holding- ground; and Philip and Krantz perceived that they were swept further on the bank. Night came on before they quitted their toil, and then a fresh breeze sprung up and created a swell, which occasioned the vessel to beat on the hard sand ; thus did they con- tinue until the next morning. At daylight the men resumed their labours, and the pumps were again manned to clear the vessel of the water which had been started, but after a time they pumped up sand. ‘This told them that a plank had started, and that their labours were useless ; the men left their work, but Philip again encouraged them, and pointed out that they could easily save themselves, and all that they had to do was to construct a raft which would hold provisions. for them, and receive that portion of the crew who could not be taken into the boats. After some repose the men again set to work ; the top-sails were struck, the yards lowered down, and the raft was commenced under the lee of the vessel, where the strong current was checked. Philip, recollecting his former disaster, took great pains in the con- Struction of this raft, and aware that as the water and provisions were expended there would be no occasion to tow so heavy a mass, he constructed it in two parts, which might easily be severed, and thus the boats would have less to tow, as soon as circumstances would enable them to part with one of them. Night again terminated their labours, and the men retired to rest, the weather continu- ing fine, with very, little wind. By noon the next day the raft was complete; water and provisions were safely stowed on board ; a secure and dry place was fitted up for Amine in the centre of one portion; spare ropes, THE PHANTOM SHIP. sails, and everything which could prove tse- ful, in case of their being forced on shore, were putin. Muskets and ammunition were also provided, and everything was ready, when the men came aft and pointed out to Philip that there was plenty of money on board, which it was folly to leave, and that they wished to carry as much as they could away with them. As this intimation was given in a way that made it evident they intended that it should be complied with, Philip did not refuse ; but resolved, in his own mind, that when they arrived at a place where he coud exercise his authority, the money should be reclaimed for the Company, to whom it be- longed. The men went down below, and while Philip was making arrangements with Amine, handed the casks of dollars out of the hold,» broke them open and helped them- selves—quarreling with each other for the first possession, as each cask was opened. At last every man had obtained as much as he could carry, and had placed his spoil on the raft with his baggage, or in the boat to which he had been appointed. All was now ready —Amine -was lowerec down, and took her station—the boats took in tow the raft, which was cast off from the vessel, and away they went with the current, pulling with all their strength to avoid being stranded upon that part of the sandbank. which appeared above water. This was the great danger which they had to encounter, and which they very narrowly esaped. They numbered eighty-six souls in all ; in the boats there were thirty-two ; the rest were on the raft, which, being well built and -full of timber, floated high out of the water, now that the sea was so smooth. It had been agreed upon by Philip and Krantz, that one of them should remain on the raft and the other in one of the boats; but, at the time the raft quitted the ship, they were both on the raft, as they wished to consult, as soon as they discovered the direction of the current, which would be the most advisable course for them to pursue. Itappeared, that as soon as the current had passed the bank, it took a more southerly direction towards New Guinea. It was then debated between them whether they should or should not land on that island the natives of which were known to be pusil- lanimous yet treacherous. A long debate ensued, which ended, however, in their re- solving not'to decide as yet, but wait and see what might occur. .In the meantime, the boats pulled to the westward, while the cur- rent set them fast down ina southerly direction. Night came on and the boats dropped the grapnels with which they had been provided ; and Philip was glad to find that the current was not near so strong, and the grapnels heldboth boats and raft. Covering themselves up with the spare sails with which they had pro- vided themselves, and setting a watch, the tired seamen were soon fast asleep. ‘«Had I not better remain in one of the boats?’ observed Krantz. ‘‘ Suppose, to save themselves, the boats were to leave the catt.” ‘‘T have thought of that,’’ replied Philip, ‘cand have, therefore, not allowed any pro- visions or water in the b ats ; they will not leave us for that reason. “True, I had forgotten tha Krantz remained on w tired to the repose which he Amine met him with open arms. “‘T have -hilip,” rather like this wild, I Weill go on shore and build our hut beneath the cocoa trees, and I shall repine when the day comes which brings succour, and releases +a} ALY no fear, aid. “She + (°F change. us from our desert isle. What do I require but you ?° ‘ We are in the hands of One above, ee who will act with us as He pleases. We have to be thankful that it is no worse,’ Sate Philip. ‘‘ But now to rest, for I shall soon be obliged to watch.” The morning dawned with a smooth sea and a bright blue sky; the raft had been borne to leeward of the cluster of uninhabited islands of which we spoke, and was now without hopes of reaching them ; but to the westward were to be seen on the horizon me refracted heads and trunks of cocoa-nut tree Ss and in that direction it was resolved that they should tow the raft. The. breakfast had pea served out, and the men had taken to the oars, when they discovered a proa, full of men, sweeping after them from one of the islands to vindward. ‘That it was a pirate vessel there could be no doubt; but Philip and Krantz considered that their force was more than n, should an attack be sufficient to repel thei made. ‘This was pointed out to the men; arms were distributed to all in the boats, as well as to those on the raft ; and that the sea- men might not be fatigued, ‘they were ordered to lie on their oars, and await the coming up of the vessel. As sool having ceased was within range, noitred her antagonists, she and commenced firing from a small piece o! hich was mounted on her bows. The grape and langridge which she poured upon them wounded several of the as the pirate recon pulling, cannon, men, although Philip had ordered them to lie down flat on the raft and in the boats. ‘The pirate advanced nearer, and her fire became more destructive, without any opportunity ol t's people At last returning it by the Utrecl y chance of escape, it was proposed, as the onl THE PHANTOM SHIP. TOL that the boats should attack the pirate. This was agreed to by Philip ; more men were sent in the boats; Krantz took the command ; the raft was cast off, and the boats pulled away. But scarcely had they cleared the raft, when, as by one sudden thought, they turned round, and pulled away in the opposite direction. Krantz’s voice was heard by Philip, and his sword was seen to flash through the air; a moment after rard is he plunged into the sea, and swam to the raft. It appeared that the people in the . ats, anxious to preserve the money which they had possession of, had agreed amc themselves to pull away and leave the raft fate. The proposal for attacking the pirate had been suggested with that view, and as soon as they were clear of the raft, they put their intentions into execu- tion. In vain had Krantz expostulated and threatened ; they would have taken his life ; and when he found that his efforts were of no avail, he leaped from the boat. ‘‘ Then are ‘Our numbers ng t LO ve host, I fear,"’ said Philip. are SO reduced, . we cannot hope to hold out long. What think you, Schriften?” ven- tured Philip, erectile the pilot, who stood near to him. ‘‘Lost—but not lost by the pirates—no harm there! He! he!’ The remark of Schriften was correct. The imagining that in taking to their had carried with them every- thing that was a ee instead of firing at the raft, immediately e chase to the boats. The sweeps were now an and the proa flew over the smooth water, like a sea-bird, passed the raft, and was at first evidently gaining on the boats: but their speed soon slackened, and as the day passed, the boats and then the pirate vessel disappeared in the southward ; the distance between them being apparently n Be the same as at the commencement of pira tes, boats the people raft be ing now at the mercy of the wind and waves, Philip and Krantz collected the carpenter's tools which had been brought from the ship, and selecting two spars from the raft, they made every preparation for Serr ne, a mast and setting sail by the next morning The mornin g dawned, and the first objects that met their view were the boats pulling back towards the raft, fol ONG -d closely by the pirate. The men h ay Boy ed the whole night, and were worn out with fatigue. It was pre- sumed that a eee had been held, in which it was agreed that they should make a Swi so as to return to the raft, as, if they gained it, they would be able to defend them- selves, and moreover obtain provisions and vater, which they had not on board at the time their desertion. But it was fated ep, reyiTo2 otherwise ; gradually the men dropped from their oars, exhausted, into the bottom of the boat, and the pirate vessel followed them with renewed ardour. The boats were captured -one by one; the booty found was more than the pirates anticipated, and it hardly need be said that not one man was spared. All this took place within three miles of the raft, and Philip anticipated that the next movement of the vessel would be towards them, but he was mistaken. Satisfied with their booty, and imagining that there could be no more on the raft, the pirate pulled away to the eastward, towards the islands from amongst which she had first made her appearance. ‘Thus were those who expected to escape, and who had deserted their companions, deservedly pun- ished; whilst those who anticipated every disaster from this desertion discovered that it was the cause of their being saved. The remaining people on board the raft amounted to about forty-five ; Philip, Krantz, Schriften, Amine, the two mates, sixteen sea- men, and twenty-four soldiers, who had been embarked at Amsterdam. Of provisions they had sufficient for three or four weeks; but of water they were very short, already not having sufficient for more than three days at the usual allowance. As soon as the mast had been stepped and rigged, and the sails set (although there was hardly a breath of wind), Philip explained to the men the necessity of reducing the quantity of water, and it was agreed that it should be served out so as to extend the supply to twelve days, the allow- ance being reduced to half a pint per day. ‘There was a debate at this time, as the raft was in two parts, whether it would not be better to cast off the smaller one, and put all the people on board the other; but this proposal was overruled, as, in the first place, although the boats had deserted them, the number on the raft had not much diminished, and moreover, the raft would steer much bet- fer under sail, now that it had length, than it would do if they reduced its dimensions and altered its shape to a square mass of floating wood, For three days it was a calm, the sun poured down his hot beams upon them, and the want of water was severely felt; those who continued to drink spirits suffered the most. On the fourth day the breeze sprung up favourably, and the sail was filled; it was a relief to their burning brows and blistered backs ; and as the raft sailed on at the rate of four miles an hour, the men were gay and full ofhope. The land below the cocdoa-nut trees was now distinguishable, and they antici- pated that the next day they could land and procure thewater which they nowso craved for, THE PHANTOM SHIP. All night they carried sail, but the next morn- ing they discovered that the current was strong against them, and that what they gained when the breeze was fresh, they lost from the ad- verse currents as soon as it went down; the breeze was always fresh in the morning, but it fell calm in the evening. Thus did they continue for four days more, every noon being not ten miles from the land, but the next morning swept away to a distance, and hav- ing their ground to retrace. Eight days had now passed, and the men, worn out with the exposure to the burning sun, became discon- tented and mutinous. At one time they in- sisted that the raft should be divided that they might gain the land with the other half; at another, that the provisions which they could no longer eat should be thrown oyer- board to lighten the raft. The Gifficulty under which they lay was the having no an- chor or grapnel-to the-raft, the boats having carried away with them all that had been taken from the ship. Philip then proposed to the men that, as every one of them had such a quantity of dollars, the money should be sewed up in canvas bags, each man’s pro- perty separate; and that with this weight to the ropes they would probably be enabled to hold the raft against the current for one night, when they would be able the next day to gain shore ; but this was refused—they would not risk their money. No, no—fools ! they would sooner part with their lives by the most miserable of all deaths. Again and again was this proposed to them by Philip and Krantz, but without success. In the meantime Amine had kept up her courage and her spirits, proving to Philip a valuable adviser, and a comforter in his mise fortunes. ‘‘ Cheer up, Philip,’’ would she say ; ‘“we shall yet ‘build our cottage under the Shade of those cocoa-nut trees, and pass a portion, if not the remainder of our lives in peace; for who indeed is there who would think to find us in these desolate and un- trodden regions ?”’ Schriften was quiet and well-behaved ; talked much with Amine, but with nobody else. Indeed, he appeared to have a stronger feeling in favour of Amine than he had ever shown before. He watched over her and at- tended her ; and Amine would often look up after being silent, and perceive Schriften’ s face wear an air of pity and melancholy which she had believed it impossible that he could have exhibited. Another day passed ; again they neared the land, and again did the breeze die away, and they were swept back by the current. The men now arose, and in spite of the endeavours of Philip and Krantz, they rolled into the sea all the provisions and stores, e erything butNV’ ’ THE PHA! upper ireatening was full ; to anchor ora red y ¥ - Ty : mare bg { oe erected ay on it 1n ae ep ‘ na Iny } ] ‘ > ; hat =v it cist ‘ T 4 1 ; ; } : > — . } VY L { L > . . c Cl £ \ 2 * | = } i OL iit l 1) ! ’ <> weet tl n risk the } ‘ ? | } , > mM i { a | j : : : Will not. I I ‘ J 1 bullion } ; r ; j ~ 4 on the I : ‘ tl L ee ce tn 1 floating 1 t : - risk it. Cursed lo of 7 ; oois, Mac t } yo! ‘ ; ; two days ter—doled o drop | c at the Gown, W ed forms, a1 1} » whicl clin to ney hich never have o yn for, e€ land. Iam distracted!” ‘* Vou suffer, Philip, you from pri- ration: but I have beem careful. I thought ’ ifOr mere LAC my Yeu —for Heaven ake, save her ! cried Philip, struggling in vain to disengage himself, r Z ; } O. Cari. aS te | Set ae aS : Amine also, who had run to the side of the “44+ Heal ot haw ‘ : raft held out her arms—it was i a r : > . +1 xy 5.) 1 were separated more than a ¢: li th. THis 1 : ie Hes , : Philip made one more desperat L 1 } } . ; 4 then fell down deprived of sez moti ceo iis ea <7 \ not u { Yo TY / | ; ie ) { 1} ; + oaget ] se } eee < ‘ i - > ] } y I Liuis ‘Le & : i ’ + T7 ao ae ee , Oe noe C il : a JATantz ; L } } 11) +} | > ‘ ] vA pr 1 the s 5-day 1 we shall 46) Stalcuis Gi: LCT as O! \ 4, ry + . ' ot: TTS tue; the sep n and the ‘TT! } +] ft } 7 vir} } Tl t 1 ] * ] A +? cruel death to her which that w h n i ’ } . ‘ ~Yy""? prophe: to us,’ thought Phiip; ‘‘ cruel | § ind ] awaAvV kelet r\der 9 1110 Ul myWouy tis «x l . oe i ir . , -. burning sun, without one water left to cool he! parche a tongue ; t mercy of the tc s . oe e tears 1} ‘ ; ao winds and waves ; drifting about—alone—all a tee ba chaWA GA cone n ner Hhuspanhd, I Wiese dred 1 t regret ; ef Dp @ 4 VM the I ar ha fF, LO 1" may i u he, OL my fate. |] t, you are OI ye ( [ » 2 Oh! my head fre is f 9 ; <1 a 4 : ids naeraecK , UOs BEV oa. Krantz offered such cons¢ ion as his riendsh could su {Dut vain. He then talked of ven and | » raised his head Af a few minu ught, he rose aw ; ra a ) ( up Ve rey 1 -he, evenge 4 } a: ; | r upon ft] | irds and trait me, K raj . ] t for pros] Own a et LU} ‘ J AL m ] i } P . c + ae continued Krantz; ‘‘the prospect or gaining 1 : ee he + the shore has. in a manner, recone iled them to the treachery of their companions,T04 THE PHANTOM SHIP. “Probably,” replied Philip, with a bitter other party, and entangle them. By Philip’s laugh; ‘but I know what will Touse them. directions, Schriften had taken the helm, Send them here to me.” and Krantz remained by his side. Philip talked to the seamen whom Krantz The yard and sail fell clattering down, and had sent over to him. He pointed out to them then the work of death commenced ; there that the other men were traitors not to be re- was no parley, no Suspense ; each man started lied upon ; that they would sacrifice €very- upon his feet and raised his sword. The voices thing and everybody for their own gain; that of Philip and Krantz alone were heard, and they had already done so for money, and that Philip's sword did its work. He was nerved they themselves would haye no security, either to his revenge, and never could be satiated as on the raft or on the shore, with such people; long as one remained who had sacrificed his that they dare not sleep for fear of having Amine. As Philip had expected, many had their throats cut, and that it were better at been covered up and entangled by the falling once to get rid of those who could not be true of the sail, and their work was thereby made to each other; that it would facilitate their easier. escape, and that they could divide between Some fell where they stood ; others reeled themselves the money which the others had back, and sunk down under the Smooth water ; secured, and by which they could double their others were pierced as they floundered under Own shares. ‘That it had been his intention, the canvas. In a few minutes the work of although he had said nothing, to enforce the carnage was complete. Schriften meanwhile restoration of the money for the benefit of the looked on, and ever and anon gave vent to his ompany, as soon as they had gained a chuckling laugh—his demoniacal ‘* He! he!” civilized port, where the authorities could in- The strife was over, and Philip stood terfere ; but that if they consented to join against the mast to recover his breath. “So and aid him, he would ‘now give them the farartthou tevenged, my Amine,” thought he ; whole of it for their own use. “‘but, oh ! what are these paltry lives com- What will not the desire of gain effect ? Is pared to thine 2” And. now that his revenge it therefore to be wondered at, that these men, was satiated, and he could do no more, he who were indeed but little better than those covered his face up in his hands, and wept who were thus, in his desire for retaliation, bitterly, while those who had assisted him denounced by Philip, consented to his pro- were already collecting the money of the slain posal? It was agreed, that if they did not for distribution. These men, when they found gain the shore, the others should be attacked that three only of their side had fallen, that very night, and tossed into the sea. lamented that there had not been more, as But the consultation with Philip had put their own shares of the dollars would have the other party on the alert ; they, too, held been increased. council, and kept their arms by their sides, There were now but ¢1 As the breeze died away, they were not two Philip, Krantz, and Scl miles from the land, and once more they raft. As the day drifted back into the ocean. Philip's mind sprung up, and they Shared out the portions was borne down with grief at the loss of of water, which would have been the allow- Amine ; but it recovered to a certain degree ance of their companions who had fallen. when he thought of revenge: that feeling Hunger they felt not ; but the water revived Stayed him up, and he often felt the edge of their spirits. his cutlass, impatient for the moment of re- Although Philip had said little to Schriften tribution. since the separation from Amine, it was very It was a lovely night: the sea was now evident to him and to Krantz that allthe pilot's smooth as glass, and not a breath of air former bitter feelings had returned. His moved in the heavens; the sail of the raft chuckle, his sarcasms, his ‘‘ He! he!” were hung listless down the mast, and was reflected incessant; and his eye was now as mali- upon the calm surface by the brilliancy of the ciously directed to Philip as it was when they starry night alone. It was a night for con- first met. Tt was evident that Amine alone templation—for examination of oneself, and had for the time conquered his disposition - adoration of the Deity; and here, on a frail and that with her disappearance had vanished raft, were huddled together more than forty all the good. will of Schriften towards her beings, ready for combat, for murder, and for husband. For this Philip cared little: he spoil. Each party pretended to Tepose; yet had a much more serious weight on his heart each Were quietly watching the motions of the —the loss of his dear Amine ; and he felt reck- other, with their hands upon their weapons. less and indifferent concerning anything else, The signal was to be given by Philip; it was, he breeze now freshened, and they ex- to let go the halyards of the yard, so that the pected that in two hours, they would run on sail should fall down upon a portion of the the beach, but they were disappointed : the uirteen men besides iriften, left upon the dawned, the breeze again: t } t 5 : step of the mast gave way from the force of the wind, and the sail f up onthe raft. This occasioned. great delays and before they could repair the mischief, the wind again subsided, and they were left about a mile from ad beach. ‘Tired and worn out with his feelings, Philip at last fell asleep’! by = e side o K rantz, leaving Schriften at the hel He slept soundly—he dreamt of AWueee he thought she was under a grove of cocoa-nuts, In a sweet sleep; tl! 1 by and watched her, and that s d in her sleep, and murmured, Philip,” when sud- denly he was awakened by some unusual movement. Half dr ig still, he thought that Schriften, the pilot, had in his ep been attempting to gain his relic, had passed the chain over his head, and was removing quietly from underneath his neck the portion of the chain which, in his reclining posture, he lay upon. Startled at the idea, he threw of ~ e wretch, seized hold of by h iI im, and in up his hand to seize the arm and found that he had really schriften, who was kneeling possession of the chain and relic. ‘The Struggle was short, the relic was ; recovered, and the pilot lay at the mercy ef Philip, who held him down with his knee on his chest. Philip replaced the relic on his bosom, and, excited to madness, rose from the body of the t in his now breathless Schriften, caught 1 arms, and hurled it into the sea. ‘*Man or devil! I care not which,” ex- claimed Philip, breathless ; ‘‘escape now, if you can!” The struggle had already roused up Krantz and oth but not in time to prevent Philip from wreaking his vengeance upon Schriften. TS mary In a few words, he we Krantz what had passed ; as for the men, they cared not ; they laid their heads down again, and, satisfied that their ife, inquired no fur- ther. money was Ss hilip watched to see if Schriften would rise up again, and try to regain the raft ; but he did not make his appeara above water, and Philip felt satisfied. nce CHAPTER XXV. feeli HAT pen could pc rtr Ly the ngs of the fond and doting Amine, when she first dis- covered that she was epee from her husband? In a state of bewilderment, she watched the other raft as the distance be- tween them increased. At t the shades of night. hid it from her aching eyes, and she dropped down in mute despair. ered he rself, and turn- Gradually she reco ‘Who's here ?”’ ing round, she exclaimed, No answ Ct. THE PHANTOM SHIP: 105 ‘“Who's here!” cried she in a louder voice; ‘‘alone—alone—and Philip gone. Mother, m other, look down upon your unhappy child !’’ and Amine frantic: ully threw herself down so near to the edge of the raft, that her long hair, which had fallen down, floate ed on the wave Ah me! where am _I?”’ cried Amine, relaining in a state of torpor for some ‘s. ‘The sun glared fiercely upon her, and dazzled her eyes as she opened them—she ake I I 10u cast them on the blue wave close by her, and beheld a large shark motionless by the side of theraft, waiting for his prey. Recoiling from the edge, she started up. She turned round, and beheld the raft vacant, and the truth ished on her. ‘‘Oh! Philip, Philip !” cried she, ‘‘then it is true, and you are gone for ever! I thought it was only a dream: I recol- lect all now. Yes—all—all!’’ And Amine sank down again upon her cot, which had been placed in the centre of the raft, and re- mained motionless for some time. But the demand for water became im- perious ; she seized one of the bottles, and drank. ‘‘ Yet why should I drink or eat? Why should I wish to preserve life?’’ She rose, and looked round the horizon. ‘‘Sky and water, nothing more. Is this the death [am to die—the cruel death prophesied by Schriften--a lingering death under a burning sun, while my vitals are parched within? Be itso! Fate, I dare thee to thy worst—we can die but once—and without him, what care I to live? But yet I may see him again,’’ con- tinued Amine, hurriedly, after a pause. ‘“Yes, I may—who knows? ‘Then welcome life ; ['ll nurse thee for that bare hope—bare indeed, with naught to feed on. Let me see, —is it here still?’’ Amine looked at her zone, and perceived her dagger was still in it. ‘Well, then, I will live since death is at my command, and be guardful of life for my dear husband's sake.” And Amine threw herself on her resting-place that she might forget everything. She did: from that morning till the noon of the next day she remained in a state of torpor. When she againrose, she was faint ; again she looked round her—there was but sky and water to be seen. ‘‘Oh ! this solitude—it is horrible! death would bea release—but no, I must not die— I must live for Philip.” She refreshed herself with water and a few pieces of biscuit, and folded her arms across her breast. ‘‘A few more days without relief, and all must be over. Was ever woman situated as I am, and yet I dare to indulge hope? Why, ‘tis madness! And why am I[ thus singled out ; because I have wedded with Philip? It may be so; if so, I welcome it. Wretches! who106 thus severed me from my husband; who, to save their own lives, sacrificed a helpless woman! Nay! they might have saved me, if they had had the least pity ;—but no, they never feltit. And these are Christians! The creed that the old arietia would have had me —yes! that Philip would have had me em- brace. Charity and good-will! They talk of it, but I have never seen them practise it! Loving one another !—forgiving one another ! —say rather hating and preying upon one another ! A creed never practised: why, if not practised, of what value is it? Any creed were better—I abjure it, and if I be saved, will abjure it still for ever. Shade of my mother ! is- it that I have listened to tl men—that I have, to win my husband's love, tried to forget that which thou taughtest, even when a child at thy feet—that faith which our forefathers for thousands of years lived and died in—that creed proved by works, and obedience to the prophet’s will is it for this that I am punished? ‘Tell me, mother—oh! tell me in my dreams,” The night closed in, and with the gloom rose heavy clouds; the lightning darted through the firmament, ever and anon lis ght- ing up the raft. At last, the flashes were so rapid, not following each other—but darting down from €évery quarter at once, that the whole firmament appeared as if on fire, and the thunder rolled along the heavens, now near and loud; then rumbling in the distance. The breeze rose up fresh, and the waves tossed the raft, and washed occasionally even to Amine’s feet, as she stood in the centre of it. ‘T like this—this is far better than that calm and withering heat—this rouses me,” said Amine, as she cast her eyes up, and watched the forked lightning till her vision became obscured. ‘‘ Yes, this is as it should be. Lightning, strike me if you please— waves, wash me off and bury me in a briny tomb—pour the wrath of the whole elements upon this devoted head—I care not, I laugh at, I defy it all. Thou canst but kill, this little steel can do as much. Let those who hoard up wealth—those who live in splendour —those that are happy—those who have hus- bands, children, aught to love—let them tremble ;. | have nothing. Elements ! be ye fire, or water, or earth, or air, Amine defies you! and ye no, deceive not thyself. Amine, there is no hope; thus will I mount my funeral bier, and wait the will of destiny.” And Amine regained the secure place which Philip had fitted up for her in the centre of the raft, threw herself down upon her bed, and shut her eyes. The thunder and lightning was followed up by torrents of heavy rain, which fell till ese LOS LHE PHANTOM SHIP. the wind still continued fresh, but and the sun shone out. shivering in her wet gar- daylight ; the sky cleared, Amine remained ments: the heat of the sun proved too power- ful for her exhausted state, and her brain wandered. She rose upin a Sitting posture locked around her, saw verdant fields in every the cocoa-nuts wavil i even that she saw oe own Philip hastening 1 direction, —imagined in the.distance out her arms; strove to get ie ‘nae run to meet him, but her limbs refused their office ; she cz led to him, she screamed, and sank Bath exhausted on her resting-place CHAPTER AAVI: WE must for a time return to Philip, and follow his strange destiny. A few hours after he had thrown the pilot into the sea they gained the shore, so’ long looked at~ with anxiety and suspense. The s spars of the raft, ore by the running swell, “undulated and rubbed against each other, as they rose and fell to the waves breaki ing on the beach. The breeze was fresh, but the surf was trifling, and the landing was ist 1out difficulty. The beach was shelving, of firm white sand, inter- spersed and s trewed eh various brilliant- coloured shells - and here and there, the bleached fragments and bones of some animal which had been forced out of its element to die. The island was, like all the others, covered with a thick wood of cocoa= b AT nut trees, whose tops waved to the breeze, or bowed to the blast, producing a shade and a freshness which would have been ane appre- ciated by any other party tl with the exception ie of Krantz; thought of nothing but h is lost seamen thought of nc thi eir sudden wealth. Krantz supe orted PPh to the beach, and led him to the shade : but after a mint ate he rose, and running down to the nearest point, looked anxiously for the portion of the raft which held Amine, which was now far, far away. Krantz had followed, aware that, now the first paroxysms were past, there was no fear of Philip’s throwing away his life. “Gone, gone for ever!”’ 1ed Philip, ng his hands to the balls of his yes: Not so, Philip, the same providence which has preserved u certainly. assist ible that she can perish her. It is imposs among so many islands, many of which are woman will be certain of 1an the -present, tz; for Philip wife, and the fthe exclain pressi Sy will I inhabited: and a kind treatment.” ‘If I could only think so,” A. little reflection think that it is rather otherwise, that she i replied Philip. may induce you to an advantage than s thus separated—notfrom you, but from so many Jawless com- panions whose united force we ‘could not re- sist. Do you think that, after any lengthened sojourn on this island, these people with us would permit you to remain in quiet posses- sion of your wife? No !—they would respect no laws ; and Amine has, in my opinion, been miraculously preserved from shame and ill- treatment, if not from death.”’ ‘“They- durst not, surely! Well, but Krantz, we must make a raft and follow her : we must not remain here~—1 will seek her through the wide world.” “ Be it so, if you wish follow your fortunes,” replie find that there was something, however wild the idea, for his mind to feed on. ‘‘ But now let us return to the raft, seek the refreshment we sO much require, and after that we will consider what may be the best plan to pursue.” To this, Philip, who was much exhausted, tacitly consented, and he followed Krantz to where the raft had been beached. T , Philip, and I will ied Krantz, glad to 7 1 The men had left it, and were each of them sitting apart from one another under the shade of his” Own chosen cocoa-nut tree. The articles which had been saved on the raft had not been landed, and Krantz called upon them to come and carry the things on shore—but no one would answer or obey.. They each sat watching their money, and afraid to leave it, lest they should be dispossessed of it by the others. Now that their liyes were, compa- ratively speaking, safe, the demon of avarice had taken full possession of their souls ; there they sat, exhausted, pining for water, and longing for sleep, and yet they dared not move,—they were fixed as if by the wand of the enchanter. “Tt is the cursed dollars which have turned their brains,’’ observed Krantz to Philip, ; ‘let us try if we cannot manage to remove what we most stand in need of, and then we will search for water.” Philip and Krantz collected the carpenter’s tools, the best arms, and all the ammunition, as the possession of the latter would give them an advantage in case of necessity ; they then dragged on shore the sail and some small spars, all of which they carried up to a clump of cocoa-nut trees, about a hundred yards from the beach. In half an hour they had erected an humble tent, and put into it what they had brought with them, with the exception of the major part of the ammunition, which, assoon as he was screened by the tent, Krantz buried in a heap of dry sand behind it ; he then, for their immediate wants, cut down with an axe a small cocoa-nut tree in full bearing. It must be for those who have suffered the agony of prolonged thirst, to know the extreme pleasure THE PHANTOM SHIP. 107 with which the milk of the nuts were one after the other poured down the parched throats of Krantz and Philip. The men y itnessed their enjoyment in silence, and with gloating eyes, Every time that a fresh cocoa-nut was seized and its contents quaffed by their officers, more sharp and agonizing was their own devouring thirst—still closer did their dry lips glue them- selves together —yet they moved n ot, although they felt the tortures of the condemned zs Evening closed in: Philip had thrown himself. down on the spare sails, and had fallen asleep, when Krantz set off to explore the island upon which they had been thrown. It was small, not exceeding three miles in length, and at no one part more than five hundred yards across, Water there was none, unless it were to be obtained by digging ; for- tunately, the young cocoa-nuts prevented the absolute necessity for it. On his return, Krantz passed the men in their respective Stations. Each was awake, and raised him- self on his elbow to ascertain if it were an assailant ; but, perceiving Krantz, they again dropped down. Krantz passed the raft—the water was now quite smooth, for the wind had shifted off shore, and the spars which com- posed the raft hardly jostled each other. He stepped upon it, and, as the moon was bright in the heavens, he took the precaution of collecting all the arms which had been left, and throwing them as far as he could into the sea. He then walked to the tent, where he found Philip still sleeping soundly, and in a few minutes he was reposing by his side. And Philip's dreams were of Amine; he thought that he saw the hated Schriften rise again from the waters, and, climbing up to the raft, seat himself by her side. He thought that he again heard his unearthly chuckle and _ his scornful laugh, as his unwelcome words fell upon her distracted ears. He thought that she fled into the sea to avoid Schriften, and that the waters appeared to reject her—she floated on the surface. The storm rose, and once more he beheld her in the sea-shell skimming over the waves. Again, she was in a furious surf on the beach, and her shell sank, and she was buried in the waves: and then he saw her walking on shore without fear and without harm, for the water which spared no one, appeared to spare fer. Philip tried to join her, but was prevented by some un- known power, and Amine waved her hand and said, ‘‘ We shall meet again, Philip ; yes, once more on this earth shall we meet again.” The sun was high in the heavens and scorching in his heat, when Krantz first opened his eyes, and awakened Philip. The axe again procured for them their morning’s meal. Philip was silent ; he was ruminating upon his dreams, which had afforded him a ogg Sot mS arok consolation. ‘We shall -meet again!” thought he. ‘‘ Yes, once more at least we shall meet again. Providence ! I thank thee.” Krantz then stepped out to ascertain the condition of the men. He found them faint, and so exhausted, that they could not possibly survive much longer, yet still watching over their darling treasure. It was melancholy to witness such perversion of intellect, and Krantz thought of a plan which might save their lives. He proposed to them each separately, that they should bury their money so deep, that it was not to be recovered with- out time; this would prevent any one from attacking the treasure of the other, without its being perceived and the attempt frustrated, and would enable them to obtain their neces- sary food and refreshment without danger of being robbed. To this plan they acceded. Krantz brought out of the tent the only shovel in their pos- session, and they, one by one, buried their dollars many feet deep in the yielding sand. When they had all secured their wealth, he brought them one of the axes, and the cocoa- nut trees fell, and they were restored to new hfe and vigour. Having satiated themselves, they then laid down upon the several spots under which they had buried their dollars, and were soon enjoying that repose which they all so much needed. Philip and Krantz had now many serious consultations as to the means which should be taken for quitting the island, and going in search of Amine ; for although Krantz thought the latter part of Philip's proposal useless, he did not venture to say so. To quit this island was necessary ; and provided they gained one of those which were inhabited, it was all that they could expect. As for Amine, he con- sidered that she was dead before this, either having been washed off the raft, or that her body was lying on it exposed to the decom- posing heat of a torrid sun. ‘To cheer. Philip, he expressed himseif otherwise ; and whenever they talked about leaving the island, it was not to save their own lives, but invariably to search after Philip’s lost wife. ‘The plan which they proposed and acted upon was, to construct a light raft, the centre to be composed of three water-casks, sawed in half, in a row behind each other, firmly fixed by cross pieces to two long spars oneach side. ‘This, under sail, would move quickly through the water, and be manageable so as to enable them to steer a course. The outside spars had been selected and hauled on shore, and the work was already in progress ; but they were left alone in their work, for the seamen appeared to have no idea at present of quitting the island. Restored by food and repose, they were now not content with the THE PHANTOM SHIP. money which they had—they were anxious for more. A portion of each party’s wealth had been dug up, and they now gambled all day with pebbles, which they had collected on the beach, and with which they had invented a game. Another evil had crept among them : they had cut steps in the largest cocoa-nut trees, and with the activity of seamen had mounted them, and by tapping the top of the trees, and fixing empty cocoa-nut shells underneath, had obtained the liquor, which in its first fermentation is termed toddy, and is afterwards distilled into arrack. But as toddy, it is quite sufficient to intoxicate : and every day the scenes of violence and intoxi- cation, accompanied with oaths and execra- tions, became more and more dreadful. The losers tore their hair, and rushed like mad- men upon those who had gained their dollars ; but Krantz had fortunately thrown their wea- pons into the sea, and those he had saved, as well as the ammunition, he had secreted. Blows and bloodshed, therefore, were con- tinual. but loss of life there was none, as the contending parties were separated by the others, who were anxious that the play should not be interrupted. Such had been the state of affairs for now nearly a fortnight, while the work of the raft had slowly proceeded. Some of the men had lost their all, and had, by the general consent of those who had won their wealth, been banished to a certain distance that they might not pilfer from them. These walked gloomily round the island or on the beach, seeking some instrument by which they might avenge themselves, and obtain repossession of their money. Krantz and Philip had proposed to these men to join them and leave the island, but they had sullenly refused. ‘The axe was now never parted with by Krantz. He cut down what cocoa-nut trees they required for subsistence, and prevented the men from notching more trees to procure the means of inebriation. On the sixteenth day all the money had passed into the hands of three men, who had been more fortunate than the rest. The losers were now by far the more numerous party, and the conse- quence. was, that the next morning these three men were found lying strangled on the beach ; the money had been re-divided, and the gambling had re-commenced with more vigour than ever. ‘“How can this end?” exclaimed Philip to Krantz, as he looked upon the blackened countenances of the murdered men. ‘‘In the death of all,’’ replied Krantz. ‘“We cannot prevent it. It is a judgment.” The raft was now ready; the sand had been dug from beneath it, so as to allow the water to flow in and float it, and it was nowmade fast to a stake, and riding on the peace- ful waters. A large store of cocoa-nuts, old and young, had been procured and put on board of her, and it was the intention of Philip and Krantz to have quitted the island the next day. Unfortunately, one of the men, when bathing, had perceived the arms lying in the shallow water. He had dived down and pro- cured a cutlass: others had followed his example, and all had armed themselves. This induced Philip and Krantz to sleep on board of the raft and keep watch; and that night, as the play was going on, a heavy loss on one side ended in a general fray. The combat was fui for all were more or less excited by The result was melancholy, for only three were left alive. Philip, with Krantz, watched the every man who fell wounded was put to the Sword, and the three left, who had been fighting on the same side, rested panting on their weapons. After a pause two of them communicated with each other, and the result was an attack upon the third man, who fell dead beneath their blows. ““ Merciful Father! are tures?” exclaimed Philip. ‘‘No,” replied Krantz, ‘‘ they worshipped the devilas Mammon. Do you imagine that those two, who could now divide more wealth than they could well spend if they return to their country, will consent to a division? Never—they must have all—yes, all !”’ Krantz had hardly expressed his opinion, when one of the men, taking advantage of the other turning round a moment from him, passed sword through his back. The man fell with a groan, and the sword was again passed through his body. “Said I not so? But the treacherous villain shall not reap his reward,’’ continued Krantz, levelling the musket which he heldin his hand, and shooting him dead. “You have done wrong, Krantz; you have saved him from the punishment he de- served. Left alone on the island, without the means of obtaining his subsistence, he must have perished miserably and by inches, with all his money round him; that would have been torture indeed ?” “Perhaps I was Lous, intoxication, issue these thy crea- lis wrong. If so, may Providence forgive me, I could not help it. Let us go ashore, for we are now on this island alone. We must collect the treasure and bury it, so that it may be recovered ; and, at the same time, take a portion with us ; for who knows but that we may have occasion for it. To-morrow we had better remain here, for we shall have enough to do in burying the bodies of these infatuated men, and the wealth which has caused their destruction.” LHE PHANTOM SHIP. TOO ~hilip agreed to the propriety of the sug- gestion ; the next day they buried the bodies where they lay; and the treasure was all collected ina deep trench, under a cocoa-nut tree, which uney: carefully marked with their axe, Abi five hundred pie ces of gold were selected and ealeen on board of the Taft, with the intention of secreting them about their persons, and resorting to them in case of need. The following morning they hoisted their sail and quitted theisland. Need it be said in what direction they steered? As may be well imagined, in that quarter where they had last seen the raft with the isolated Amine. CHAPTER XXVII. THE raft was found to answer well, and although her progress through the water was not very rapid, she obeyed the helm and was under command. Both Philip and Krantz vere very careful in taking such marks and observations of he island as should enable them, if necessary, to find it again, With the current to assist them they now pro- ceeded rapidly to the southward, in order that they might examine a large island which lay in that direction. Their object, after seeking for Amine, was to find out the direc- tion of Ternate; the king of which they knew to be at variance with the Portuguese, who had a fort and factory at Tidore, not very far distant from it; and from thence to obtain a passage in one of the Chinese junks, which, on their way to Bantam, called at that island. Towards evening they had neared the large island, and the y soon ran down it close to the beach. Philip’s eyes wandered in every direction to ascerté ae whether anythi ng on the shore indicated the presence of Amine’s raft, but he could perceive nothing of the ‘ind, nor did he see any inhabitants. That they might not pass the object of their search during the night, they ran their raft on shore, in a small cove where the waters were quite smooth, and remained there until the next morning, when they again made sail and prosecuted their voyage. Krantz was steering with the long sweep they had fitted for the purpose, when he observed Philip, who had been for some time silent, take from his breast the relic which he wore, and gaze attentively upon it. ‘‘TIs that your picture, Philip?’’ observed Krantz. ‘Alas ! no, it is my destiny,” replied Philip, answering without reflection. What mean you?”’ I hardly know ‘Your destiny ! ‘ Did I say my destiny ?TIO LHE PHAN what I said,” replied Philip, replacing the relic in his bosom. “I rather think you said more than you intended,” replied Krantz; ‘‘but-at the same time something near the truth. I have often perceived you with that trinket in your hand, and I have not forgotten how anxious Schriften was to obtain it, and the consequences of his attempt uponit. Is there not some secret— some mystery attached to it? Surely, if so, you must now sufficiently know me as your friend to feel me worthy of your confidence.’ ‘That you are my friend, Krantz, I feel ; my sincere and much-valued friend, for we have-shared much danger together, and that is sufficient to make us friends; that I could trust you, I believe, but I feel as if I dare not trust any one. ‘There is a mystery attached to this relic (fora relic it is), which as yet has been confided to my wife and holy men alone.” ‘‘And if trusted to holy men, surely it may be trusted to sincere friendship, than Which nothing is more holy.” ‘‘ But I have a presentiment that the know- ledge of my secret would prove fatal to you. Why I feel such a presentiment I know not : but I feel it, Krantz; and I cannot afford to lose you, my valued friend.” “You will not then make use of my friendship, it appears,” replied Krantz. ‘‘] ave risked my life with you before now, and I am not to be deterred from the duties of friendship bya childish foreboding on your part, the result of an agitated mind anda veakened body, Can afything be more absurd than to suppose that a secret confided to me can be pregnant with danger, unless it be, indeed, that my zeal to assist you may lead,me into difficulties. I am not of a prying disposition ; but we have been so long con- nected together, and are now so isolated from the rest of the world, that it appears to me it would be a solace to you, were you te con- fide in one whom you can trust, what evidently has iong preyed upon your mind. The con- solation and advice of a friend, Philip, are not to be despised, and you will feel relieved if able to talk over with him a subject which evidently oppresses you. If, therefore, you value my friendship, let me share with you in your sorrows,” There are few who hav ’ e passed through life so quietly, as not to recollect how much grief has been assuaged by confiding its cause to, and listening to the counsels and consola- tions of, some dear friend. It must not, therefore, appear surprising that, situated as he was, and oppressed with the loss of Amine, Philip should regard Krantz as one to whom he might venture to confide his important secret, Hecommenced his narrative with no LOM SHIP. injunctions, for he felt that if Krantz could not respect his secret for his secret’s sake, or from good will towards him, he was not likely to be bound by any promise; and as, during the day, the raft passed by the various small capes and headlands of the island, he poured into Krantz’s ear the history which the reader is acquainted with. ‘‘ Now you know all,” said Philip, witha deep sigh, as the narrative was concluded. ‘‘ What think you? Do you credit my strange tale, or do you imagine, as some well would, that it is amere phantom of a disordered brain?” ‘That it is not so, Philip, I believe,”’ re- plied Krantz; ‘‘for I too have had ocular proof of the correctness of a part of your history. Remember how often I have seen this Phantom Ship—andif your father is per- mitted to range over the seas, why should you not be selected and permitted to reverse his doom? TI fully believe every word that you have told me, and since you have told me this, [can comprehend much that in your behaviour at times appeared unaccountable ; there are many who would pity you, Philip, but I envy you.” ‘‘ Envy me?” cried Philip. ‘Yes! envy you: and gladly would I take the burden of your doom en my own shoulders, were it only possible. Is it not a splendid thought that you are summoned to so great a purpose,—that instead of roaming through the world as we all do in pursuit of wealth, which possibly we may lose after years of cost and hardship, by the venture ofa day, and which, at allevents, we must leave behind us,—you are selected to fulfil a great and glorious work—the work of angels, I may say—that of redeeming the soul of a father, sujjering indeed for his human frailties, but not doomed to perish for eternity ; you-have, indeed, an object of pursuit worthy of all the hardships and dangers of a maritime life. If it ends in your death, what then ? Where else ends our futile cravings, our continual toil, after nothing? We all must die—but how few—who, indeed, besides yourself—was ever permitted before his death to ransom the soul of the author of his existence! Yes, Philip, I envy you!” ‘““You think and speak like Amine. She, too, is of a wild and ardent soul, that would mingle with the beings of the other world, and hold intelligence with disembodied spirits.” ‘She is right,” replied Krantz; “ there are events in my life, or rather connected with my family, which have often fully convinced me that this is not only possible but permitted. Your story has only corroborated what I al- ready believed.” ‘Indeed ! Krantz?" ‘Indeed, yes ; but of that hereafter : thenight is closing i barque in safety f which I thi . ° I 2atfAw — . # ‘ e Before morning a strong br 7 ; ae shore, had sprung up, and the s1 I i + } hich, as tO Cl inger Ut! I Ey their cx ; I l ‘ { haul up it, to7 t 1 : to ( | y bre y | ‘ ; ‘ a ; 7 nN i t a ] ; ; r rt ‘ se i tilett, COLILIMIUEC LIC, POLILtlil a Ta d e€ purpose.” right on came SO to continue 1 only } 4 ead, on \ \ t ) Ty Lil- ; A id < ‘ 1 i ,47 i icn lip. was wake ‘ J eo Cription OF anol re} 1 KWTAaANiZ § ¢ paren coming ( tne wind t& ter he n t ry nook we | ey ; ; a ‘ , ; X ( Ll il ; 10138 thes i OL a VE one OF | T l I Kim OVEI > ¥ 7 Gt, Sé : ! i VY ‘ { } es ’ 1 } one I a Oi mé e] "The : ere i i t . i S< l LO | I { iy i and \ i rol tn url ca ’ 1 the : iC rai tney 1 ‘ hla } 1 [ ‘ ed | VU e snail len Vv ¢ > r 1 n the peroqua took nx I i ; 4 : of them until the c had been hau and cu l ( them then <¢ tOwal j l | l their hat i no ho : os tentions. { mM if t 7 41 askKInNg tne is KT a ry hi VV « | ; LJ ] ‘i A 1 A part ol { th 1 we WT % 2 We v4 ££ X7 q 9) coy, ] y O ) 7 ] ‘ } x ’ l a « We bek t ‘ i t O iS at O % J TK? ' : . VV ie B } or L on \ island a ‘ 4 } } ; ai l : i XA | ‘ease : { | e fa) cM J K y WI ex e & = 1 : : , Z “ a woman, who was adrift on a pal ? I i I il or Nave you hear ner r K? 1 1 i aes ; : : ‘We hav heard that a woman picked up on the beach to the southward, and ts je ; carried a t Lid« peo] le to the Porti > settlement ont osition that sne \ a Port J : 28 hs d De t LD q she is saved,” cried Philip ‘* Merciful Heaven ! accept my than] ta] re you said ?”’ ‘‘Yes: we are at war with the Portuguese, we cannot take you there,” THE PHANTOM SHIP. de certain I pr 97 < Wil ‘‘No! but we shall meet again.’ The person who accosted them was ntly of consequence. His dress was, to a lahometan, but mixed up carried arms in his girdle hand ; his turban was <¢ evi- as if } - 1 OT 1 a ryt 1is deportment, like most ns of rank in that country, was courteou d ‘ J ‘ 4 1 VV ¢ alr Ni WV ? ] ; to late, na 1 \ ‘ Or r will be 1 ¥ | } , 1} A (t i i Cicl { pC) lily ( t 1 ri uese Cc LO { \ t} I eon ; your ipanions with us in the boat: we picked is now d Krantz ; ‘ ee other > oe ] g to some No,” replied Philip, shuddering, ‘‘it { I Scl riite : t behold him before I ‘Then my eyes mu Llé it,” replied Krantz ‘Then believe your eye replied Philip, nting to the form of Schriften, who was em 7 ! THE PHANTOM SHIP. Amine had been saved. She was informed by the commandant that she was welcome, CHAPTER XXIX, and that during her Stay there everything Should be done to make her comfortable; BotTH Amine and Father Mathias started, and that in three months they expected a vessel drew back with surprise, at this unexpected from the Chinese seas, proceeding to Goa, meeting. Amine was the first to extend her and that, if inclined, she sh uld have a hand; she had almost forgotten at the mo- passage to Goa in that vessel, and from that. ment how they had parted, in the pleasure she city she would easily find other vessels to take experienced in meeting with a well-known her wherever she mig! it please to go; she face. was then conducted to an ; ap irtment, and left Father Mathias coldly took her hand, and with a little negress to attend upon her. laying his own upen her head, said: “ May The Portuguese commandant wasa small, God blesst l thee, and forgive thee, my daughter, as I have long done.” Then the recollection er a tropical sun. He of whathad passed rushed into Amine s mind, meagre, little man, dried up to a chi long sojourning und had very large whiskers, and a very long and she coloure ed deeply. sword : these were the two most remarkable Had Fz r Mathi: as forgiven her? The features in his person and dress. event poulds show ; but this is certain, he now His attentions could not be misinter- treated her as an old friend, listened with in- preted ; and Amine would have laughed at terest to her h uistory of the wreck, and agreed him, had she not been fearful that she might with her upon the propriety of her accom be detained. In a few weeks, by due atten- panying him to Goa. tion, she gained the Px rhizu lese language so In a few days the vessel sailed, and Amine far as to ask for wh: it She required ; andbefore quitted the f: ictory and its enamoured com- she quitted the island of Tidore she could mandant. ‘They ran through the Archipe- converse fluently. But her anxiety to leave, lago in safety, and were crossin g the mouth and to ascertain what had become of Philip, of the Bay of Bengal, without. “having had became greater every day: and at the expira- any interruption to fine weather tion of the three months her eyes were con- Father Mathias had returned to Lisben tinually bent to seaward, to catch the first when he quitted Ternicore, and, tired of glimpse of the vessel which was expected. idleness, had again volunteered to proceed as At last it appeared ; and as Amine watched a missi lonary to India. He had arrived at the approach of the canvas from the west, the Forn nosa, and shortly after his arrival, had commal i int fell on his knees, and declaring received directions from his Superior to his passion, requ sted her not to think of de- return, on important business, to Goa; parture, ‘bat to unite her fate with his. and EDUS it was that he fell in with Amine Amine was cautious in her reply, for she at Tic knew that she was in his power. ‘‘She must It W a 1 be difficult to analyze the feelings first ae intelligence of her husband's of Father Mathiastowards Amine —they varied death, which was not yet certain; she would so often. ~ one moment he would call to procee sf to Goa, and if she Be overed that she mind the kindness shown to him by her and was single, she would write to him.” Philip, the regard he had for the husband, and This answer, as it will te discovered, was the many good qualities which he acknow- the cause of great suffering to Philip. The ledged that she possessed ; and zow he would commandant fully assured that he couldcom- recollect the disgrace, the unme rited disgrace, pass Philip’s death, was satisfied—declared he had suffered th rough her means ; and he that, as soon as he had any positive intelli- would then canvas whether she really did gence, he would bring it to Goa himself, and believe him an intruder in her chamber for made a thousand protestations of truth and other motives than those which actuated him, fidelity. or whether she had taken advantage of his ‘Fool !” thought Amine, as she watched indiscretion. These accounts were nearly the ship, which was now close to the an- balanced in his mind: he could have for- chorage. given all if he had thought that Amine was a In half an hour the vessel had anchored, sincere convert to-the Church ; but his strong and the people had landed. Amine observed conviction that she was not only an unbe- a priest with them as they walked up to the liever, but that she practised forbidden ar ts, fort. She shuddered—she knew not why. turned the scale against her. He watched When they arrived, she found herself in the her narrowly, and when in her conversation presence of Father Mathias. she showed any religious feeling, his heart warmed towards her ; but when, on the contrary, any words escaped her lips which seemed to show that she thought lightly ofII4 THE PHANTOM SHIP. his creed, then the full tide of indignation and vengeance poured into his bosom. It was in crossing the Bay of Bengal, to pass round the southern cape of Ceylon, that they first met with bad weather ; and when the storm increased, the superstitious seamen lighted candles before the small image of the saint which was shrined on deck. Amine ob- served it, and smiled with scorn ; and as she did so, almost unwittingly, she perceived that the eye of Father Mathias was earnestly fixed upon her. ‘“The Papooses I have just left do no worse than worship their idols, and are termed idolaters,” muttered Amine. ‘‘ What, then, are these Christians ?”’ ‘Wonld you not be better below?” said Father Mathias, coming over to Amie. “This is no time for women to be on deck ; they would be better employed in offering up prayers for safety.” “Nay, father, I can pray better here. I like this conflict of the elements; and as I view, I bow down in admiration of the Deity who rules the storm—who sends the winds forth in their wrath, or soothes them into peace.” “Tt is well said, my child,” replied Father Mathias ; ‘‘ but the Almighty is not only to be worshipped in his works; but in the closet, with meditation, self-examination, and faith. Hast thou followed up the precepts which thou hast been taught ?—hast thou reverenced the sublime mysteries which have been un- folded to thee? ‘ have done my best, father,” replied Amine, turning away her head, and watching the rolling waye “Hast thou called upon the Holy Virgin, and upon the saints--those intercessors for mortals erring ke thyself?” Amine made no answer ; she did not wish to irritate the priest, neither would she tell an untruth. “« Answer me, child,’ continued the priest with severity. “Father,” replied Amine. ‘‘I have ap- pealed to God alone—the God of the Chris- tians—the God of the whole universe ! ' “Who believes not everything, believes nothing, young woman. I thoughtas much ! I saw thee smile with scorn just now. Why didsithou smile?” At my own thoughts, good father.’ ‘‘Say rather at the true faith shown by others. (2. Amine made no answer, © Thou art still an unbeliever and a heretic. Beware, young woman !—beware !”’ “Beware of what, good father? Why should I beware? Are there not millions in hese climes ‘more ‘““unbelieving and more ’ , heretic, perhaps, than 1? How_many have you converted to your faith? What trouble. what.toil, what dangers have you not under- gone to propagate that creed ; and why do you succeed so ill? Shall I tell you, father ? It is because the people have already had a creed of their own—a creed taught to them from their infancy, and acknowledged by all who live about them. Am I not in the same position? I was brought up in another creed ; and can you expect that that can be dismissed, and the prejudices of early years at once eradicated? I have thought much of what you have told me—have felt that much is truc—that the tenets of your creed are god- like : is not that much? and yet youare not content, You would have blind acknowledg- ment, blind obedience: I were then an un- worthy convert. We shall soon be in port; then teach me, and convince me, if you will. I am ready to examine and confess, but on conyiction only, Have patience, good father and the time may come when I way feel what now I do mof—that yon bit of painted wood is a thing to bow down to and adore,” Notwithstanding this taunt at the close of this speech, there was so much truth in the observations of Amine, that Father Mathias felt their power. As the wife of a Catholic, he had-been accustomed to view Amine a one who had backslided from the Church of Rome—not as one who had been brought up in another creed. He ,now recalled to mind that she had neyer yet been received into the Church, for Father Seysen had not .con- sidered her as in a proper state to be admitted, and had deferred her baptism until he was satisfied of her full belief. ‘You speak boldly ; but you speak as you feel, my child,” replied Father Mathias, after a pause. ‘‘ We will, when we arrive at Goa, talk over these things, and, with the blessing of God, the new faith shall be made manifest to you.” ‘So be it,”’ replied Amine, Little did the priest imagine that Amine’s thoughts were at that moment upon a dream she had had at New Guinea, in which her mother appeared, and revealed to her her magic arts, and that Amine was longing to arrive at Goa that she might practise them. Every hour the gale increased, and the vessel laboured and leaked. ‘The Portuguese sailors were frightened, and invoked their saints. Father Mathias and the other passen- gers gave themselves up for lost, for the pumps could not keep the vessel free ; and their cheeks blanched, as the waves washed furiously over the vessel; they prayed and trembled. Father Mathias gave them absolu- tion. Some cried like children, some tore their hair, some ‘cursed, and cursed thesaints they had but the day before invoked, but Amine stood unmoved : and as She heard them curse, in scorn. ‘* My child,”’ said Father Mathias, check ing his tremulous voicc at he might appear agitated befor sa calm and unmoved amidst the roarine of th elements peril pass away. Before thou art-summoned ‘ : a c +] sne smiled let me receive tnee into tl l ( Church—give thee pardon thy d certainty of bliss hereafter.’’ ‘‘Good father, Amine is not te fright ne } 14 r. even il I storm l { nor \ your power to forgive her sins 1 cause she says in fear that which in her reason she might reject. If ever fear have subjected me, it was when I wa upon the raft—that was, indeed, a trial strength of mind I collect which is, at this moment, more dreadful] the storm now raging, ; may await us. ‘There is a God r( on } n whose m« Vit —In whose ve I ¢ 7 ] 1] | 3 } —to \ will I bow. ] cy " ‘ 7 } } 7 ni¢ m hy ‘ } oo ; J i Ly 1 } aA ] Vv —s Crvl ; yr. és { 7 ont 1 t ; now, ti ritan ol wf 1 ‘ ‘ is -toeir faith, t ( t em 1 1; La } ; strengt l » CQ) K IY \ i it.a 1 1 mar L, I l on ere tne a - +7 A 1 1 [ I Ci d-—~ , tne : , 7 7 _ 7 7 si wives, tl dren, d y dread | | ied nl i no band—at least, I fear I ] no | d For me life |} » Swe vet. 1 little hon emain ; ty X +] i] no wretch a n¢ i d } f | | (oO | IO! vr Ph | | } 1s gone before me, and Fe i ll TF ask.”’ 4 Hed n the faith, n c] —»if i would meet him, do the ! “ee 4 t] . i IA } 1e, looking t tl ‘*¢ PD } 1 ] +1 1 7: P i j man Cac n pe ! ii NO iets } Ecx 4 1 sf) ( f c l ili { i C Lio, | ] 4 ‘ ] j il Dp iy ; i + ' 1 terril j +] ] id yy ili ’ : i ‘ ; i 7 T 41 4 4 ther Mathias, sinking « ot t <1 1 1] ¥ ‘ th nk hy prave wil] he d even 1 1 olte Lf Ot Amine, who, clinging to the mar-ropes, made THE PHANTOM SHIP. IIe her way , oe ; serge aa Ts 2 ora, st exclaimed the cant ; uUrinoin hi } nds ac » Wringing his hands as he crouche tain, wrin, ! he crouched cer the Dulwar! ‘th '”? ; 1 O | Al > » had gained L Vy XK on DY a rone: ic ] : ] } OSE im | ‘ LJ , LOW Si l Tar I 9 = captain, 10 7 Willl admiration Ef ine’s PY 9 cL SELF ILLIA 3 alm ( nrenal oy tf How 17 7 > z r 1 me So, good captain, } lnk sf a8; 1 ( t il yc . ou exert your- ng teils it to me here,” and 1 Amine ICLIOT E sel] would not be had not escaped her observation sTIM WwW: : ; alth ; had been unnoticed by the ; , pers al sight of awomanso young na confiding, when all others were in <4 the captain na Ln ea Catholic, n me warrant ner and super- oked upon \ v\ t, recovered ; larcie ind npl | +n thei 4 ~ ' I fe pul | \ “e } L: the storm 1 during ht, ee | was, \ | t¢ d. 7 _ The et é I ked upon her imost } l talked of her to Father thias, who wi idly perplexed. Che I hich had displayed was extra ry; .even when |] trembled, she ino n of { H ide no reply, mmuned with ] 7 d, and the It was unfays e toAn What had iven her such cool] V had en t! pil { ] ' t! ( of risti ho > iJ ! ht ren I 1 7 i ( Lk Ae CHAPTER Xxx V ust now 1 return to ip and ] ; 2 d sation 1pon ¢ Tee! { f >¢ i Nn All ould e upon was, that he should ’ tched, and that they should th his company as seon as pos- Krantz had interrogated him as to his ; and Schriften had informed him, in ual sneering manner, that one of the of the raft had been allowed and that to get he had116 THE PHANTOM SHIP. \ floated on it, until he had gained a small island: that on seeing the peroqua, he had once more launched it, and supported himself by it, until he was perceived and picked up. As there was nothing impossible, although much of the improbable, in this account, Krantz asked no more questions. ‘The next morning, the wind having abated, they launched the peroqua, and made sail for the island of Ternate. It was four days before they arrived, as every night they landed and hauled up their craft on the sandy beach. Philip’s heart was relieved at the knowledge of Amine’s safety, and he could have been happy at the prospect of again meeting her, had he not been so con- stantly fretted by the company of Schriften. There was something so strange, so con- trary to human nature, that the little man, though diabolical as he appeared to be in his disposition, should never hint at, or complain of, Philip's attempts upon his life. Had he complained—had he accused Philip of murder —had he vowed vengeance, and demanded justice on his return to the authorities, it had been different ; but no—there he was, making his uncalled-for and impertinent observations, with his eternal chuckle and sarcasm, as if he had not the least cause of anger or ill-will. As soon as they arrived at the principal port and town of Ternate, they were con- ducted to a large cabin, built of palmetto leaves and bamboo, and requested not to leave it until their arrival had been announced to the king. ‘The peculiar courtesy and good breeding of these islanders was the constant theme of remark of Philip and Krantz ; their religion, as well as their dress, appeared to be a compound of the Mahommedan and Malayan. After a few hours, they were summoned to attend the audience of the king, held in the open air. The king was seated under a por- tico, attended by a numerous concourse of priests and soldiers. There was much com- pany, but little splendour. All who were about the king were robed in white, with white turbans, but hehimself was without ornament. The first thing that struck Philip and Krantz, when they were ushered into the presence of the king, was the beautiful cleanliness which everywhere prevailed : every dress was spot- less and white as the sun could bleach it. € Having followed the example of those who introduced them, and saluted the king after the Mahommedan custom, they were re- quested to be seated; and through the Por- tuguese interpreters—for the formercommuni- cation of the islanders with the Portuguese, who had been driven from the place, made the Portuguese language well known by many— a few questions were put by the king, who bade them welcome, and then requested to know how they had been wrecked. Philip entered into a short detail, in which he stated that his wife had been separated from him, and was, he understood, in the hands of the Portuguese factory at ‘Tidore. ‘He requested to know if his majesty could assist him in obtaining her release, or in going to join her. ‘Tt is well said,’’ replied the king. ‘‘ Let refreshments be brought in for the strangers, and the audience be broken up.”’ In afew minutes there remained of all the court but two or three of the king’s confi- dential friends and advisers; and a- collation of curries, fish, and a variety of other dishes, was served up. After it was over, the king then said, ‘‘The Portuguese are dogs, they are our enemies—will you assist us to fight them? We have large guns, but do not un- derstand the use of them as well as you do, I will send a fleet against the Portuguese at Tidore, if you willassist me. Say, Hollanders, will you fight? You,” addressing Philip, ‘« will then recover your wife.”’ ‘‘T will give an answer to you to-morrow,” replied Philip. ‘‘1 must consult with my friend. AsItold you before, I was the cap- tain of the ship, and this was my second in command—we will consult together.’’ Schrif- ten, whom Philip had represented as a com- mon seaman, had not been brought up into the presence of the king. “Tt >is good; replied: the king; -{to= morrow we will expect your reply.” Philip and Krantz took their leave, and, on their return to the cabin, found that the king had sent them,, as a present, two com- plete Mahommedan dresses, with turbans. ‘These were welcome, for their own garments were sadly tattered, and very unfit for ex- posure to the burning sun of those climes. Their peaked hats, too, collected the rays of heat, which were intolerable ; and they gladly exchanged them for the white turban. Secret- ing their money in the Malayan sash, which formed a part of the attire, they soon robed themselves in the native garments, the com- fort of which was immediately acknowledged. After a long consultation, it was decided that they should accept the terms offered by the king, as this was the only feasible way by which Philip could hope to- re-obtain posses- sion of Amine. ‘Their consent was communi- cated to the king on the following day, and every preparation was made for the expedition. And now! was to be behela a scene of bustle and activity. Hundreds and hundreds of peroquas, of every dimension, floating close to the beach, side by side, formed a raft ex- tending nearly half a mile on the smooth water of the bay, teeming with men, who wereequipping them for the service; fitting the sails; others were carpentering where required; the major portion were sharpening their swords, and preparing the deadly poison of the pine-apple for their creezes. The beach was a scene of confusion : water in jars, bags of rice, vegetables, salt- fish, fowls in coops, were everywhere strewed about al mong the armed natives, who were obeying the orders of the chiefs, who them- selves walked up and down, dressed in their gayest apparel, and glittering in their arms and ornaments. ‘The king had six lo ng brass four-pounders, a present from an Indian cap- tain: these, with a pr See quantity of shet and cartridges, were (under the direction of Philip and Krantz) fitted on some of the largest peroquas, and some of the natives were instructed how to use them. At first, the king, who fully expected the reduction of the Portuguese fort, stated his determination to go in person : but in this he was overruled by his confidential advisers, and by the request of Philip, who could not allow him to expose his valuable life. In ten days, all was ready, and the fleet manned by seven thou- sand men, made sail for the island of Tidore. It was a beautiful sight, to behold the blue rippling sea, covered wait nearly six hundred of these picturesque craft, all under sail, and darting through the water like dolphins in pursuit of prey; all croy nee with natives, whose white dresses formed a lively contrast with the deep blue of the w ater. The large peroquas, in which were Philip and Krantz, with the native commanders. were gaily de- corated with streamers and pennons of ‘all colours, that flowed out and snapped with the fresh breeze. It appeared rather to be an expedition of mirth and merriment, than one which was proceeding to bloodshed and slaughter. On the evening of the had made the island of Tido to within a few miles of the Portuguese factory and fort. The natives of the country, who disliked, though they feared to disobey, the Portuguese, had quitted their huts near the beach, and retired into the woods. The fleet, therefore, anchored and lay near the beach, without molestation, during the night. The next morning, Philip and Krantz proceeded to reconnoitre. The fort and factory of Tidore were built upon the same principle as almost all the Portuguese defences in those seas. An outer fortification, consisting of a ditch, with strong palisades embedded in masonry, surrounded the factory and all the houses of the establish- ment. The gates of the outer wall were open all day for ingress and egress, and closed only at night, On the seaward side of this enclosure some were second day they re, and run down THE PHAN TOM SHIP. 117 was what may be termed the citadel, or real fortification; it was built of solid masonry, with parapets, was surrounded by a deep ditch, and was only accessible by a draw- bridge, m ounted with cannon on every side. Its real strength, however, could not well be perceive d, as it was hidden by the high pali- sading which surrounded the whole establish- ment. After a careful survey, Philip recom- mended that the large peroquas with the can- non should attack by sea, while the men of the small vessels should land and surround the fort, taking advantage of every shelter which was afforded them to cover themselves while they harassed the enemy with their matchlocks, arrows, and spears. This plan having been approved of, one hundred and fifty peroquas made sail; the others were hauled on the beach, and the men belonging to them pro- ceeded by land. But the Portuguese had been warned of their approach, and were fully prepared to re- ceive them; the guns mounted to the sea- ward were of heavy calibre and well served. The guns of the peroquas, though rendered as effectual as they could bé, under the direction of Philip, were small, and did little damage to the thick stone front of the fort. After an en- gagement of four hours, during which the Ter- nate people lost a great number of men, the pe- roquas, by the advice of Philip and Krantz, hauled off, and returned to where the re- mainder of the fleet was stationed ; and an- other council of war was held. The force, which had surrounded the fort, on the land side, was, however, not withdrawn, as it cut off any supplies or assistance; and, at the same time, occasionally brought down any of the Portuguese who might expose themselves a point of no small importance, as Philip well knew, with a garrison so small as that in the fort. ‘That they could not take the fort by means their cannon was evident; on the sea side it was for them impregnable: their efforts must now be directed to the land. Krantz, after the native chiefs had done speaking, advised that they should wait until dark, and then proceed to the attack in the following way. When the breeze set along shore, which it would do in the evening, he proposed that the men should prepare large Byrn of dry pal- 1etto and cocoa-nut leaves ; that they should carry their bundles and ack ee against the palisades to windward, and then set fire to them. They would thus burn down down the palisades, and gain an entrance into the outer fortification ; after which they could as- certain in what manner they should next pro- ceed. ‘This advice was too judicious not to be followed, All the men who had not match- locks were sent to collect fagots; a largeT18 quamtity of dry wood was soon got together, and before night they were ready for the second attack. ‘The white dresses of the Ter nates were laid aside : with nothing on them but their belts, and scimitars, and creezes, and blue under- drawers, they silently crept up to the pali- sades, there deposi ited their fagots, and then again returned, again to perform the same journey. As the breastwork of fagots in- creased, SO did théy more boldly walk up, until the pile was completed ; they then, with a loud shout, fired it in several places. ‘The flames thounted. the canhon of the fort roared, and many fell under the discharges of g ae and hand-grenadé. But stifled by the smoke, which poured in volumes upon them, the people in the fort were soon compelled to giiit the ramparts to avoid suffocation. The palisades were on fire, and the flames mount- ing in the air, Swept over and began to attack the factory and houses. No resistance was now offered, and the Ternates tore down the burning palisades, aud forced their way into the intrenchment, and with theit scimitars and creezes put to death all who had been so unfortunate as not to take réfuge in the citadel. ‘These were chiefly native servants, whom the ee had surprised, and for whose lives Portuguese seemed to care but little, for the paid no attention to their cries to lower the draibridge, and admit them into the fort. The factory, built of stone, and all the other houses were on fire, and the island was lighted up for miles. The smoke had cleared way,-and the defences of the fort were now P lainly + ees in the broad glare of the flames. ‘If we had scaling- ladders,’ cried Philip, “‘the fort would be ours ; there is not a soul on the ramparts.” (rue, true,’ replied Krantz, '‘ but even as it is, the y walls will prove an ad- vantageous post for us after the fire is extin- 4 t] 1E > ey dra : c actory suished ; if we occt Ipy it, Wwe can prevent them showing them selves while the ladders are constfucting. them ready, and with a few tiore mount the walls, ‘o-morrow night we may have having fitst smoked the fort » fagots, we may afterwards and c carry the place.” I 4 1 ‘That will do,” replied Philip, as he ralked away. He then joined the native chiefs, who were collected together otitside’of 2 intrene shment, and communicated to them When he had made known his views, and the chiefs had assented to them, Schriften, who had come with the expedition unknown to P hilip , made his appearance. vt hat won't do; you ll never take that aay na Ss pli ans. fort, Philip Vanderdecken. He! he {"’ cried Schriften. Hardly had he said the words, when a THE PHANTOM SHIP. tremendous explosion took place, and the air was filled with large stones, which flew and fell in every direction, killing and maiming hundreds. It was the factory v hich, had blown up, for ih its vaults there was a large quantity of gunpowder, to which the fire had communicated. ‘‘So ends that scheme, Mynheer Vander- decken. He! he!” screamed Schriften ; ‘‘you ll never take that fort.’’ The loss of life and the confusion caused by this unexpected result occasioned a panic, and all the Ternate people fled down to the beach where their peroquas were lying. It was in vain that Philip and their chiefs attempted to rally them. Unaccustomed to the terrible effects of gunpowder in any large quanties, they believed that something super- natural had occurred, and many. of them jumped into the peroquas and made sail, while the remainder were confused, tremb- ling, and panting, all huddled together, on the beach. ‘‘You'll never take that fort, Mynheer Vanderdecken,” screamed the well-known voice. Philip raised his sword to cleave the lit@e man in two, but he let it fall ag ain. «kt TERY he tells an unwelcome truth 1, thougnt Philip ; ‘‘but why should I take his life for that °°’ Some few of the Ternate chiefs still kept up their €ourage, but the major part were as much alarmed as their people. After some consultation, it was agreed that the army should remain where it was till the next morning, when they should finally decide what to do. When the day dawned, now that the Portuguese fort was no longe sr Surrounded by t the other buildings, they pere ceived that it was more formidable than ey had at first supposed. ‘The ramparts were filled with men, and they were bringing cannon on the Ternate forces. P to bear hilip had a consul- tation with Krantz, and botha -knowledged, that, with the present panic, nothing more could be done. ‘The chiefs were of the same Opinion, and orders were given for the return of the expedition, indeed, the Ternate chiefs were fully satisfied with their success ; they had destroyed the large fort, the fa olor and all the Portuguese buil Idings; a small fortifi- cation only was uninjured ; ee t was built of stone, and inaecessible, and they knew that the report of what had been done would-be taken and acknowledged by the ki ig asa great victory. ‘The order was therefore given fe embarkation, and in two hours the whole fleet, -after a loss of about seven hundred men, Was again on its way to Ternate. Krantz and Philip this time embarked in theSame peroqua, that they might have the plea- sure of each other's conversation. ao he ad not, however, sailed above three hours, it fell cal 1 ithe evening , Cvery sea eet was drifting oe I 2 1¢ . ast on the shore, and before mornin 1g dawned, the vessel in which were Philip and Krantz were among the rollers on the beach off the northern end of the island. In a short time she was dashed to pieces, and every one hacL to yk out fe h elf Philip ane Kra d hold of ¢ fragment, and remain, t ; 3s : } 7 fate ; and seeming to agree with them, allowed the Ternate p De to walk to the Tidote peroqua d while they were launch- ing them Sranty fell back intothe jungle and Pee The Portuguese had perceived the wreck of their enemies, and, irritated by the they had sustained, they had ordered the people of the island to go out and capture all who were driven on shor Now that they were no | rer assailed, the } 4 Tidore people obeyed them, a fell in with Philip and Kr: quietly sat down under the sh tree, waiting the issue. ‘They \ ay to the fort, where they arrived by nightfa ll. ushered into the presence of the Commandant, the same little man who had THE PHANTOM SHIP, 119 made love to Amine, and as they were dressed in Mussulman’s attire, he was about to order them to be hung, when Ph ilip told him that they were Dutchmen, who had been wrecked, and forced by the king of Periate to join his expedition ; that they had taken the earliest ees. f esc pi Ing, aS was very evident, since those who had been thrown on shore with them had got off in the island boats, while the J chose to remain. Whereupon the little Portugu Commandant struck his sword firm cov n on the pavement of the ramparts, /ooked very big, and then ordered them to prison for further examination. CHAPTER XXXI, AS every one descants upon the want of com- fort in a prison, it is to be presumed that there ate no very comfortable ones. Cer- tainly that to which Philip and Krantz were ushered, had anything rather than the air of an agreeable residence. It was under the fort, whee a very small aperture looking to- wards th , for light and air. It was very destitute of all those little ld so much to one’s ouses and hotels. In four bare walls, and hot, aid: NnVEenIences Mekal which a iness in modern h consisted of cokes act, it stone floor, and that was all. Philip, who wished to make sone in- quiries relative to Amine, addressed, in Portu- guese, the soldier who broug ht them down. “My Boo friend, I beg your pardon—” ‘“‘T beg yours,” fetta the sol lier, going out of the door, and locking them a in, Philip leant gloomily the wall; ants: more mercurial, walked re and down three steps each way and turn, “*Do you know what I am thinking observed Krantz, after a pause in his walk. [t is very fortunate that (lowering his voice) we have all our doubloons about us; if they don't search us, we may get away by bribing.” And I was thinking,’ yined Philip, ‘that I would sooner be bg re tb an in com- pany with that wretch Schriften, whose sight is poison to me,” ‘‘[ did not much admire the appearance of the Commandant; but I suppose we shall know more to-morrow.” Here they were interrupted by the turning of the key, and the entrance of a Soldier with agains CLF” a chatty of water, and a large dish of boiled rice. He was not the man who had brought them to the dungeon, and Philip accosted him. ‘“You have had hard work within these last two days?” “Y6Es, indeed ! gnor.”t20 LHE PHANTOM SHIP. “The natives forced us to join the expe- dition, and we escaped.” “So I heard you say, signor.” “They lost nearly a thousand men,’ said Krantz. Ptuoly st. Francis ! I am glad.of it.” ‘“They will be careful how they attack Portuguese in a hurry, I expect,” rejoined Krantz. ‘T think so,” replied the soldier. ‘““Did you lose many men?” ventured Philip, perceiving that the man was loqua- cious. “Not ten of our own people. In the factory there were about a hundred of the natives, with some women and children; but that is of no consequence.” “You had a young Europeon woman here, I understand,” said Philip with anxiety ; ‘‘one who was wrecked in a vessel —was she among those who were lost ?”’ ‘““Young woman—Holy St. Francis. Yes, now I recollect. , Why the fact is—”’ ‘‘ Pedro!” called a voice from above; the man stopped, put his fingers to his lips, went out, and locked the door. *‘God of Heaven! give me patience,” cried Philip; ‘‘ but this is too trying.” ‘ He will'be down here again to-morrow morning,’ observed Krantz. “Yes ! to-morrow morning; but what an endless time will suspense make of the inter- vening hours.” ‘‘T feel for you,” replied Krantz ; but what can be done? ‘The hours must pass, though suspense draws them out into interminable years ; but I hear footsteps.” Again the door was unlocked, and the first soldier made his appearance. ‘‘ Follow me—the Commandant would speak’ with you.” This unexpected summons was cheerfully complied with by Philip and his companion. ‘They walked up the narrow stone steps, and at last found themselves ina small room, in presence of the Commandant, with whom our readers have been already made acqaainted. He was lolling on a small sofa, his long sword lay on the table before him, and two young native women were fanning him, one at his head, and the other at his feet. ‘Where did you get those dresses?” was the first interrogatory. ‘The natives, when they brought us pri- soners from the island on which we had saved ourselves, took away our clothes, and gave us these as a present from their king.” ‘‘And engaged you to serve in their fleet, in the attack on this fort ?’’ ‘They forced us,” replied Krantz ; ‘‘ for, as there was no war between our nations, we objected to this service; notwithstanding which, they put us on board, to make the common people believe that they were as- sisted by Europeans.” ‘‘How am Ito know the truth of this ?” ‘‘You have our word in the first place, and our escape from them in the second.” ‘“You belonged to a Dutch East-India- man. Are you officers or common sea- MeN ee Krantz, who considered that they were less likely to be detained if they concealed their rank on board, gave Philip a slight touch with his finger as he replied, ‘‘ We are inferior officers. I was third mate, and this man was pilot.”’ ‘* And your captain, where is he?” ‘‘T—JI cannot say whether he is alive or dead.”’ ‘‘Had you no woman on board ?”’ ‘Yes ! the captain had his wife.” ‘“ What has become of her ?” ‘‘ She is supposed to have perished ona portion of the raft which broke adrift.” ‘“‘Ha!” replied the Commandant, who remained silent for some time. Philip looked at Krantz, as much as to say, ‘‘ Why all this subterfuge ;’ but Krantz gave hima sign to leave him to speak. ‘You say you don’t know whether your captain is alive or dead?” Or WO, « ‘“Now, suppose I was to give you your liberty, would you have any objection to sign a paper, stating his death, and swearing to the truth of it?” Philip stared at the Commandant, and then at Krantz. ‘‘T see no objection, exactly ; except that if it were sent home to Holland we might get into trouble. May I ask, Signor Com- mandant, why you wish for such a paper?” ‘‘No!” roared the little man, ina voice like thunder. ‘‘I will give no reason, but that I wish it; that is enough; take your choice—the dungeon, or liberty and a passage by the first vessel which calls.”’ ‘‘T don't doubt—in fact—I’m sure, he must be dead by this time,’ replied Krantz, drawling out the words ina musing manner. “Commandant, will you give us till to- morrow morning to make out our calcula- tions 2” ‘“Yes, you may go.’ ‘‘ But not to the dungeon, Commandant,” replied Krantz; we are not prisoners, cer- tainly ; and, if you wish us to do you a favour, surely you will not ill-treat us ?”’ ‘‘ By your own acknowledgment you have taken up arms against the most Christian king ; however, you may remain at liberty for the night—to-morrow morning will decide whether or ho you are prisoners.” ’Philip and Krantz thanked the little Com- mandant for his kindness, and then hastened away to the ramparts. It was now dark, and the moon had not yet made her appearance. They sat there on the parapet, enjoying the breeze, and feeling the delight of liberty even aiter their short incarceration ; but, near to tnem, soldiers were either standing or lying, and tl spoke but in whispers ‘What could he mean by requiring us to give a certificate of the captain’s death: and why did you answer as you did?” «« Philiy p Var nderdecken, that ] y f+ l Nave oiten . thought of t he +, you may imagine ; and, when [I heard that she was brou ight here, I then trembted for her. What must she appear, lo very as she is, when placed in comparison with the women of this country? And that little commandant—is he not the i y person who would be taken with her cha rms 2. i denied our condition, because I thought he would be more likely to allow us our liberty as ae individuals “st-mate; particul ies as led on the Terfitte people to the attack ; and when he asked for a certifi- cate of your death, I imm eared imagined that he wanted it in order to induce Amine to marry him. But where is she? ie the que: tion. If we could only find out that soldier, we might gain some inforination.” ‘* Depend npon it, she is here, replied Philip, his hand ‘*T am inclined to thir ‘‘ that she is alive, I feel assure The conversation con than as captain and fit he suspects that we clen ching | 5 ik so,” said Krantz ; a= tinued until the was moon rose, and threw her beams over the tumbling waters. Philip and Krantz turned their faces toward the sea, and leant over the battlements in silence ; atte some time their reveries were disturbed By a person coming up to them with a ‘‘ Buenos noctes, . » $7 o 'r. Krantz immediately recognized the Portu- guese soldier, whose c peoton vith him had been interrupted ‘Good night, my. friend! We thank Heaven that you have no longer to turn the key upon us.” Ves, I'm surprised !” replied the soldier, in. a low tone, ‘‘ Our commandant is fond of exercising his power ; he rules here without appeal, that I can tell you.” ‘‘He is not within hearing of replied Krantz. ‘‘It is a lovely live in! How long have you country?” us now,’ spot this to been in this ‘‘Now thirteen years, signor, anc tired of it. I have a wife and c hildre n in Oporto—that is, I Aad—but whetl hey are alive or not, who can tell ?” ‘‘Do you not expect to return and see them ? ” THE PHANTOM SHIP. I2t af Return—signor ! no Portuguese soldier ] me ever returns. We are enlisted for five years, and we lay our bones l Phat “Hard, is hard indeed.”’ signor,” replied the soldier in a and treacherous. utting the muzzle of Le but while there’s O ] whisper ; ‘‘it is cruc 1 I have often thought of p ly arquebuse to my hea life there’s hope.” cA pity you, my good fellow,” Krantz; ‘‘look you, I have two gold pieces left—take one; you may be able to send it home to your poor wife.’ ‘* And here is one of mine, too, my good fellow," added Philip, putting another in his hand. ‘“Now may all the saints preserve you, signors,’ replied the soldier, ‘‘ for it is the first act of kindness shown to me for many years—not that my wife and children have much chance of ever receiving it.” ‘“You were speaking about a young Euro- pean woman when we were in the dungeon,” observed Krantz, after a pause. ‘Yes, signor, she was a very beautiful creature. Our commandant was very much in love with her.”’ ‘* Where is she now ?”’ “She went away to Goa, in company with a priest who knew her, Father Mathias, a good old man; he gave me absolution when he was here.”’ tf Pathan Mathias !”” exclaimed Philip ; but a touch from Krantz checked him ‘* You say the commandant loved her?” ‘‘Oh yes: the little man was quite mad about her; and had it not been for the ar- rival of Father Mathias, he would never have let her go, that I’m sure of, although she was another man’s wife.” ‘«Sailed for Goa, you s: ‘Yes, i a ship oR called here. She must have been very glad to have got away, for our little commandant persecuted her all rejoined id?” day long, and she evidently was grieving for her husband. Do you know, signors, if her husband is alive ?”’ ‘‘ No, we do not; we have heard nothing of Him: *- ‘Well, if he is, I hope he will not come here ; for should the commandant have him in his power, it would gohard with him. He is a man who sticks at nothing. He is a brave little fellow, 7za¢ cannot be denied ; but 1 to get possession of that lady, he would re- move all obstacles at any risk—and a husbz ind isa veryserious one, signors. Well, signors,’ continued the soldier, after a pause, “T had better not be seen here too long ; you may command me if you want anything; recol- lect, my name is Pedro—good night to you,Te oe and a thousand thanks,’’ and the soldier walked away. ‘We have inade one friend, at all events,” said Krantz, ‘‘and we have gained informa- tion of no little importance.” ‘‘Most important,’ replied Philip. ** Amine then has sailed for Goa with Father Mathias! I feel that she is safe, and in good hands. Heisan excellent man, that Father Mathias—my mind is relieved.”’ “Yes ; but recollect you are in the power of your enemy. We must leave this place as quick as we can—to-morrow we must sign the paper. It is of little consequence, as we Shall probably be at Goa before it arrives ; and even 1f we are not, the news of your death would not occasion Amine to marry this withered piece of mortality.” ‘" That I feel assured of ; but it may cause her great suffering.”’ ‘Not worse than her present suspense, believe me, Philip ; but it is useless canvass- ing the past—it must be done, I shall sign aS Cornelius’ Richter, our third mate; you, as Jacob Vantreat—recollect that.’’ *« Agreed,” replied Philip, who then turned away, as if willing to be left to his own thoughts, Krantz perceived it, and lay down under the embrasure, and was soon fast asleep. CHAPTER XXXII. ‘TIRED out with the fatigue of the Plnlip had laid himself down by Krantz and fallen asleep ; early the next morning he was awakened by the sound of the commandant’s voice, and his long sword rattling as usual upon the pavement. He rose, and found the little man rating the soldiers—threatening some with the dungeons, others with extra duty. Krantz was also on his feet before the commandant had finished his morning's lec- ture. At last, perceiving them, in a stern voice he ordered them to follow him into his apartment. » They did so, and the com- mandant, throwing himself upon his sofa, inquired whether they were ready to sign the required paper, or go back to the dungeon. Krantz replied that they had been calculating chances, and they were in consequence so perfectly convinced of the death of the cap- tain, that they were willing to sign any paper to that effect ; at which reply, the commandant immediately became very gracious, and having called for materials, he wrote out the docu- ment, which was duly subscribed to by Krantz and Philip. As soon as they had signed it, and he had it in his possession, the little man was so pleased, that he requested them to par- take of his breakfast. day before, THE PHANTOM SHIP. During the repast, he promised that they should leave the island by the first oppor- tunity. Although Philip was taciturn, yet, as Krantz made himself very agreeable, the com- mandant invited them to dinner. Krantz, as they became more familiar, informed him that they had each a few pieces of gold, and wished to be allowed a room where they could keep their table. Whether it was the want of society or the desire of obtaining the gold, probably both, the commandant offered that they should join his table, and pay their pro- portion of the expenses; a proposal which was gladly acceded to. ‘The terms were ar- ranged, and Krantz insisted upon putting down the first week's payment in advance. From that moment the commandant was the best of friends with them, and did nothing but caress them whom he had so politely shoved into a dungeon below water. It was on the evening of the third day, as they were smoking their Manilla cheroots, that Krantz, perceiving the commandant in a peculiarly good humour, ventured to ask him why he was soanxious fora certificate of the captain's death ; and in reply was informed, much to the astonishment of Philip, that Amine had agreed to marry him upon his producing such a document. ‘‘Tmpossible ! his seat. ” cried Philip, starting from ‘‘Impossible, signor,—and why impos ble?” replied the commandant, curling 1 mustachios with his fingers, with a surprise¢ and angry air. ‘IT should have said impossible too,” in- terrupted Krantz, who perceived the conse- quences of Philip's indiscretion, ‘‘ for had you seen, commandant, how that woman doated upon her husband, how she fondled him, you would with us have said, it was impossible that she could have transferred her affections so soon ; but women are women, and soldiers have a great advantage over other people; perhaps she has some excuse, command- ant.—Heres your health, and success to you,” ‘‘Tt is exactly what I would have said,” added Philip, acting upon Krantz’s plan; ‘Dut she has a great excuse, commandant, when I recollect her husband, and have you in my presence.”’ Soothed with the flattery, the commandant signo Il Is Si- } 1 replied, ‘‘Why, yes, they say military men are very successful with the fair sex.—I presume it is because they look up to us for protection; and where can they be better assured of it, than with a man who wears a sword at his thigh ?—Come, signors, we will drink her health. Here's to the beautiful Amine Vander- decken.”’THE PHANTOM SHIP. **'To the beautiful Amine Vanderdecken !”’ cried Krantz, tossing off his wine. i WET I ) | it, commant jot afi i ‘ many { »O Many j auurem { { a’ "INO i | i = | ( i ] } | Si i es l I } = { L LI ha ( C ; j rit 4 ; S cri wh ** To the b Cl Lit C nn } Ls Tay j ‘ iCil id y Oil t CS la ~ ING, nO, Yéplied Philip himself! ‘‘it was addressed to h heard her swear to her husb Would exist forno other but him,” commandant; ‘“‘my friend, you do wo ra) ti ES that. all ?” » TY T men. ‘ ~ + ~ “ 2 7 Yo. nor is hevery 1 tot] Te ed KY] ; comn I Ci i jilted « =e | pu C lees Ba4 Liic Ul 4% VY Kra 17 ! his n ; . = They V P ' Ol I hav n Ft. li ne 67 Was Tne Sor 18 it 4 false ?”’ claimed Philip ; *‘ yet to procure thn aocul { ems to oe truth of his ¢ rtl if Ales a. 1 T)} ' [ think, true, replied K you bea : - i in a Sit tion oO { l ] ad Y SO tO { I O! 4 ] ] 7 4 Ine€ ly Ga it i i. 3 Vol +}, } ye | VI L L CelyV L cao ) DY ti L ; . , a] to | 2 ne y | ek I p mL O, PN a upon 1 41 fora mom I ] y to one Who | ) I ) tha ited creature ! Sec uwis 439 11 eraecKen ht md Ll y ; > i Pte ee is ; wing such feelings or thought rs - 7 “YAO? ri oe O! moment overpowered Ine, PI i lip ;. ‘but it is a hard case for Vanderdecken, 1dant, are you ) +}, { - eme ier, « +7 ( to the ‘ Cl \ } Ih \ Cc ( WT) ] 5 Ty fo i { r i I { I f ly} ; es c ) ’ a t 4] ’ Pclilt Lil‘ 1.7] DUTY 10 1S 1 of t en | 1X \ Vou J 4 F ‘ ; Her to: Ge- } 1 1 ; Li hot } n Nave if I . lar] responded a husband, ere > 4 Caic 123 who loves asI do, to hear his wife's name banded about, and her character assailed by a contemptible wretch like this commandant.” m Tt iS. 1 Pp but still ] prefer even that Yo dino n ran, Kio Ob gkh eS 23 tc a aung ( L I Z, and so, good ha f£. { MUL POre. ) with the C municated with nt, turning ve TOT AMiIne and Ol cil that nad erceived t lat- he was right ne had only been imandant, that she might time passed NCavily away rantz, for no vessel made its ‘‘ ‘When shall I see her again?” solilo- quized Philip morning, as he lolled over A ene At 44 144 / + Renee tui pal Gt, ti i} A CLiilZ, ‘«See who: id the commandant, who h iT yf 1 to b al } . VY . Philip turned round Be tammered so up turned round ana stammered some- +] oie Bee his “We Ol fis Sister, com: 3 -] 0 : 17 Lg 120s ki : : ] aant, scl] iS LZ, I ne his arm, and leading him away. » not mention the sub) my friend, for it is a very painful one, and forms one reason why he is so inimical'to t x, She was married to his intimate friend, and ran away from her hus- band: it was his only sister; and the dis- grace broke his mothers heart, and has made him miserable. ‘Take no notice of it, I beg.” ‘‘No, no, certainly not; I don’t wonder at it the honour of one’s family isa serious affair,’’ replied the commandant.—‘' Poor young man, what with his sister's conduct, ind the falsehood of his own. intended, I don’t wonder at his being so grave and silent. Is he of good fainily, signor ? ’ ‘‘One of the noblest in all Holland,” re- plied Krantz ;—‘‘ he is heir to a large pro- y fortune of his 6 : : and independen r; but these rtunate events 1 him to guit secretly, and he embarked for these countries that he might j | PT ef, ‘One of the noblest families ?’’ replied the Col ndant -—'‘ then he is under an assumed n facob Vancheat is not his true name, ‘‘Oh, no,” replied Krantz ;—‘‘ that it is 10t, I assure you ; but my lips are sealed on hat point.” ‘*Of course, except to a friend, who can keep ecret. I will not ask it now. ‘So he is really noble ?” One of the highest families in the country, possessing great wealth and in-T24 THE PHANTOM SHIP. > fluence—allied to the Spanish nobility by marriage.” “‘Indeed !” rejoined the commandant, musing—‘‘ I dare say he knows many of the Portuguese as well.” ‘‘No doubt of it, they are all more or less connected.” ‘‘ He must prove to you a most valuabie friend, Signor Richter.”’ ‘‘T consider myself provided for life as soon aS we return home. He is of a very grateful, generous disposition, as he would prove to you, should you ever fall in with him again.” ‘‘T have no doubt of it ; and I can assure you that I am heartily tired of staying in this country. Here I shall remain probably for two years more before I am relieved, and then shall have to join my regiment at Goa, and not be able to obtain leave to return home without resigning my commission. But he is coming this way.” After this conversation with Krantz, the alteration in the manner of the Portuguese commandant, who had the highest respect for nobility, was most marked. Hetreated Philip with a respect, which was observable to all in the fort; and which was, until Krantz had explained the cause, a source of astonishment to Philip himself. The commandant often introduced the subject to Krantz, and sounded him as to whether his conduct towards Philip had been such as to have made a favourable impression ; for the little man now hoped, that through such an influential channel, he might reap some benefit. Some days after this conversation, as they were all three seated at table, a corporal entered, and saluting the commandant, in- formed him that a Dutch sailor had arrived at the fort, and wished to know whether he should be admitted. Both Philip and Krantz turned pale at this communication—they had a presentiment of evil, but they said nothing. The Sailor was ordered, in, and in a few minutes, who should make his appearance but their tormenter, the one-eyed Schriften. On perceiving Philip and Krantz seated at the table, he immediately exclaimed, ‘‘ Oh, Cap- tain Philip Vanderdecken, and my good friend Mynheer Krantz, first mate of the good ship Utrecht, i am glad to meet you again.”’ “Captain Philip Vanderdecken !”’ roared the commandant, as he sprung from his chair. ‘Yes, that is my captain, Mynheer Philip Vanderdecken ; and that is my first mate, Mynheer Krantz ; both of the good ship Eutrecht ; we were wrecked together, were we mot, aiyoheer ?- He! hel” ‘““Sangue—de Vanderdecken! the hus- band! Corpo del diavolo—is it possible !” cried the commandant, panting for breath, as he seized his long sword with both hands and clenched it with fury.—‘‘ What, then, I have been deceived, cajoled, laughed at!” Then, after a pause—the veins of his forehead dis- tending so as almost to burst—he continued, with a suppressed voice, ‘‘ Most noble sir, I thank you; but now it is my turn.—What, oh ! there ? Corporal—men, here, instantly— quick !” Philip and Krantz felt convinced that all denial was useless. Philip folded his arms and made no reply. Krantz merely observed, ‘« A little reflection will prove to you, sir, that this indignation is not warranted.” ‘‘ Not warranted !’’ rejoined the com- mandant with a sneer; you have deceived me; but you are caught in your own trap. I have the paper signed, which I shall not fail to make use of. Yow are dead, you know, Captain; I have your own hand toit, and your wife will be glad to believe it.” ‘‘She has deceived you, commandant, to get out of your power, nothing more,” said Vanderdecken. ‘‘She would spurn a con- temptible withered wretch like yourself, were she as free as the wind.” ‘“Go on, go on; it will be my turn soon. Corporal, throw these two men into the dun- geon : a sentry at the door, till further orders. Away with them! Most noble sir, perhaps your influential friends in Holland and Spain will enable you to get out again.” Philip and Krantz were led away by the soldiers, who were very much surprised at this change of treatment, Schriften followed them ; and as they walked across the rampart to the stairs which led to their prison, Krantz, in his fury, burst from the soldiers, and -be- stowed a kick upon Schriften, which sent him several feet forward.cn his face. ‘“That was a good one—he! he!” cried Schriften, smiling and looking at Krantz as he regained his legs. ‘There was an eye, however, which met theirs with an intelligent glance, as they de- scended the stairs to the dungeon. It was that of the soldier Pedro. It told them. that there was one friend upon whom they could rely, and who would spare no endeavour to assist them in their new difficulty. It wasa consolation to them both; a ray of hope which cheered them as they once more de- scended the narrow’ steps, and heard the heavy key turned which again secured them in their dungeon. CHAPTER XXXIII. ‘“THus are all our hopes wrecked,” said Philip, mournfully ; ‘‘ what chance have we now from escaping from this little tyrant ?”** Chances turn up,” replied Krantz; ‘‘at poe the pros! pect is not very cheering. Let us hope for the best. I have an idea in my head which may probably be turned to some account,’ continued Krantz, ‘‘as soon as the little man’s fury is over.’ “Which is — ” el hat, one as he likes your wife, there is something which he likes quite as well— money. Now as we know \ wifiere all the trea- sure is concealed, I think he may be tempted to offer us our liberty, if w: = were promise to put it into his possession.” ‘That is not impossible. und that little malignant wretch Scl * he cer- vorld. He rough life, and ap- tainly is not, as you saj has been my persecu pears to act from an i > not his own.”’ ‘Then must he ‘t and portion of your destiny. I’m thinking whether our noble commandant intend > us without any- thing to eat or drink. ‘*T should not be surprised ; that he will attempt my life I am convinced, but not that he can take it ; he may, however, add to its sufferings.” As soon as the c from his fury, he order: ndant had recovered Schriften in to be se ymm< examined mo pene rly ; but, after every search made rh him, riften was nowhere to be found. The sentry pe the gate declared and a new search Even the dungeons imined, but with- that he had not passed: was ordered, but in vain. and gal were e€x¢ Out success. “6 Can he be I soners?” thought the er ) leries belo\ ycked up with the other pri- ymmandant: ‘‘im- possible—but will go and see. He descended and opened the door of the dungeon, looked in, and was about to return without speaking, when Krantz said, *‘ Well, signor, this is kind treatment, after having lived so long and so ami icably togetl ier; to throw us into Boe merely because a fellow not what we represented ourselves to be; pe rhaps you will allow us a little water to dri ink ?” The commandant, confused by the are declares that we extra- ordinary disappe arance of Schriften, hardly knew how to reply. He at last said in a milder tone than was to be ae Ipé ited, my enor. he dungeon will order thei some, Si He then closed tl and disappeared. “Strange,” observed Philip, ‘‘ he more pacified already. In a few minutes the door was again opened, and Pedro came is with a chatty of water. ‘‘ He has disappeared like magic, signors, and is nowhere to be found. We have searched everywhere, but in vain to bring ‘. IO0r O ne QOo!l of appears 1 THE PHANTOM SHIP. [25 ‘“ Who ?—the little old seamen ?” ‘Yes, he whom you kicked as you were led to prison. The people allsay, that it must have been a ghost. ‘The sentry declares that he never left the fort, nor came near him ; how he has got away is a riddle, which I per- ceive has frightened our commandant not a little.” Krantz gave a long whistle Philip. ce Are ‘‘T hope so. ‘Well, tell the commandment that when he is ready s listen to me, I have something of importance to communicate.” Pedro went out. SO as he looked at you to have charge , of us, Pedro?” ‘‘Now, Philip, I can frighten this little man into allowing us to go free if you will consent to say that not the husband of Amine.” ‘“That I cannot do, utter such a ees ‘‘ | was afraid so, and yet it appears to me that we may avail ourselves of duplicity to meet cruelty and injus Unless you do as I propose, I hardly ‘lige how I can manage it; however, I will try what I can do.” ‘*T will asSist youin every way, except dis- claiming my wife : that I never will do.” ‘Well, then, I willsee if I can make up a story that will suit all parties : let me think.” Krantz continued musing as he walked up and down, and was still occupied with his own thoughts, when the door opened, and the commandant made his appearance. ‘‘You have something to impart to me, I understand—what is it ?” ‘- First, sir, bring that little here and confront him with us.’ ‘‘T see no occasion for that,’’ replied the commandant; ‘ what, sir, ‘may you have to Say : " “Do you know who you have in your company when you speak to that one-eyed deformity ?”’ ‘‘A Dutch sailor, I presume, ‘* No—a spirit—-a demon—who occasioned the loss of the vessel; and who brings mis- fortune wherever he appears.’ ‘‘Holy Virgin ! what signor ?” - “ The fact, Signor Commandant. We are obliged to you for confining us here, while he is in the fort ; but beware-for yourself.” ‘You are laughing at me.” ‘‘T am not; bring him down here. This noble gentleman has power over him. I won- der, inde ed, at his daring to stay while he is so near; he has on his heart that which will send him trembling away. Bring him down here, and you shall at once see him vanish with curses and screams.” you are Krantz. I will not stice, wretch down do you tell me,‘‘Heaven defend us!” cried the com- mandant, terrified. ‘« Send for him now, signor,” ‘« Heis gone—vanished—not tobefound !”’ “‘T thought as much,” replied Philip, sig- nificantly, ‘‘ He is gone—vanished—you say. ‘Then, commandant, you will probably apologize to this noble gentleman for your treatment of him, and permit us to return to our former apartments. I will there explain to you this most strange and interesting history,” _ The commandant, more confused than ever, hardly knew how to act. At last he bowed to Philip, and begged that he would consider himself at liberty ; and,” continued he to Krantz, ‘‘I shall be most happy at an immediate explanation of this affair, for every- thing appears so contradictory.” “‘And must, until it is explained, I will follow you into. your own room ; a courtesy you must not expect from my noble friend, who is not a little indignant at your treatment of him.’ The commandant went out, leaving the door open, Philip and Krantz followec d: the former retiring to his own apartme: it: the latter, bending his steps after the conmandant to his sitting-room, The confusion which whirled.in the brain of the commandant made him appear most ridiculous, He hardly knew whether to be imperative or civil ; whether he was really speaking to the first mate of the vessel, or to another party ; or whether he had insulted a noble, or been cajoled by a captain of a vessel: he threw himself down on his sofa, and Krantz, taking his seat in a chair, stated as follows :— ‘“You have been partly deceived arid partly not, commandant, When we first came here, not knowing what treatment we might receive, we concealed our rank : afterwat ‘ds I made known to youthe rank of my friend on shore ; but did not think | it aah while to say anything about his situation on board of the vessel. ‘The fact is, as you may well suppose of a person of his dignity, he was the owner of the fine ship which was lost through the intervention of that one-eyed wretch ; but of that by-and-by. Now for the story. About ten years ago there was a great miser in Am- sterdam ; he lived in a most miserable way that a man could live in; wore nothlng but rags; and having been pel a seaman, his attire was generally of the description com- mon to his class. He had one son, to whom he denied the necessaries of life, and whom he treated most cruelly. After Vi in attempts to possess a portion of his father’s wealth, the devil instigated the son to murder the old man, who was one day found dead in his bed ; but as there were no marks of violence which THE PHANTOM SHIP, could be sworn to, although suspicion fell upon the son, the affair was hushed up, and the young man took possession of his father’s wealth. It was fully expected that there would now be rioting and squandering on the part of the heir, as is usually the ease: but, on the contrary, he never spent anything, but appeared to be as poor—even poorer—than he ever was. Instead of being gay and merry, he WAS: in appe arance, the most miserable, downcast person in the world; and he wan- dered about seeking a crust of bread wherever he could find it. Some said that he haa been inoculated by his father, and was as great a miser as his father had been; others shook their heads, and said that all was not right. At last, after pining away for six or seven years, the young man died at an early age, without confession or absolution; in fact, he was found dead in his bed, Beside the bed there was a paper addressed to the authorities, in which he acknowledged that he had murdered his father for the sake of his wealth : and that when he went to take some of it for his ¢ expenses on the day afterwards, he fou ae ? is father’s spirit sitting on the bags of money, and menacing him with instant death, if he touched one piece. He returned again and again, and found his father a sen- tinel as before. At last, be gave up attempt- ing to obtainit: his crime made him mise- rable, and he continued in possessio1 n, without daring to expend one sixpence of all the money. He requested that, as his end was approaching, the money should be given to the church of his patron saint, wherever that church might be found ; if there was not one, then that a church might be built and en- dowed. Upon invs stiga tion it appeared that there was no suc b church in eithér Holland or aa the Low Countries (for you know that there are not many Catholics there); and they applied to the Catholic countries, Lisbon and I spain, but there again they were at fault - and SNe | 21 : a] 1 at | Aw . 1 2 FEC nat I 2 ONLY inch cedi- cated to that saint was OI erected by a Portugues leman in the ey of Goa, in the Eas Tie s, The Catholic bishop determined that the money should be sent to Goa; and, in consequence, it was embarked on board of my patron's vessel, to be delivered up to the first Portuguese autho- rities he might fall in with. ‘Well, signor, the money for better secu- rity was put down into the captain’s cabin, which, of course, was occupied by my noble friend, and when~he went to bed. the first night he was surprised to perceivé a little one- eyed old man sitting on the bo xes.’ ‘Merciful Saviour!” exclaimed the com- mandant, ‘what, the very same little man who ap] ed here this day? 1e \ hich had been‘The very same,” replied Krantz, The commandant Krantz proceeded : crossed himself, and -*My noble patron. was, THE PHANTOM SHIP. Cape of Good Hope, and brought was the name of the lady.” y : y true. He fell in with her at the I ** And it ‘Very ti I : . : i away as you may imagine, rather alarmed ; but he with him. ; IS very Courageous i quired of the old man who he was, and how | he had come on board. ; **«T came on board. wit replied the spectre. ‘It is all my own, and] shall keep it. The Church shall never hav one stiver of it if I can help it ‘‘ Whereupon, m famous relic, which and held it towards man howled unwillingly nights the spec sight of the r i went away, invariably crying lost !’—-and duri maind of the voyage he did not > us any more : I 1 this, that he referred to the money béing lost to him, but it appears he referred to the ship : indeed it was very inconsiderate to have taken the wealth of a parricide on board : we could not expect tul vith such a freight, and so it prover When the ship was lost, our patron w ery anxious t ] } ; VV put on the 1 {f, ant we landed, it taken on s ind that it1 i 1 given to the ee churcl Ow hed’: put +] . rc 1 +] > iit il : LO », alld Cl is no one but my Iriend h 1€ patron, who } : know S the SD LD yn as the mon: i nd . ror ho 1 f + buri¢ U, tie i i . L seated itself t] money was interred. 1 not | } the case, the sea taken Wi OL 3 i hel his day, I pri l Ee esr ] : {iS Charge, ere FD the money mign on Li cannot understand why ‘*Strange—very strange! So there is a 7 >?) ure buried in the sand: ; ; ‘ u 1e spectre s coming ; } NY) ' cd here, that it has abandoned it. ‘f Of course it has, or it w ‘‘ What can you ld not be here.” imagine to have been the cause of its coming ?' ‘Probably to announce its intention, and request my friend to have the treasure sent 1 for ; but you know it was interrupted.” ‘‘ Very true ; but it called your friend Van- derdecken.”’ : 1 Z J } ; If 5 > ibe name which he LOOK Ol | ily 2 ol the SHip, In disposition, and he in- y patron pulled out a ‘ r havich+ ] . << tran taic . “We thought, when our patron told us from his chair a good evening as (C°T hay hate Pie wits") [} 1 Sn ‘ IS wile? ‘ TI} +} ) | mt \ l Lt qu (lon, ! S jl it¢ l ciel LT¢ | F S ‘ ee ' day } An! inde but about this treasure You C Ly t 00 l W \ Cre. > iried ut th | ( f Lee ‘ ; No one. ‘Will inlA CQ, al tat what has he pleasure a8 phed Krantz, rising ~ . .4% m ae and wishing the commandant is WaS aiter oO and have found another. A spectre that must have been ‘ but he must bera bold spectre that can frighten ] loubloons ; besides, I can call in ee: if I let this man : 4 19] } » On CO! reveaiS the site of the Lot 1Tré re ti aL ] > to nm — W ny ur young woman. I forward this paper to her, why then [I n her ; | I must first get rid of him. Of two, | prefer—yes!—the gold! But I e Church does ; but if I do get the money, ose me. I must get *“ever—and then A = 7 i Amine also. their death will be necessary to secure ~ ] } ae Bg 7 ; ; tis, after I h; rst In my pos 5 } ne think H¢ QO] Ininutes the commandant walked 1d d n. tl room, reflecting upon the i met rp ( Ins Ae 7 it was j 4 1 , } t¢ | S \ i % 5 t kn l ha my t7 ' 1 ont : ] e ae i t] Ye MONE) 1S. tne! 7 | will have it ; 1if not, I will have my revenge. Yes! J + 4 ler mrss } — “V7 1ARA >it: not only must they be removed, but legrees all the o 5 too who assist in ging the treasure away lhen—but— OS ] Pe iO). \ - cIONno} ‘* How long have you been here ?”’ } : 7 it as you spoke, signor; J thought I pga a, ‘9 ‘‘ You may go—I want nothing. Pedro departed; but he had been some in the room, and had overheard the whole le commandant’s soliloquy.CHAPTER XXXIV. IT was a bright morning when the Portuguese vessel on which Amine was on board entered into the bay and roadstead of Goa. Goa was then atits zenith,—a proud, luxurious, superb, wealthy city—the capital of the East—a city of palaces whose viceroy reigned supreme. As they approached the river, the two mouths of which form the island upon which Goa is built, the passengers were all on deck ; and the Portuguese captain, who had often been there, pointed out to Amine the most re- markable buildings. When they had passed the forts, they entered the river, the whole line of whose banks were covered with the country seats of the nobility and hidalgos— splendid buildings embosomed in groves of orange-trees, whose perfume scented the air. “There, signora, is the country palace of the viceroy,’ said the captain, pointing to a building which covered nearly three acres of ground, ‘The ship sailed on until they arrived nearly abreast of the town, when Amine’s eyes were directed to the lofty spires of the churches, and other public edifices ; for Amine had seen but little of cities during her life, as may be perceived when her history is recollected. ‘That is the Jesuits’ church with their establishment,” said the captain, pointing to a magnificent pile. - ‘‘In the church now opening upon us lie the canonized bones of the celebrated Saint Francisco, who sacrificed his life in his zeal for the’ propagation of the Gospel in these countries.” “T have heard of _him from Father Mathias,” replied Amine ; ‘‘ but what build- ing is that?” “The Augustine convent ; and the other, to the right, is the Dominican.” ‘* Splendid, indeed !”’ observed Amine. ““The building you see now, on the water- Side, 1s the viceroy’s palace ; that to the right, again, is the convent of the barefooted Carme- lites ; yon lofty spire is the cathedral of St. Catherine ; and that beautiful and light piece of architecture is the church of our Lady of Pity. You observe there a building with a dome, rising behind the viceroy’s palace ?” **T do,’ replied Amine. ‘That is the Holy Inquisition.” Although Amine had heard Philip speak of the Inquisition, she knew little about its properties; but a sudden tremor passed through her frame as the name was men- tioned, which she could not herself account for. ‘* Now we open upon the Viceroy’s palace, and you perceive what a beautiful building it is,’ continued the captain. ‘‘ That large pile; THE PHANTOM SHIP. ne ee POP oY ee th a little above it, is the Custom-house, abreast of which we shallcome to an anchor. I must leave you now, signora.” a A few minutes afterwards the ship an- chored opposite the Custom-house. The captain and passengers went on shore, with the exception of Amine, who remained in the vessel while Father Mathias went in search of an eligible place of abode. The next morning the priest returned on board the ship, with the intelligence that he had obtained a reception for Amine in the Ursuline convent, the abbess of which estab- lishment he was acquainted with ; and, before Amine went on shore, he cautioned her that the lady-abbess was a strict woman, and would be pleased if she conformed as much as pos- sible to the rules of the convent; that this convent only received young persons of the highest and most wealthy families, and ‘he trusted that she would be happy there. He also promised to call upon her, and talk upon those subjects so dear to his heart, and so necessary to her salvation. “The earnestness and kindness with which the old man spoke melted Amine to tears ; and the holy father quitted her side to go down and collect her baggage with a warmth of feeling towards her which he had=seldom felt before, and with greater hopes than ever that his endeavours to convert her would not ultimately be thrown away. “He is a good man,’ thought Amine, as she descended—and Amine was right. Father Mathias was a good man ; but, like all men, he was not perfect. A zealot in the cause of his religion, he would have cheerfully sacri- ficed his life as a martyr ; but if opposed or thwarted in his views, he could then be cruel and unjust. Father Mathias had many reasons for placing Amine in the Ursuline convent. He felt bound to offerher that protection which he had so long received under her roof; he wished her to be under the surveillance of the abbess, for he could not help imagining, although he had no proof, that she was still essaying or practising forbidden arts. He did not state this to the abbess, as he felt it would be unjust to raise suspicions ; but he represented Amine as one who would de honour to their faith, to which she was not yet quite converted. . The very idea of effect- ing a conversion is to the tenants of a convent an object of surpassing interest, and the abbess was much better pleased to receive one who required her counsels and _ per- suasions, than a really pious Christian, whe would give her no trouble. Amine went on shore with Father Mathias; she refused the palanquin which had been prepared for her, and walked up to the convent. They landedbetween the Custom-house and the viceroy’s palace, passed through the large square behind it, and then went up the Strada Diretta, or straight street, which led up to the Church of Pity, near to which the convent is situated. This street is the finest in Goa, and is called Strada Diretta from the singular fact that almost all the streets in Goa are quadrants or segments of circles. Amine was astonished. The houses were of stone, lofty, and massive ; at each story was thrown out a balcony’ of marble, elaborately carved ; and over each door were the arms of the nobility, or hidal- gos, to whom the houses belonged. ‘The Square behind the palace and the wide streets were filled with living beings; elephants with . $orgeous trappings; led or mounted horses in suberb housings ; palanquins, carried by natives in splendid liveries ; running footmen ; cyces ; every variety of nation, from the proud Portuguese to the half-covered native ; Mus- sulmans, Arabs, Hindoos, Armenians ; officers and soldiers in their uniforms, all crowded and thronyed together,—all was bustle and motion. Such was the wealth, the splendour, and luxury ofthe proud city of Goa—the Em- press of the East at the time we are now de- scribing. In half an hour they forced their way through the crowd, and arrived at the con- vent, where Amine was well received by the abbess ; and, after a few minutes conversa- tion, Father Mathias took his leave; upon which the abbess immediately set about her task of conversion. ‘The first thing she did was to order some dried sweetmeats—not a bad beginning, as they were palatable ; but as she happened to be very ignorant, and un- accustomed to theological disputes, her sub- sequent arguments did not go down as well as the fruit. After a rambling discourse of about an hour, the old lady felt tired, and felt as if she had done wonders. Amine was then introduced to the nuns, most of whom were young, and all of good family. Her dormitory was shown to her; and expressing a wish to be alone, she was followed into her chamber by only sixteen of them, which was about as many as the chamber could well hold. : We must pass over the two months during which Amine remained in the convent. Father Mathias had taken every step to ascertain if her husband had been saved upon any of the islands which were under the Portuguese dominions, but could gain no information. Amine was soon weary of the convent; she was persecuted by the harangues of the old abbess, but more disgusted at the conduct and conversation of the nuns. ‘They all had se- crets to confide to her—secrets which had been confided to the whole convent before: such THE PHANTOM SHIP. 2 ° I2€ AC secrets, such stories, so different from Amine’s chaste ideas—such impurity of thought—that Amine was disgusted at them. But how could it be otherwise? The poor creatures had been taken from the world in the full bloom of youth, under a ripening sun, and had been immured in this unnatural manner to gratify the avarice and pride of their families. Its inmates being wholly composed of the bes families, the rules of this convent were not so strict as others ; licenses were given—greater licenses were taken—and Amine, to her sur- prise, found that in this society, devoted to Heaven, there were exhibited more of the bad passions of human nature than she had before met with. Constantly watched, never allowed a moment to herself, her existence became unbearable; and, after three months, she re- quested Father Mathias would find her some other placé of refuge, telling him frankly that her residence in that place was hot very likely to assist her conversion to the tenets of his faith. Father Mathias fully comprehended her, but replied, ‘‘I have no means.” ‘‘Here are means,’’ replied Amine, taking the diamond ring from her finger. ‘‘ This is worth eight hundred ducats in our country: here, I know not how much.” Father Mathias took the ring. ‘I will call upon you to-morrow morning, and let you know what I have done. I shall ac- quaint the lady abbess that you are going to your husband, for it would not be safe to let her suppose that you have reasons for quitting the convent. I have heard what you state mentioned before, but have treated it as scandal : but you, I know, are incapable of falsehood.”’ The next day Father Mathias returned, and had an interview with the abbess, who after a short time sent to Amine, and told her that it was necessary that she should leave the convent. She consoled her as well as she could. at leaving such a happy place, sent for some sweetmeats to make the parting | trying, gave her a blessing, and made her over to Father Mathias; who, when they were ct Sel ons i€SS alone, informed Amine ‘‘that he had dis- posed of the ring for eighteen hundred dollars, and had procured apartments for her in the house of a widow lady, with whom she was to board.” Taking leave of the nuns, Amine quitted the convent with Father Mathias, and was soon installed in her new apartments, in a house which formed part of a spacious square called the Terra di Sabaoi. After the intro- duction to her hostess, Father Mathias left her. Amine found her apartments fronting the square, airyand commodious. ‘The land- Jady, who had escorted her to view them, not having left her, she inquired ‘‘what large 9130 church square ?’’ “It is the Ascension,” replied the lady ; ‘‘ the music is very fine there; we will go and hear it to-morrow, if you please.” “And that massive building in face of LSP’ ‘That is the Holy Inquisition, widow,, crossing herself. Amine again started, she knew not-why. “Ts that your child ?” said Amine, asa boy of about twelve years old entered the room. “Yes,” replied the widow, ‘‘ the only one that is left me. May God preserve him.” The boy was handsome and intelligent, and Amine, for her own reasons, did everything she could to make friends with him, and was successful, that was on the other side of the "’ said the CHAPTER XXXV. AMINE had just returned from an afternoon's walk through the sweets of Goa: she had made some purchases, at different shops in the bazaar, and had brought them home under her mantilla. ‘‘ Here, at last, thank Heaven, I am alone and not watched,’’ thought Amine, as she threw herself on the couch. ‘‘ Philip, Philip, where are you?” exclaimed she. ‘‘I have now the means, and I soon will know.” Little Pedro, the son of the widow, entered the room, ran up to Amine and kissed her, ‘Tell me, Pedro, where is your mother.”’ ‘‘She is gone out to see her friends this evening, and we are alone. I will stay with rou. Ne ‘“‘Do so, dearest. ‘Tell you keep a secret?” ‘| Ves, I will—tell it.me," ‘‘ Nay, I have nothing to tell, b lat I wish to do something : J wish to make a play, and you shall see things in your hand,”’ CN. YOR; show me, do show me,” ‘‘ If you promise not to tell,” “No, by the Holy Virgin, ‘«Then you shall Eee? Amine lighted some charcoal in a chafing a and put it at her feet; she then tooka reed pen, some ink from a small bottle, anda pair of scissors, and wrote down seyeral cha- racters on a paper, singing, or rather chant- ing, words which were not intelligible to her young companion. Amine then tt hrew frank- incense and coriander seed into the chafing- dish, which threw out a strong aromatic smoke ; and desiring Pedro to sit down by. her on a° small stool, “she took the boy's. right hand and held it in her own. She then drew upon the palm of his hand a square figure with characters on each side of it, and in the centre poured a small quantity of the ink, so me, Pedro, can i] ng I will not.” THE PHANTOM SHIP. as to form a black mirror of the size of half a crown. ‘‘ Now all is ready,” said Amine; Pedro, what see you in the ink?” ‘‘ My own face,” replied the boy. She threw more frankincense upon the chafing-dish, until the room was full of smoke, and then chanted, ‘‘Turshoon, turyo-shoon—come down, come down.” ‘‘Be present, ye servants of these names. “ Remove the veil, and be correct.’ The characters she had drawn upon the paper, she had divided with the scissors, and now taking one of the pieces, she dropped it into the chafing-dish, still holding the boy’s hand, ‘Tell me now ‘Pedro, what do you see?” ‘‘T see a man sweeping,’ replied Pedro, alarmed. “‘Fear not, Pedro, you shall see more. Has he done sweeping ?” Yes, ne hs And Amine muttered words, which were unintelligible, and threw into the chafing-dish the other half of the paper with the charac- “ look, ters she had written down. ‘‘Say now, Pedro, ‘ Philip Vanderdecken, appear. ’” ‘‘ Philip Vanderdecken, ‘appear Pe, te sponded the boy, ‘«Tell me trembling. what thou seest, Pedro—tell me true?” said Amine anxiously. ‘“‘T see a man LORS ee n.on the white sand—(I don’t like this play).” ‘* Be not alarmed, edna, you shall have sweetmeats. directly. Tell me what_ thou est, how the man is dressed ?”’ oi He has. a short coat—He has white trowsers—he looks about hee he takes some- thi ng © out of his breast and kisses it.” cil . he ‘tis he ! and he lives! Heaven, I thank thee. Look again, boy.” ‘““He gets up—(I don’t like this play; I aim frightened ; indeed I am).”’ “Fear not. ‘‘Oh, yes, Lam—I cannot,” replied Pedro, falling on hisknees ; ‘‘ pray let me go.” edro had turned his hand, and spilt the ink, the charm was broken, and Amine could learn no more. She soothed the boy with presents, made him repeat his promise that he would not tell, and postponed further search into fate until the boy should appear to have recovered from his terror, and be willing to resume the ceremonies. a My Phil lip. lives yther, dear mother, I thank you.” Amine did not allow Pedro-to leave the room until he appeared to have quite re- covered from his fright; for some days she did not say anything to him, except to remind him of his promise not to tell his mother, oranyone else, and she loaded him with pre- sents. One afternoon when his mother was gone out, Pedro came in and asked Amine ‘whether they should not have the play over again Amine, who was anxious to know more, was glad of the boy’s request, and soon had everything prepared. Again was her chamber filled with the smoke of the frankincense : again was she muttering her incantations the magic vas on ‘the boy ‘s hand, and once more had Pedro cried out, ‘‘ Philip Vanderdecken, appear!” when the door burst open and Eee er Mathias, the widow, and several ot people Ms le their appearance. Amine stat od up ‘dro screamed and ran “ Then I was not mistaken at what I saw he cottage at Terneuse,”’ cried Father hias, with his arms folded over his breast, —not for life, or liberty, or even for my Philip.’ es Amine Vanderdecken, if you will con- ss your crime before you are accus ed, ae u 1 Again you ask me ” that vill have done much ; after your accusati Baa been made, it will be of little ‘pial? ‘Tt will not be done, either before or have done I have done. but a crime it is not to me and mine; with you it may be, but I am not of yours.” ‘““Recollect also that you peril your hus- band, for having wedded with a sorceress. Forget not ; to-morrow I will see you again.” “My mind is troubled,” replied Amine. ‘* T.eave me, father, it will be a kindnes i Father Mathias quitted the cell, sh aaeet vith the last words of Amine. The idea of er husband's danger seemed to have startled Ter. Amine threw herself down on the mattress in the corner of the cell, and hid her face. ‘Burnt alive!” exclaimed she after a time, sitting up and passing her hands over after, father. What I bs THE PHANTOM SHIP. Son her forehead. ‘‘ Burnt alive ! and these are Christians. “This, then, was the cruel death foretold by that creature, a fte n—for -etold —yes, and therefore —I cannot save myself. confess that Philip is wedded to a sorceress, and he will be punished too. No, never—- never; I can suffer; ‘tis cruel—'tis horrible to think of,—but 'twill soon be over. Godo +] strength against the me to bear all, for give me snable ” my fathers, wicked men, and « my dear Philip's s sake, The next evening, made his appearance. 1 Father Mathias again He found Amine calm and cc lected - she refused -to listen to his advice or follow his injunctions. His observation, that ‘‘ her husband would be in peril if she was found guilty of sorcery, steeled heart, and she had determi that neither torture nor th e stake should mi her co nfess the act. The priest left the cell, sick at heart: he now felt ‘miserable at the it of Amine's perishing by so dreadful a death ; accused himself of precipitation, wished that he had never seen Amine, whose constancy and courage, although in error, excited his admiration and his pity. And then he thought of Philip, who had treated him so kindly—how could he meet And if he asked for his wife, what could he give? 1other fortnight passed, was again summoned to the Hall of and him > nium F answer when Amine Judg- ment, and again asked if she confessed het crimes. Upon her refusal, the accusations against her were read. ‘She was ac scused by Father Mathias with pr actising forbidden arts and the depositions of the boy Pedro an 1 the other witnesses were read, In his zeal, Father Mathias also stated that he re found her guilty of the same practices < Terneuse ; and, moreover, that in the Ablest storm, whe on all ¢ -xpected to perish, she had remained calm ans courageous, and told the captain that they would be saved : which could only have ee m ‘known by an undue spirit of prophecy, give n by evi il spirits. Amine’s lip curled in Gerision when she heard the last accusation. She was asked if she had any defence to make. ‘What defence can be offered,” she, ‘‘to such accusations as these? Witness the last—because-I was not so craven as the Christians, I am accused of sorcery. The old dotard ! but I will expose him. Tell me, if one knows that sorcery is u mee and con- ce: iis’ or allows it, is he not a participator and equally guilty ?” “He is,” replied the inquisitor, at nxio awaiting the es. rep! ied. ‘“Then I denounce——” and Amine was about to reveal that Philip's mussion was: Pi ete ee a 136 THE PHANTOM SHIP. known, and not forbidden by Fathers Mathias leave you now ; he still paces his room.” And and Seysen; when recollecting that Philip Pedro slipped out of the door, and crawled would be implicated, she stopped. stealthily away along the ramparts. ‘“Denounce whom?” inquired the In- “The treacherous little rascal! But we uisitor. will circumvent him if possible,” said Krantz, ‘No one,” replied Amine, folding her inalowtone. ‘Yes, Philip, you are right, rms and dropping her head. we must both go, for you will require my ““Speak, woman.” assistance. I must persuade him to go him- Amine made no answer. self. I'll think of it—so, Philip, good night.” ‘‘ The torture will make you speak.” The next morning Philip and Krantz were “Never!” replied Amine. ‘“Never! summoned to breakfast ; the Commandant Torture me to death, if you choose ; I pre- received them with smiles and urbanity. To fer it to a public execution !'’ Philip he was peculiarly courteous. As soon The Inquisitor and the secretary consulted as the repast was over, he thus communicated a short time. Convinced that Amine would to him his intentions and wishes :-— adhere to her resolution, and requiring her “Signor, I have been reflecting upon what for public execution, they abandoned the idea your friend told me, and the appearance of of the torture, the spectre yesterday, which created such “Do you confess?” inquired the In- confusion; it induced me to behave with a quisitor, rashness for which I must now offer my most “No,” replied Amine, firmly. Sincere apologies. The reflections which I ‘Then take her away.” have made, joined with the feelings of devo- The night before the. auto-da-fé, Father tion which must be in the heart of every true Mathias again entered the cell of Amine, but Catholic, have determined me, with your all his endeavours to convert her were use- assistance, to obtain this treasure dedicated less. to the holy church. It is my proposal that ‘To-morrow will end it all, father,” re- you should take a party of soldiers under plied Amine ; ‘‘ leave me—I would be alone.” your orders, proceed to the island on which it is deposited, and having obtained it, return here. I will detain any vessel which may in ‘i the meantime put into the roadstead, and you GHAPTER XXXVIII. Shall then be the bearers of the treasure and WE must now return to Philip and Krantz, of my letters to Goa. This will give you an When the latter retired from the presence of honourable introduction to the authorities, the Portuguese Commandant, he communi- and enable you to pass away your time there cated to Philip what had taken place, andthe in the most agreeable manner. You will, also, fabulous tale which he hadinvented to deceive signor, be restored to your wife, whose charms the Commandant. ‘I said that you alone had such an effect upon me : ; and for mention knew where the treasure was concealed,” con- of whose name in the very unceremonious tinued Krantz, ‘‘ that you might be sent for, manner which I did, I must excuse myself for in all probability he will keep me as an_ upon the ground of total ignorance of who hostage: but never mind that, I must take she was, or of her being in any way connected my chance. Do you contrive to escape some- with your honourable person. If these how or other, and rejoin Amine.” measures suit you, signor, I shall be most “Not so,” rejoined Philip ; ‘‘you must happy to give orders to that effect.” go with me, my friend : I feel that’ should I ‘‘As a good Catholic myself,’ replied part with you, happiness would no longer be Philip, ‘‘I shall be most happy to point out i the spot where the treasure is concealed, and in store for me,” ‘““Nonsense—that is but an idle feeling ; restore it to the church. Your apologies rela- accept with pleasure, being besides, I will evade him somehow or an- tive to my wife I aware that your conduct proceeded from igno- other.”’ “I will not show the treasure unless you rance of her situation and rank ; but I do not exactly see my way clear. You propose a go with me.” ‘“Well—-you may try it at all events.” party of soldiers. Will they obey me? Are A low tap at the door was heard. Philip they to be trusted? I shall have only myself Tose and opened it (for they had retired to and friend against them, and will they be rest), and Pedro came in. Looking carefully obedient?” round him, and then shutting the door softly, ‘No fear of that, signor, they are well he put his finger on his lips, to enjoin them to disciplined ; there is not even occasion for silence. He then ina whisper told them what your friend to go with you. I wish to retain he had overheard. ‘‘Contrive, if possible, him with me, to keep me company during that I go with you," continued he ; “I must yourabsence.”‘Nay! that I must object to,” replied Philip ; ‘‘I will not trust myself alone.” ‘“Perhaps I may be allowed to give an opinion on this subject ?’’ observed Krantz. “‘I see no reason, if my friend goes accom- panied with a party of soldiers only, why I should not go with him; but I consider it would be unadvisable that he proceed in the way the commandant proposes, either with or without me. You must recollect, comman- dant, that it is no trifling sum which is to be carried away ; that it will be open to view, and will meet the eyes of your men ; that these men have been detained many years in this country, and are anxious to return home. When, therefore, they find themselves with only two strangers with them—away from your authority, and in possession of a large sum of money—will not the temptation be too strong? ‘They willonly have to run down the southern channel, gain the port of Bantam, and they will be safe ; having obtained both freedom and wealth. To send, therefore, my friend and me, would be to send usto almost certain death; but if you were to go, com- mandant, then the danger would no longer exist. Your presence and your authority would control them; and, whatever their wishes or thoughts might be, they would quail before the flash of your eye.” ‘«Very true—very true,’ replied Philip— ‘* all this did: not occur to me.”’ Nor had it occurred tothe commandant, but when pointed out, the force of these sug- gestions immediately struck him, and long before Krantz had finished speaking, he had resolved to go himself. Well, signors,’ replied he; ‘‘I am always ready to accede to your wishes ; and since you consider my presence necessary, and as I donot think there is any chance ofanother attack from the Ternate people just now, I will take upon myself the responsibility of leaving the fort for a few days under the charge of my lieutenant, while we do this service to holy Mother Church. I have already sent for one of the native vessels, which are large and commodious, and will, with your permission, embark to-morrow.” ‘“Two vessels will be better,” observed Krantz; ‘‘inthe first place, in case of an ac- cident ; and next because we can embark all the treasure in one with ourselves, and put a portion of the soldiers in the other ; so that we may be in greater force, in case of the sight of so much wealth stimulating them to insub- ordination.” ‘True, signor, we will have two vessels ; your advice is good.”’ Everything was thus satisfactorily ar- ranged, with the exception of their wish that Pedro should accompany them on their expe- THE PHANTOM SHIP. 137 dition. They were debating how this should be brought on the tapis, when the soldier came to them, and stated that the comman- dant had ordered him to be of the party, and that he was to offer his services to the two strangers. On the ensuing day prepared. everything was Ten soldiers and a_ corporal had been selected by the commandant; and it required but little time to put into the vessels the’ provisions and other articles which were required. At daylight they embarked—the Commandant and Philip in one boat ; Krantz, with the corporal and Pedro, in the other. The men, who had been kept in ignorance of the object of the expedi- tion, were now made acquainted with it by Pedro, and a long whispering took place between them, much to the satisfaction of Krantz, who was aware that the mutiny would soon be excited, when it was understocd that those who composed the expedition were to be sacrificed to the avarice of the commandant. The weather being fine, they sailed on during the night ; passed the island of Ternate at ten leagues’ distance ; and before morning were among the cluster of isles, the southernmost of which was the one on which the treasure had been buried. On the second night the vessels were beached upon a small island ; and then, for the first time, a communication took place between the soldiers who had been in the boat with Pedro and Krantz, and those who had been embarked with the comman- dant. Philip and Krantz had also an oppor- tunity of communicating apart for a short time. When they made sail the next morning, Pedro spoke openly ; he told Krantz that the soldiers in the boat had made up their minds, and that he had no doubt that the others would do so before night ; although they had not decidedly agreec upon joining them in the morning when they had re-embarked. ‘That they would despatch the commandant, and then proceed to Batavia, and from thence ob- tain a passage home to Europe. ‘‘Cannot you accomplish your end without murder?” ‘‘Yes, we could; but not our revenge. You do not know the treatment which we have received from his hands; and sweet as the money will be to us, his death will be even sweeter. 3esides, has he not determined to. murder us all in some way or another? It is but justice. No, no; if there was no other knife ready— mine is.” ‘‘And so are all ours!” cried the other soldiers, putting their hands to their weapons. One more day’s sail brought them within twenty miles of the island; for Philip knew his landmarks well. Again they landed, and138 all retired to rest, the commandant dreaming of wealth and revenge ; while it was arranging that the digging up of the treasure which he coveted should be the signal for his death. Once more did they embark, and the commandant heeded not the dark and lower- ing faces with which he was surrounded. He was all gaiety and politeness. Swiftly did they skim over the dark-blue sea, between the beautiful islands with which it was studded ; and before the sun was three hours high, Philip recognized the one sought after, and pointed out to the commandant the notched cocoa-nut tree, which served as a guide to the spot where the money had been concealed. They landed on the sandy beach, and the shovels were ordered to be brought on shore by the impatient little officer, who little thought that every moment of time gained was but so much time lost to him, and that while he was smiling and meditating treachery, that others could do the same. The party-arrived under the tree—the shovels soon removed the light sand, and ina few minutes, the treasure was exposed to view. Bag after bag was handed up, and the loose dollars collected into heaps. Two of the soldiers had been sent to the vessels for sacks to putthe loose dollars in, and the men had desisted from their labour; they laid aside their spades, looks were exchanged, and all were ready. The commandant turned round to call to and hasten the movements of the men who had been sent for the sacks, when three or four knives simultaneously pierced him through the back; he fell, and was expostulating, when they were again buried in his bosom, and he lay acorpse. Philip and Krantz re- mained silent spectators—the knives were drawn out, wiped, and replaced in their sheaths. “He has met his reward,’ said Krantz. “Yes,” exclaimed the Portuguese soldiers —“‘justice, nothing but justice.” “SSignors, you shall have your share,”’ ob- served Pedro ; ‘‘shall they not, my men?” = ¥es tyes |” ““Not one dollar, my good friends,” re- plied Philip ; ‘‘take all the money, and may you be happy ; all we ask, is your assistance to proceed on our way to where we are about to go. And now, before you divide your money, oblige me by burying the body of that unfortunate man.” The soldiers obeyed. Resuming their Shovels, they soon scooped out a shallow gtave : the commandant’s body was thrown in, and covered up from sight, LHE PHANTOM SHIP. CHAPTER XXX1IX: SCARCELY had the soldiers performed their task, and thrown down their shovels, when they commenced an altercation. It appeared that this money was to be again the cause of slaughter and bloodshed. Philip and Krantz determined to sail immediately in one of the peroquas, and leave them to settle their dis- putes as they pleased. He asked permission of the soldiers to take from the provisions and water, of which there was ample supply, a larger proportion than was their share; Stating, that he and Krantz had along voyage and would require it, and pointing out to them that there were plenty of cocoa-nuts for their support. The soldiers, whothought of nothing but their newly-acquired wealth, allowed him to do as he pleased ; and, having hastily col- lected as many cocoa-nuts as they could, to add to their stock of provisions, before noon, Philip and Krantz had embarked, and made sail in the peroqua, leaving the soldiers with their knives again drawn, and so busy in their angry altercation as to be heedless of their departure. ‘There will be the same scene over again, I expect,” observed Krantz, as the vessel parted swiftly from the shore. ‘“{ have little doubt of it; observe, even now they are at blows and stabs.”’ “If I were to name that spot, it should be the ‘ Accursed Isle.’”’ “Would not any other be the same, with so much to inflame the passions of men?” ‘ Assuredly : what a curse is gold !” ‘“And what a blessing!” replied Krantz. “‘IT am sorry Pedro is left with them.” ‘‘It is their destiny !” replied Philip ; ‘so let’s think no more of them. Now what do you propose? With this vessel, small as she is, we may sail over these seas in safety, and we have, I imagine, provisions sufficient for more than a month.” ‘‘ My idea is, to run into the track of the vessels going to. westward, and obtain a passage to Goa,” ‘“And if we do not meet with any, wecan, at all events, proceed up the Straits, as far as Pulo Penang without risk. There we may safely remain until a vessel passes.” : “‘T agree with you; it is our best, nay, our only chance ; unless, indeed, we were to proceed to Cochin, where junks are always leaving for Goa.” ‘‘ But that would be out of our way, and the junks cannot well pass us in the Straits, without their being seen by us,’’ They had no difficulty in steering their course ; the islands by day, and the clear stars by night, were their compass. It is true thatthey did not follow the more direct track, but they followed the more secure, working up the smooth waters, and gaining to the north- ward more than to the west. Many times they were chased by the- Malay proas, which infested the islands, but the swiftness of their little peroqua was their security ; indeed, the chase was, generally speaking, abandoned as soon as the smallness of the vessel was made out by the pirates, who expected that little or no booty was to be gained. That Amine and Phili constant theme of their di be imagined. One Sailing between the usual, Philip observed : ‘‘Krantz, you said that there were events in your own life, or connected with it, whicl corroborate the mysterious tale I confi you. Will you now tell me to oka ferred : t?" ‘Certainly,” replied Krantz; ‘‘I have often thought-of doing so, but one circum- stance or another has hitherto prevented me ; this is, however, a fitting opportunity. Pre- pare, therefore, to listen toa strange story, quite as strange, perhaps, as your-own :— “I take it for granted, that you have heard people speak of the Hartz Mountains, ’ observed Krantz. ‘©T have never heard people spe a of them, that I can recollect,” replied Philip ; ‘‘but | have read of them in some book, d of the strange things which have occurred there.”’ a itisinde edawild region, rejoined Krantz, “and many strange tales are told of it; but strange as they are, I have goes reason for be- lieving ag ea rue. I have told you, Philip, that I full I elieve in your communion with the other am 7 it I credit the history of your "Ss mission was the ourse, may easily they were Ss wind than father, and the lawfulness of your mission ; for that we are surrounded, impelled, and worked upon by beings different in their nature from ourselves, I have had full evidence, as you will acknowledge, when I state what has oc- curred in my own family. Why such male- volent beings as I am about to speak of should be per mitted to interfere with,us, and punish, I may say, comparatively unoffending mortals, is beyond my comprehension ; but that they are so permitted is mos st cel rtain. ‘The great principle of all evil fulfils his work of evil; why, then, not the other minor spirits of the same class?” inquired Philip. ‘What matters it to us, ree we are tried by, and have to suffer from, the enmity of our fellow-mortals, or w! force! we are pe ‘rsecuted by beings more powerful and more raalevo- lent than ourselves? We know that we have to work out our salvation, and that we shall be judged according to our strength ; if then there be evil spirits who delight to oppress THE PHANTOM SHIP. 139 man, there surely must be, as Amine asserts, good spirits, whose oy iss iS to S him service. Whether, then, we have to struggle against our passions only, or whether we have to struggle not only against our pa issions, but also the = influence of unseen enemies » we ever struggle with the same odds in our favour, as the good are stronger than the evil vhich we combat. In either case we are on the ‘vz intage ground, whether, as in the first, Ww i ood cause ee anded, or as the second, although opposed, we have the oe of Heaven ranged on our side, Thus are the scales of Divinej se evenly balanced, and man is still a free < tas = own vir- tuous or Vici ious propensit = must ever decide whether he shall gain 1 or lose the victory.” ‘‘Most tr hee eplied iveriah “and now to my history ‘(My father was not born, or originally a resident, in the Hartz Mountains ; - he. was the seri ~ an Hungarian nobleman, of great ions, in Transylvania; but, although a serf, he was not by any means a poor or illiterate man. ct, he was rich, and his intelligence and respectability were such, at he had been raised by his lord to the tewardship ; but, whoever may happen to be an a serf, a serf must he remain, even though he bec omes a Wei ulthy man: and such was the condition of my father. My father had been mz aed for about five years ; and by his marriage had three children—my eldest brother Caesar, myself (Hermann), and a sister named Marcella. You oo Philip, that Latin is still the language spoken in that country, and that will account for our high- was a very 1 ont the sounding names. My mother beautiful woman, unfortunately more. beauti- ful than virtuous : she was seen and admired by the lord of the soil; my father was sent away upon some mission: and, during his absence,,my mother, flattered by the atten- tions, and won by the assiduities, of this nobleman, yielded to his wishes. It so hap- pened that my father returned very unex- pectedly, and discovered the intrigue. The evidence of my mother’s shame was positive ; he surprised her in the pa of her seducer. Carried away by the impetuosity of his feelings, he watched the opportunity of a meeting taking place between them, and murdered both his wife and her seducer. Conscious that, as a serf, not even the provocation which he had received would be allowed as a justification of his conduct, he hastily collected together what money he could lay his hands upon, and, as we were then in the depth of winter, he put his horses to the slugh, and taking his children with him, he set off in the middle of the night, and was far away before the tragical circumstance g il140 had transpired. Aware that he would be pursued, and that he had no chance of escape if he remained in any portion of his native country (in which the authorities could lay hold of him), he continued his flight with- out intermission until he had buried himself in the intricacies and seclusion of the Hartz Mountains. Of course, all that I have now told you I learned afterwards. My oldest recollections are knit toa rude, yet comfort- able cottage, in which I lived with my father, brother, and sister. It was on the confines of one of those vast forests which cover the northern part of Germany ; around it were a few acres of ground, which, during the sum- mer months, my father cultivated, and which, though they yielded a doubtful harvest, were sufficient for our support. In the winter, we remained much indoors, for, as my father followed the chase, we were left alone, and the wolves, during that season, incessantly prowled about. My father had purchased the cottage, and land about it, of one of the rude foresters, who gain their livelihood partly by hunting, and partly by burning charcoal, for the purpose of smelting the ore from the neighbouring mines ; it was distant about two miles from any Other habitation. I can call to mind the whole landscape now : the tall pines which rose up on the mountain above us, and the wide expanse of forest beneath, on the topmost boughs and _ heads of whose trees we looked down from our cottage, as the mountain below us rapidly descended into the distant valley. In sum- mer-time the prospect was beautiful: but during the severe winter, a more desolate Scene could not well be imagined. ‘“‘I said that, in the winter, my father occupied himself with the chase; every day he left us, and often would he lock the door, that we might not leave the cottage. He had no one to assist him, or to take care of us—indeed, it was not easy to find a female servant who would live in such a solitude ; but, could he have found one, my father would not have received her, for he had im- bibed a horror of the sex, as the difference of his conduct towards us, his two boys, and my poor little sister, Marcella, evidently proved. You may suppose we were sadly neglected ; indeed, we suffered much, for my father, fear- ful that we might come to some harm, would not allow us fuel, when he left the cottage ; and we were obliged, therefore, to creep under the heaps of bears’ skins, and there to keep ourselves as warm as we could until he re- turned in the evening, when a blazing fire was our delight. That my father chose this sort of restless life may appear strange, but the fact was, that he could not remain quiet ; whether from the remorse for having com- THE PHANTOM SHIP. mitted murder, or-from the misery consequent on his change of situation, or from both com- bined, he was never happy unless he was ina state of activity. Children, however, when left much to themselves, acquire a thoughtful- ness not common to their age, So it was with us; and during the short cold days of winter, we would sit silent, longing for the happy hours when the snow would melt and the leaves would burst: out, and the birds begin their songs, and when we should again be set at liberty. ‘Such was our peculiar and savage sort of life until my brother Czeesar was nine, myself seven, and my sister five years old, when the circumstances occurred on which is based the extraordinary narrative which I am about to relate. ‘“One evening my father returned home rather later than usual; he had been unsuc- cessful, and, as the weather was very severe, and many feet of snow were upon the ground, he was not only very cold, but in a very bad humour. He had brought in wood, and we were all three gladly assisting each other in blowing on the embers to create the blaze, when he caught poor little Marcella by the arm and threw her aside ; the child fell, struck her mouth, and bled very much. My brother ran toraise her up. Accustomed to ill-usage, and afraid of my father, she did not dare to cry, but looked up in his face very piteously. My father drew his stool nearer to the hearth, muttered something in abuse of women, and busied himself with the fire, which both my brother and I had deserted when our sister was so unkindly treated. A cheerful blaze was soon the result of his exertions ; but we did not, as usual, crowd round it. Marcella, still bleeding, retired to a corner, and my brother and I took our seat beside her, while my father hung over the fire gloomily and alone. Such had been our position for about half an hour, when the howl of a wolf, close under the window of the cottage, fell on our ears. My father started up, and seized his gun: the howl was repeated, he examined the priming, and then hastily left the cottage, shutting the door after him. We all waited (anxiously listening), for we thought that if he succeeded in shooting the wolf, he would return in a better humour ; and, although he was harsh to all of us, and particularly so to our little sister, still we loved our father, and loved to see him cheerful and happy, for what else had we to look up to? And I may here observe, that perhaps there never were three children who were fonder of each other : we did not, like other children, fight and dispute together ; and if, by chance, any disagreement did arise between my elder brother and me, little Marcella would run to us, and kissing usboth, seal, through her entreaties, the peace between us. Marcella was a lovely, amiable child ; I can recall her beautiful features even now.—Alas ! poor little Marcella.” **She is dead, then?” observed Philip. ‘“Dead! yes, dead !—but how did she die?—But I must not anticipate, Philip : let me tell my story. ‘“We waited for some time, but the report of the gun did not reach us, and my elder brother then said, ‘ Our father has followed the wolf, and will not be back for some time. Marcella, let us- wash the blood from vour mouth, and then we will leave this corner, and go to the fire and warm ourselves,” ““We did so, and remained there until near midnight, every minute wondering, as it grew later, why our father did not return. We had no idea that he was in any danger, but we thought that he must have chased the wolf for a very long time. ‘I will leok out and see if father is coming,’ said my brother Ceesar, going to the door. ‘Take care,’ said Marcella, ‘the wolves must be about now, and we cannot kill them, brother.’ My brother opened the door very cautiously, and buta a few inches : he peeped out.—‘ I see nothing,’ said he, after atime, and once more he joined us at the fire.’ ‘We have had no supper,’ said I, for my father usually cooked the meat as soon as he came home: and during his absence we had nothing but the fragments of the preceding day. ‘«* And if our father comes home after his hunt, Czesar,’ said Marcella, ‘he will be pleased to have some supper; let us cook it for him and for ourselves.’ Czesar climbed upon the stool, and reached down some meat —I forget now whether it was venison or bears meat; but we cut off the usual quan- tity, and proceeded to dress it, as we used to do under our father’s superintendence. We were all busy putting it into the platters, before the fire, to await his coming, when we heard the sound of a horn. We listened— there was a noise outside, and a minute after- wards my father entered, ushering in a young female, and a large dark man ina hunter's dress. ‘‘Perhaps I had better now relate what was only known to me many years afterwards. When my father had left the cottage, he per- ceived a large white wolf about thirty yards from him; as soon as the animal saw my father. it retreated slowly, growling and snarl- ing. My father followed ; the animal did not run, but always kept at some distance ; and my father, did not like to fire until he was pretty certain that his ball would take effect ; thus they went on for some time, the wolf now leaving my father far behind, and then Stopping and snarling defiance at him, and THE PHANTOM SHIP. 141 then, again, on his approach, speed. “* Anxious to shoot the animal (for the white wolf is very rare), my father continued the pursuit for several hours, during which he continually ascended the mountain. ‘“ You must know, Philip, that there are peculiar spots on those mountains which are Supposed, and, as my story will prove, truly supposed, to be inhabited by the evil influ- ences : they are well known to the huntsmen who invariably avoid them. Now, one of these spots, an open space in the pine forests above us, had been pointed out to my father as dangerous on that account. But, whether he disbelieved these wild stories, or whether, in his eager pursuit of the chase, he disre- garded them, I know not; certain, however it is, that he was decoyed by the white wolf to this open space, when the animal appeared to slacken her speed. My father approached, came close up to her, raised _ his gun to his shoulder, and was about to fire, when the wolf suddenly disappeared. He thought that the snow on the ground must have dazzled his sight, and he let down his gun to look for the beast—but she was gone ; how she could have escaped over the clearance, with- out his seeing her, was beyond his comprehen- sion. Mortified at the ill success of his chase, he was about to retrace his steps, when he heard the distant sound of a horn. Astonish- ment at such a sound—at such an hour—in such a wilderness, made him forget for the moment his disappointment, and he remained riveted to the spot. In a minute the horn was blown a second time, and at no great distance ; my father stood still, and listened: a third time it was blown. I forget the term used to express it, but it was the signal which, my father well knew, implied that the party was lost in the woods. Ina few minutes more my father beheld a man on horseback, with a female seated on the crupper, enter the cleared space, and ride uptohim. At first, my father called to mind the strange stories which he had heard of the supernatural beings who were said to frequent these mountains; but the nearer approach of the parties satisfied him that they were mortals like himself. As soon as they came up to him, the man who guided the horse accosted him. ‘Friend Hunter, you are out late, the better fortune for us ; we have ridden far, and are in fear of our lives, which are eagerly sought after. These moun- tains have enabled us to elude our pursuers ; but if we find not shelter and refreshment, that will avail us little, as we mustperish from hunger and the inclemency of the night. My daughter, who rides behind me, is now more dead than alive—say, can you assist us in our difficulty ?’ Setting off atL42 ‘‘‘My cottage is some few miles distant,’ replied my father, ‘but I have little to offer you besides a shelter from the weather; to the little I have you are welcome. May I ask whence you come?’ «Ves, friend, it is mo secret now; we have escaped from Transylvania, where my daughter's honour and my life were equally in jeopardy !’ ‘This information was quite enough to raise an interest in my father’s heart. He re- membered his own escape; he remembered the loss of his wife’s honour, and the tragedy by which it was wound up. He immediately, and warmly, offered all the assistance which he could afford them. «c« There is no time to be lost, then, good sir,’ observed the horseman; ‘my daughter is chilled with the frost, and cannot hold out much longer against the severity of the weather.’ “‘« Follow me,’ replied my father, leading the way towards his home. ‘©«T was lured away in pursuit of a large white wolf,’ observed my father; ‘it came to the very window of my hut, or I should not have been out at this time of night.’ ‘“«The creature passed by us just as we cameiout of the wood,’ said the female, in a silvery tone. «“«T was nearly discharging my piece at it,’ observed the hunter ; ‘but since it did us such good service, I am glad I allowed it to escape. ‘‘TIn about an hour and a half, during which my father walked at a rapid pace, the party arrived at the cottage, and, as I said before, came in. ‘«« Weare in good time, apparently,’ ob- served the dark hunter, catching the smell of the roasted meat, as he walked to the fire and surveyed my brother and sister, and myself. ‘You have young cooks here, Meinheer.’ ‘I aim glad that we shall not have to wait,’ re- plied my father. ‘Come, mistress, seat your- self by the fire ; you require warmth after your cold ride.’. ‘And where can I put up my horse, Meinheer?’ observed the huntsman. ‘J will take care of him,’ replied my father, goifg out of the cottage door. ‘« The female must, however, be particu- larly described. She was young, and ap- parently twenty years of age. She was dressed in a travelling-dress, deeply bordered with white fur, and wore a cap of white ermine on her head. Her features were very beautiful, at least I thought so, and so my father has since declared. Her hair was flaxen, glossy, and shining, and bright asa mirror; and her mouth, although somewhat large when it was open, showed the most brilliant teeth I have ever beheld. But there THE PHANTOM SHIP, was something about her eyes, light as they were, which made us children afraid ; they were so restless, so furtive; I could not at that time tell why, but I felt as if there was cruelty in her eye ; and when she beckoned us to come to her, we approached her with fear and trembling. Still she was beautiful, very beautiful. She spoke kindly to my brother and myself, patted our heads and caressed us ; but Marcella would not come near her ; on the contrary, she slunk away, and hid herself in the bed, and would not wait for the supper, which half an hour before she had been so anxious for. ‘‘My father, having put the horse into a close shed, soon returned, and supper was placed upon the table. When it was over, my father requested that the young lady would take possession of his bed, and he would re- main at the fire, and sit up with her father. After some hesitation on her -part, this ar- rangement was agreed to, and I and my brother crept into. the other bed with Marcella, for we had as yet always slept together. ‘« But we could not sleep; there was some- thing so unusual, not only in seeing strange people, but in having those people sleep at the cottage, that we were bewildered. As for poor little Marcella, she was quiet, but I per- ceived that she trembled during the whole night, and sometimes I thought that she was checking asob. My father had brought out some spirits, which he rarely used, and he and the strange hunter remained drinking and talking before the fire. Our ears were ready to catch the slightest whisper--so much was our curiosity excited. ‘** You said you came from Transylvania ?' observed my father. ‘«* Rven so, Meinheer,’ replied the hunter. ‘I was a sérf to the noble house of ——; my master would insist upon my surrendering up my fair girl to his wishes: it ended in my giving him a few inches of my hunting knife." ‘© We are countrymen and brothers in misfortune,’ replied my father, taking the huntsman’s hand, and pressing it warmly. "Indeed? : Are. wou: then “irom: country?’ ‘““«Yes; and I too have fled for my life. But mine is a melancholy tale.’ “* «Your name?’ inquired. the hunter. 8 Keramty,' ““* What! Krantz of ——? I have heard your tale ; you need not renew your grief by repeating itnow. Welcome, most welcome, Meinheer, and, I may say, my worthy kins- man. Iam your second cousin, Wilfred of Barnsdorf,’ cried the hunter, rising up and embracing my father. ‘They filled their horn-mugs to the brim, that eee rarmererenemnsanceimemmenmorinaamraas:and drank to one another after the German fashion. ‘The conversation was then carried on inalow tone; all that we could collect from it was that our new relative and his daughter were to take up their abode in our cottage, at least for the present.- In about an hour they both fell back in their chairs and appeared to sleep. *<*Marcella, dear, did you hear?’ said my brother, in a low tone. ‘« *Ves,’ replied Marcella, in a whisper, ‘I heard all. Oh! brother, I[*cannot bear to look upon that woman—lI feel so frightened.’ ‘‘My brother made no reply, and shortly afterwards we were all three fast asleep. ‘« When we awoke the next morning, we found that the hunter's daughter had risen before us, I thought she looked more beautiful than ever. She came up to little Marcella and caressed her; the child burst into tears, and sobbed-as if her heart would break. ‘‘ But, not to detain you with too longa story, the huntsman and his daughter were accommodated in the cottage. My fatherand he went out hunting daily, leaving Christina with us. She performed all the household duties ; was very kind to us children; and, gradually, the dislike of even litthe Marcella wore away. But a great change took place in my father ; he appeared to have conquered his aversion to the sex, and was most atten- tive to Christina. Often, after her father and we were in bed, would hesit upwith her, con- versing in a low tone by the fire. I ought to have mentioned that my father and the hunts- man Wilfrid, slept in another portion of the cottage, and that the bed which he formerly occupied, and which in the same room as ours, had been given up the use of Chris- tina. These visitors had been about three weeks at the cottage, when, one night, after we children had been sent to bed, a consul- tation was held. My father had asked Chris- tina in marriage, and had obtained both her own consent and that of Wilfred ; after this, a conversation took place, which was, as nearly as I can recollect, as follows :-— ‘“¢You may take my child, Meinheer Krantz, and my blessing with her, and I shall then leave you and seek some other habitation —it matters little where.’ «6 * Why not remain here, Wilfred ?’ ‘‘* No, no, I am called elsewhere: let that suffice, and ask no more questions, You haye my child.’ «« ¢T thank you for her, and will duly value her; but-there is one difficulty.’ «7 know what you would say; there is no priest here in this wild country: true; neither is there any law to bind; still must some ceremony pass between you, to satisfy a father. Will you consent to marry her Was THE PHANTOM SHIP. 143 after my fashion? if so, I will marry you directly.’ ‘« «JT will,’ replied my father. ‘“*Then take her by the hand. Meinheer, swear.’ ‘«*T swear,’ repeated my father. ‘«*« By all the spirits of the Hartz moun- tains——’ ‘“‘ Nay, why not by Heaven ?’ interrupted my father. ‘« “Because it is not my humour,’ rejoined Wilfred ; ‘if I prefer that oath, less binding perhaps, than another, surely you will not thwart me.’ ‘«« Well, be itso then ; have your humour. Will you make me swear by that in which I do not believe?’ ‘«* Yet many do so, who in outward ap- pearance are Christians,’ rejoined Wilfred ; “say, will you be married, or shall I take my daughter away with me?’ ‘«* Proceed,’ replied my father impatiently. ‘“‘ *T swear by all the spirits of the Hartz mountains, by all-their power for good or for evil, that I take Christina for my wedded wife : that I will ever protect her, cherish her, and love her: fhat my hand shall never be raised against her to harm her.’ ‘‘My father repeated the words after Wilfred. ““« And if I fail in this my vow, may all the vengeance of the spirits fall upon me and upon my children ; may they perish by the vulture, by the wolf, or other beasts of the forest; may their flesh be torn from their limbs, and their bones blanch in the wilder- ness : all this I swear.’ ‘‘ My father hesitated, as he repeated the last words ; little Marcella could not-—restrain herself, and as my father repeated the last sentence, she burst into tears. This sudden interruption appeared to discompose the party, particularly my father; he spoke harshly to the child, who controlled her sobs, burying her face under the bed-clothes. ‘‘Such was the second marrigge of my father. The next morning, the hunter Wilfred mounted his horse, and rode away. ‘“ My father resumed his bed, which was in the same room as ours; and things went Now, on much as before the marriage, except that our new mother-in-law did not show any kindness towards us; indeed, during my father’s absence, she would often beat us, particularly little Marcella, and her eyes would flash fire, as she looked eagerly upon the fair and lovely child. ‘‘One night, my sister awoke me ard my brother. «© «What is the matter?” said Ceesar-. ‘«« ‘She has gone out,’ whispered Margella. ‘©*Gone out!’144 ‘‘ “Yes, gone out at the door, in her night- clothes,, replied the child; ‘I saw her get out of the bed, look at my father to see if he slept, and then she went out at the door.’ ““*What could induce her to leave her bed, and all undressed to go out, in such bitter wintry weather, with the snow deep on the ground was to us incomprehensible : we lay awake, and in about an hour we heard the growl of a wolf, close under the window. “~* There’is a swolf,; said Ceesar. ‘She will be torn to pieces.’ “Oh no !’ cried Marcella. “‘In a few minutes afterwards our mother- in-law appeared ; she was in her night-dre s, as Marcella had stated. She let down the latch of the door, so as to make no noise, went to a pail of water, and washed her face and hands, and then slipped into the bed where my father lay. ‘“We all three trembled—we hardly knew why; but we resolved to watch the next night; we did so: and not only on the ensuing night, but on many others, and always at about the same hour, would our mother-in-law rise from her bed and leave the cottage ; and after she was gone we invariably heard the growl of a wolf under our window, and always saw her, on her return, wash her- self before she retired-to bed. We observed also that she seldom sat down to meals, and that when she did she appeared to eat with dislike ; but when the meat was taken down to be prepared for dinner, she would often furtively put a raw piece into her mouth. ‘“My brother Cesar was a courageous boy ; he did not like to speak to my father until he knew more. He resolved that he would follow her out, and ascertain what she did. Marcellaand I endeavoured to dissuade him from this project ; but he would not be controlled ; and the very next night he lay down in his clothes, and as soon as our mother-in-law had left the cottage he jumped up, took down my father's gun, and followed her. ‘“You may imagine in what a state of suspense Marcella and I remained during his absence. After a few minutes we heard the report of a gun. It did not awaken my father : and we lay trembling with anxiety. In a minute afterwards we saw our mother-in- law enter the cottage—her dress was bloody. I put myhand to Marcella’s mouth to pre- vent her crying out, although I was myself in great alarm. Our mother-in-law approached my father’s bed, looked to see if he was asleep, and then went to the chimney and blew up the embers into a blaze. “““ Who is there?’ said my father, waking up. ‘“«* Vie still, dearest,’ replied my mother- THE PHANTOM SHIP. in-law ; ‘it is only me; I have lighted the fire to warm some water; I am not quite well.’ ‘‘ My father turned round, and was soon asleep ; but we watched our mother-in-law. She changed her linen, and threw the gar- ments she had worn into the fire; and we then perceived that her right leg was bleeding profusely, as if from a gun-shot wound. She bandaged it up, and then dressing herself, re- mained before the fire until the break of day. “Poor littl€ Marcella, her heart beat quick as she pressed me to her side—so indeed did mine. Where was our brother Ceesar? How did my mother-in-law receive the wound unless from his gun? At last my father rose, and then'for the first time I spoke, Saying, ‘ Father, where is my brother Ceesar?’ “*Your brother!’ exclaimed he; ‘why, where can he be ?’ “““ Merciful Heaven! I thought, as I lay very restless last night,’ observed our mother- in-law, ‘that I heard somebody open the latch of the door; and, dear me, husband, what has become of your gun?’ ‘““ “My father cast his eyes up above the chimney, and perceived that his gun was missing. Fora moment he looked perplexed ; then, seizing a broad axe, he went out of the cottage without saying another word. “He did not remain away from us long ; in a few minutes he returned, bearing in his arms the mangled body of my poor brother ; he laid it down, and covered up his face. ‘‘My mother-in-law rose up, and looked at the body, while Marcella and I threw our- selves byits side, wailing and sobbing bitterly. ‘“* Go to bed, again, children,’ said she, sharply. ‘Husband,’ continued she, ‘your boy must have taken the gun down to shoot a wolf,’ and the animal has been too power- ful for him. Poor boy, he has paid dearly for his rashness.’ ‘My father made no reply. I wished to speak—to tell all—but Marcella, who per- ceived my intention, held me by the arm, and looked at me so imploringly, that 1 desisted. ‘“My father, therefore, was left in his error ; but Marcella and I, although we could not comprehend it, were conscious that our mother-in law was in some way connected with my brother’s death. “That day my father went out and dug a grave ; and when he laid the body in the earth, he piled up stones over it, so that the wolves should not be able to digit up. The Shock of this catastrophe was to my poor father very severe ; for several days he never went to the chase, although at times he would utter bitter anathemas and vengeance against the wolves.‘‘ But during this time of mourning on his part, my mother-in-law’s nocturnal wander- ings continued with the same regularity as before. ‘‘ At last my father took down his gun to repair to the forest ; but he soon returned, and appeared much annoyed. ‘“* Would you believe it, Christina, that the wolves—perdition to the whole race— have actually contrived to dig up the body of my poor boy, and now there is nothing left of him but his bones ?”’ *‘ Indeed !’ replied my mother-in-law. Marcella looked at me, and I saw in her in- telligent eye all she would have uttered. “* A wolf growls under our window every night, father,’ said I, AY, indeed ! me, boy? Wake hear it.’ ‘“‘T saw my mother-in-law turn away ; her eyes flashed fire, and she gnashed her teeth. ‘« My father went out again, and covered up with a larger pile of stones the little rem- nants of my poor brother which the wolves had spared. Such was the first act of the tragedy. ‘The spring now came on ; the snow dis- appeared, and we were permitted to leave the cottage; but never would I quit for one moment my dear little sister, to whom, since the death of my brother, I was more ardently attached than ever ; indeed, I was afraid to leave her alone with my mother-in-law, who appeared to have a particular pleasure in ill- treating the child. My father was now em- ployed upon his little farm, and I was able to render him some assistance. ‘« Marcella used to sit by us while we were at work, leaving my mother-in-law alone in the cottage. 1 ought to observe that, as the spring advanced, so did my mother-in-law decrease her nocturnal rambles, and that we never heard the growl of the wolf under the window after I had spoken of it to my father. ‘‘One day, when my father and I were in the field, Marcella being with us, my mother- in-law came out, saying that she was going into the forest to collect some herbs my father wanted, and that Marcella must go to the cottage and watch the dinner. Marcella went ; and my mother-in-law soon disappeared in the fofest, taking a direction quite con- trary to that in which the cottage stood, and leaving my father and J, as it were, between her and Marcella. ‘‘About an hour afterwards we were starled by shrieks from the cottage—evi- dently the shrieks of little Marcella. ‘ Mar- cella has burnt herself, father,’ said I, throwing down my spade. My father threw down his, and we toth hastened to the Why did you not tell me the next time you LHE PHANTOM SHIP. cottage. Before we could gain the door, out darted a large white wolf, which fled with the utmost celerity. My father had no weapon; he rushed into the cottage, and there saw poor little Marcella expiring. Her body was dreadfully mangled, and the blood pouring from it had formed a large pool on the cottage floor. My father’s first intention had been to seize his gun and pursue ; but he was checked by this horrid spectacle ; he knelt down by his dying child, and burst into tears. Mar- cella could just look kindly on us for a few seconds, and then her eyes were closed in death. ‘* My father and I were still hanging over my poor sister’s body, when my mother-in- law came in. At the dreadful sight she ex- pressed much concern ; but she did not appear to recoil from the sight of blood, as most women do. ‘«* Poor child!’ said she, ‘it must have been that great white wolf which passed me just now, and frightened me so. She's quite dead, Krantz.’ ‘««T know it—I know it !’ cried my father, in agony. ‘‘T thought my father would never recover from the effects of this second tragedy ; he mourned bitterly over the body of his sweet child, and for several days would not consign it toits grave, although frequently requested by my mother-in-law to do so. At last he yielded, and dug a grave for her close by that of my poor brother, and took every precau- tion that the wolves should not violate her remains, ‘‘T was now really miserable, as I lay alone in the bed which I had formerly shared with my brother and sister. I could not help thinking that my mother-in-law was impli- cated in both their deaths, although I could not account for the manner; but I no longer felt afraid of her ; my little heart was full of hatred and revenge. “The night after my sister had been buried, as I lay awake, I perceived my mother-in-law get up and go out of the cot- tage. I waited some time, then dressed my- self, and looked out through the door, which I half opened, The moon shone bright, and I could see the spot where my brother and my sister had been buried, and what was my horror when I perceived my mother-in-law busily removing the stones from Marcella's grave ! ~ “She was in her white night-dress, an moon shone full upon her. She wi ging with her hands, and throwing away the stones behind her with all the ferocity of a wild beast. It was some time before I cou'd collect my senses, and decide what | should do. At last I perceived that she had arrived IO d th LS a he lig a heat the body, and raised it up to the side of the grave, I could bear it no longer, I ran to my father and awoke him. ‘“« Father, father !’ cried I, ‘‘ dress your- self, and get your gun.’ ‘«« What!’ cried my father, ‘the wolves are there, are they ?’ ‘“‘He jumped out of bed, threw on his clothes, and in his anxiety did not appear to perceive the absence of his wife. As soon as he was ready I opened the door, he went out, and I followed him. ‘Imagine his horror, when (unprepared as he was for such a sight) he beheld (as he advanced towards the grave, not a wolf, but his wife, in her night-dress, on her hands and knees, crouching by the body of my sister, and tearing off large pieces of the flesh, and devouring them with all the avidity of a wolf. She was too busy to be aware of our ap- proach. My father dropped his gun ; his hair stood on end, so did mine; he breathed heavily, and then his breath for a time stopped. I picked up the gun and put it into his hand. Suddenly he appeared as if con- centrated rage had restored him to double vigour ; he levelled his piece, fired, and with a loud shriek down fell the wretch whom he had fostered in his bosom. ‘““*God of Heaven!’ cried my father, sinking down upon the earth in a swoon, as soon as he had discharged his gun. ‘‘T remained some time by his side before he recovered. ‘Wheream I,’ saidhe, ‘what has happened? Oh !—yes, yes, yes! I re- collect now. Heaven forgive me !’ ‘‘He rose and we walked up to the grave; what again was our astonishment and horror to find that instead of the dead body of my mother-in-law, as we expected, there was lying over the remains of my poor sister, a large white she wolf. ‘©«'The white wolf !’ exclaimed my father, ‘the white wolf which decoyed me into the forest—I see it all now—I have dealt with the spirits of the Hartz Mountains,’ “For some time my father remained in silence and deep thought. He then carefully lifted up the body of my sister, replaced it in the grave, and covered it over as before, having struck the head of the dead animal with the heel of his boot, and raving like a madman. He walked back to the cottage, shut the door, and threw himself on the bed ; I did the same, for I was in a stupor of amazement. ‘‘Karly in the morning we were both roused by a loud knocking at the door, and in rushed the hunter Wilfred. «My daughter—man—my daughter !— where is my daughter?’ cried he ina rage. ‘« Where the wretch, the fiend, should be, I trust,’ replied my father, starting up, and LHE PHANTOM SHIP. displaying equal choler; ‘where she should be—in hell! Leave the cottage, or you may fare worse.’ *** Ha—ha!’ replied the hunter, ‘would you harm a potent spirit of the Hartz Moun- tains. Poor mortal, who must needs wed a weir wolf.’ “Out, demon! I defy thee and thy - power.’ “Yet shall you feel it ; remember your oath—your solemn oath—never to raise your hand against her to harm her.”’ ‘**T made no compact with evil spirits.’ *** You did, and if you failed in your vow, you were to meet the vengeance of the spirits. Your children were to perish by the vulture, the wolf : ‘““* Out, out, demon !’ ‘*« And their bones blanch in the wilder- ness. Ha!—ha!’ “My father, frantic with rage, seized his axe, and raised it over Wilfred's head to strike. *** All this I swear,’ continued the hunts- man, mockingly. “The axe descended; but it passed through the form of the hunter, and my father lost his balance, and fell heavily on the floor. ““*Mortal!’ said-the hunter, striding over my father’s body, we have power over those only who have committed murder. You have been guilty of a double murder: you shall pay the penalty attached to your marriage vow. Two of your chlldren are gone, the third is yet to follow—and follow them he will, for your oath is registered. Go, it were kindness to kill thee—your punishment is, that you live !’ ‘““ With these words the spirit disappeared. My father rose from the floor, embraced me tenderly, and knelt down in prayer. ‘The next morning hequitted the cottage for ever. He took me with him, and bent his steps to Holland, where we safely arrived, He had some little money with him; but he had not been many days in Amsterdam before he was seized with a brain fever, and died raving mad. I was put into the asylum, and afterwards was sent to sea before the mast. You now know all my history.. The question is, whether I am to pay the penalty of my father’s oath? I am myself perfectly con- vinced that, in some way or another, I shall.” On the twenty-second day the high land of the south of Sumatra was in view ; as there were no vessels in sight, they resolved to keep their course through the Straits, and run for Pulo Penang, which they expected, as their vessel lay so close to the wind, to reach in seven or eight days, By constant exposure ‘ i fPhilip and Krantz were now so_ bronzed, that with their long beards and Mussulman dresses, they might-easily have passed off for natives. They had steered during the whole of the days exposed to a burning sun ; they had lain down and slept in the dew of the night ; but their health had not suffered. But for several days, since he had confided the history of his family to Philip, Krantz had become silent and melancholy: his usual flow of spirits had yanished, and Philip had often questioned him as to the cause. As they entered the Straits, Philip talked of what they should do upon their arrival at Goa; when Krantz gravely replied, ‘‘ For some days, Philip, I have had a presentiment that I shall never see that city.”’ ‘“You are out of health, Krantz,” replied Philip. ‘“No, I am in sound health, body and mind. i have endeavoured to shake off the presentiment, but in vain; there is a warning voice that continually tells me that I shall not be long with you. Philip, will you oblige me by making me content on one point? I have gold about my person which may be useful to you; oblige me by taking it, and securing it on your own. ‘‘What nonsense, Krantz.’’ ‘It is no nonsense, Philip. Have you not had your warnings? Why should I not have mine? You know that I have little fear in my composition, and that I care not about death ; but I feel the presentiment which I speak of more strongly every hour. It is some kind spirit who would warn me to pre- pare for another world. Beitso. I have lived long enough in this world to leave it without regret ; although to part with you and Amine, the only two now dear to me, is painful, I acknowledge.” ‘May not this arise from over-exertion and fatigue, Krantz? Consider how much excitement you have laboured under within these last four months. Is not that enough to create a corresponding depression? Depend upon it, my dear friend, such is the fact.” ‘¢T wish it were ; but I feel otherwise, and there is a feeling of gladness connected with the idea that I am to leave this world arising from another presentiment, which equally oc- cupies*my mind.’ «© Which is—— ?”’ ‘¢*T hardly can tell you; but Amine and you are connected with it. In my dreams I have seen you meet again ; butit has appeared to me as if a portion of your trial was pur- posely shut from my sight in dark clouds; and I have asked, ‘May not I see’ what is there concealed ?’—and an invisible has an- swered, ‘No! ’twould make you wretched. Before these trials take place, you will be LHE PHANTOM SHIP, 147 summoned away :’ and then I have thanked Heaven, and felt resigned.” “These are the imaginings of a disturbed brain, Krantz; that I am destined to suffer: ing may be true, but why Amine should suffer, or why you, young, in full health and vigour, should not pass your days in peace, and live to a good old age, there is no cause for be- lieving. You will be better to-morrow.” ‘Perhaps so,” replied Krantz; ‘‘ but still you must yield to my whim, and take the gold. If I am wrong, and we do arrive safe, you know, Philip, you can let me have it back,” observed Krantz, with a faint smile—‘‘but you forget, our water is nearly out, and we must look out for a rill on the coast to obtain a fresh supply.” ‘‘T was thinking of that when you com- menced this unwelcome topic. Wehad bette look out for the water before dark, and as soon as we have replenished our jars, we will make sail again.” At the time that this conversation took place, they were on the eastern side of the strait, about forty miles to the northward. The interior of the coast was rocky and mountainous, but it slowly descended to low land of alternate forest and jungles, which continued to the beach : the country appeared to be uninhabited. Keeping close in to the shore, they discovered, after two hours’ run, a fresh stream which burst in a cascade from the mountains, and swept its devious cqurse through the jungle, until it poured its tribute into the waters of the strait. ‘‘They ran close into the mouth of the stream, lowered the sails, and pulled the peroqua against the current, until they had advanced far enough to assure them that the water was quite fresh. The jars were soon filled, and they were again thinking of push- ing off; when, enticed by the beauty of the spot, the coolness of the fresh water, and wearied with their long confinement on board of the peroqua, they proposed to bathe—a luxury hardly to be appreciated by those who have not been in a similar situation. They threw off their Mussulman dresses, and plunged into the stream, where they remained for some time. Krantz was the first to get out : he complained of feeling chilled, and he walked on to the banks where their clothes had been laid. Philip also approached nearer to the beach, intending to follow him. ‘And now, Philip,” said Krantz, ‘‘ this will be a good opportunity for me to give you the money. I will open my sash and pour it out, and you can put it into your own before you put it on.” : , Philip was standing in the water, which was about level with his waist.148 ‘‘Well, Krantz,” said he, ‘I suppose if it must be so, it must ; but it appears to me an idea so ridiculous—however, you shall have your own way.” Philip quitted the run, and sat down by Krantz, who was already busy in shaking the doubloons out of the folds of his sash; at last he said— ‘‘T believe, Philip, you have got them all now ?—I feel satisfied.” ‘What danger there can be to you, which I am not equally exposed to, I cannot con- ceive,” replied Philip ; ‘‘however——’’ Hardly had he said these words, when there was a tremendous roar—a rush like a mighty wind through.the air—a blow which threw him on his back—a loud cry—and a contention. Philip recovered himself, and perceived the naked form of Krantz carried off with the speed of an arrow by an enor- mous tiger through the jungle. He watched With distended eyeballs ; in a few seconds the animal and Krantz had disappeared ! ‘‘God of Heaven ! would that thou hadst spared me this,’’ cried Philip, throwing him- self down in agony on his face. ‘‘Oh! Krantz, my friend—my brother—too sure was your presentiment. Merciful God ! have pity —but thy will be done;” and Philip burst into a flood of tears. For more than an hour did he remain fixed upon the spot, careless and indifferent to the danger by which he was surrounded. At last, somewhat recovered, he rose, dressed himself, and then again sat down—his eyes fixed upon the clothes of Krantz, and the gold which still lay on the sand. ‘‘He would give me that gold. He fore- told hisdoom. Yes! yes! it was his destiny, and it has been fulfilled. As Jdones well bleach in the wilderness, and the spirit-hunter and his wolfish daughter are avenged.”’ The shades of evening now set in, and the low growling of the beasts of the forest recalled Philip to a sense of his own danger. He thought of Amine; and hastily making the clothes of Krantz and the doubloons into a ypackage, he stepped into the peroqua, with difficulty shoved it off, and with a melancholy -heart, and in ‘silence, hoisted the sail, and pursued his course. ‘Yes, Amine,” thought Philip, as he watched the stars twinkling and coruscating ; ‘yes, you are right, when you assert that the destinies of men are foreknown, and may by some be read. My destiny is, alas! that I should be severed from all I value upon earth, and die friendless and alone. Then welcome death, if such is to be the case ; welcome—a thousand welcomes! what a relief wilt thou be ¢o me? what joy to find myself summoned to where the weary areat rest ! I have my task THE PHANTOM SHIP, to fulfil. God grant that it may soon be ac- complished, and let not my life be embittered by any more trials such as this.’’ Again did Philip weep, for Krantz had been his long-tried, valued friend, his partner in all his dangers and privations, from the period that they had met when the Dutch fleet attempted the passage round Cape Horn. After seven days of painful watching and brooding over bitter thoughts, Philip arrived at Pulo Penang, where he found a vessel about to sail for the city to which he was destined. He ran his peroqua alongside of her, and found that she was a brig under the Portuguese flag, having, however, but two Portuguese on board, the rest. of the crew being natives. Representing himself as an Englishman in the Portuguese service, who had been wrecked, and offering to pay for his passage, he was willingly received, and in a few days the vessel sailed. Their voyage was prosperous; in Six weeks they anchored in the roads of Goa ; the next day they went up the river. The Por- tuguese captain informed Philip where he might obtain lodging; and passing him off as one of his crew, there was no difficulty raised as to his landing. Having located himself at his new lodging, Philip commenced some inquiries of his host relative to Amine, designating her merely as a young woman who had arrived there in a vessel some weeks before ; but he could obtain no information concerning her. ‘‘Signor,’’ said the host, ‘‘ to-morrow is the grand auto-da-fé ; we can do nothing until that is over; afterwards, I will put you in the way to find out what you wish. In the meantime, you can walk about the town ; to-morrow I will take you where you can behold the grand procession, and then we will try what we can do to assist you in your search.” Philip went out, procured a suit of clothes, removed his beard, and then walked about the town, looking up at every window to see if he could perceive Amine. Ata corner of one of the streets, he thought he recognized Father Mathias, and ran up to him; but the monk had drawn his cowl over his head, and when addressed by that name, made no reply. ‘‘T was deceived,” thought Philip ; ‘‘ but I really thought it was him.” And Philip was right; it was Father Mathias, who thus screened himself from Philip’s recognition. Tired, at last he returned to his hotel, just before it was dark. ‘The company there were numerous; everybody for miles distant had come té’Goa to witness the auto-da-/é,—and everybody was discussing the ceremony. ‘‘J will see this grand procession,’’ said Philip to himself, as he threw himself on hisbed. ‘‘It will drive thought from me for a time ; and God knows how painful my thoughts have now become. Amine, dear 1» Amine, may angels guard thee ! CHAPTER XL: ALTHOUGH to-morrow was toend all Amine’s hopes and fears—all her short happiness—her suspense and misery—yet Amine slept until her last slumber in this world was disturbed by the unlocking and unbarring of the doors of her cell, and the appearance of the head gaoler with a light. Amine started up—she had been dreaming of her husband—of happi- ness ! She awoke to the sad reality. There stood the gaoler, with a dress in his hand, which he desired she would put on. He lighted a lamp for her, and left her alone. The dress was of black serge, with white stripes. Amine put on the dress, and threw her- self down on the bed, trying, if possible, to recall the dream from which she had been awakened, but in vain. Two hours passed away, and the gaoler again entered, and summoned her to follow him. Perhaps one of the mostappaling customs of the Inquisition is, that after accusation, whether the accused parties confess their guilt or not, they return to their dungeons without the least idea of what may have been their sentence, and when summoned on the morning of the execution they are equally kept in ignorance. "The prisoners were all summoned by the eaolers from the various dungeons, and led into a large hall, where they found their fellow-sufferers collected. In this spacious, dimly-lighted hall, were to be seen about two hundred men, standing up, as if for support, against the walls, all dressed in the same black and white serge ; so motionless, so terrified were they, that if it had not been for the rolling of their eyes, as they watched the gaolers, who passed and repassed, you might have imagined them to be petrified. It was the agony of suspense, worse than the agony of death. After a time, a wax candle, about five feet long, was put into the hands of each prisoner, and then some were ordered to put on over their dress the Sanbenitos—others the Samarias / Those who received these dresses, with flames painted on them, gave themselves up for lost; and it was dreadful to perceive the anguish of each individual as the dresses were, one by one, brought forward, and with the heavy drops of perspiration on his brows, he watched with terror lest one should be pre- sented to him. All was doubt, fear, and horror ! But the prisoners in this hall were not THE PHANTOM SHIP. T49 those who were to suffer death. Those who wore the Sanbenitos had to walk in the pro- cession, and received but slight punishment ; those who wore the Samarias had been con- demned, but had been saved from the con- suming fire, by an acknowledgment of their offence ; the flames painted on their dresses were veversed, and signified that they were not to suffer; but this the unfortunate wretches did not know, and the horrors of a cruel death stared them in the face ! Another hall, similar to the one in which the men had been collected, was occupied by female culprits. The same ceremonies were observed—the same doubt, fear, and agony, were depicted upon every countenance. But there was a third chamber, smaller than the other two, and this chamber was reserved for those who had been sentenced, ard who were to suffer at the stake. It was into this cham- ber that Amine was led, and there she found seven other prisoners, dressed in the same manner as herself : two only were Europeans, the other five were negro slaves. Each of these had his confessor with him, and was earnestly listening to his exhortation. : aa ab leta ce oe es In which Mr. Vanslyperken is taken for a WitCh.. 1... sees cece cree reer nsec er anecceeceees ns In which is recorded a most barbarous and bloody murder...........-- Cie elaine Eve ena In which a most horrid spectre disturbs the eqanimity of Mr. Vanslyperken.....:seeecs sees In which is shown how dangerous it is to tell a secret ......+eeeee sere reeerees ae ee a mers Mphts, 2.2 In which is shown the imprudence of sleeping in the open air eveninasum! In which Smallbones changes from a king’s man into a smuggler, and also changes his sex.. In which Mr. Vanslyperken meets with a double defeat ......++-.- +++ seen nertes aril a aimee tes In which Mr. Vanslyperken proves his loyalty and his fidelity to King William..........-- In which there is much bustle and confusion, plot and cotinterplot 2. vs ¢.ins +205 os Say ee Which is rather interesting ......e2ceceseccceeereeceesens Re eee SO ice saad ere ee -e. and the widow is called up very early in Ih which there isa great deal of correspondence, a (HE WIOTOINS veu0s bors ce cee de Ok eae Se itcca ot oietd gata en oe ndee ge heen gees cote In which is related much appertaining to the ‘“* pomp and glorious circumstance of war”’ .... i nd rank and file, are all sent to the right In which the officers, non-commissioned officers, an ADOUCH; oie w cae deen es se ees Beas ae ekg aise erga see Beta In which the Jacobite cause is triumphant by sea as well as by lavide 54 Sores aes In which a great deal of loyalty is shown, to counterbalance the treason of Vanslyperken Trial and execution of two of the principal personages 1n our history sa Gi sis baci cs cc renee In which affairs begin to wind up ee cena In which we trust that everything will be arranged to the satisfaction of our readers ...ss0ee NO Ht Oo O7V = 0 WW W ° U1 WwW oN HD Ou Our nm OO “NNN Vi N N oo Co HHA HRY WNNNR RO OF B'OUW BM mm 139 AI 144 146 I50 153 155 157Tittroa zt g Alt Parties tid a ret- IT was in the month of January, 1699, thata one-masted vessel, with black sides, was run- ning along the coast near Beachy Head, at the rate of about five miles per hour The wind was from the northward and blew keenly, the vessel was under easy sail, an the water was smooth. j nd It was now broad daylight, and the sun rose clear of clouds and ] t vapour; but he threw out Ji rht withou heat. The upper parts of the spars, the hammock rails, and the small iron guns which were mounted on the vessel's decks, were covered with a white frost. The man at the helm stood muffled up in a thick pea- jacket and mittens, which made his hands appear as large as his feet. His nose was a pug of an intense bluish red, one tint arising from the present cold, and the other from the preventive checks which he had been so long accustomed to take to drive out an unpleasant intruder. His grizzled hair waved its locks gently to the wind, and his face was distorted with an immoderate quid of tobacco which protruded his right cheek. This personage was second officer and steersman on board of the vessel, and his name was Obadiah Coble. He had been baptized Obadiah about sixty years before ; that is to say, if he had been baptized at all. He stood so motionless at the helm, that you might have imagined him to have been frozen there as he stood, were it not that his eyes occasionally w andered from the compass on the binnacle to the bows of the vessel, and that the breath from his mouth, when it was thrown out into the clear frosty air, formed a smoke like to that from the spout of a half-boiling tea-kettle. The crew belonging to the cutter, for she vas a vessel in the service of his Majesty, King William the Third, at this timeemployed in protecting his Majesty's revenue against the importation of alamodes and lutestrings, were all down below at their breakfasts, with the exception of the steersman and lieutenant- commandant, who now walked the quarter- deck, if so small an extent of plank could be dignified with such a name. He was a Mr. Cornelius Vanslyperken, a tall, meagre-looking personage, with very narrow shoulders and very small head, Perfectly straight up and DOG BLE 1 mrAt mi} ‘mY r - : j 7 down, protruding in no part, he reminded you of some tall parish pump, with a great knob at itstop. His face was gaunt, cheeks hollow, nose and chin showing an affection for each other, and evidently lamenting the gulf be- tween them which prevented their meeting. Both appeared to have fretted themselves to the utraost degree of tenuity from disappointment in love; as for the nose, it hada pearly round tear hanging at its tip, as if it wept. The dress of Mr. Vansiyperken was hidden ina great coat, which was very long, and buttoned straight down. This great coat had two pockets on each side, into which its owner's hands were deeply inserted, and so close did his arms lie to his sides, that they appeared nothing more than as would battens nailed to a topsail yard. The only deviation from the perpendicular was from the insertion of a speaking-trumpet under his left arm, at right angles with his body. It had evidently seen much service, was battered, and the black Japan worn off in most parts of it. As we have said before, Mr. Vanslyperken walked his quarter-deck. He was in a brown study, yet looked blue. Six strides brought him to the taffrail of the vessel, six more to the bows, such was the length of his tether—and he turned, and turned again. But there was another personage on the deck, a personage of no small importance, as he was all in all to Mr. Vanslyperken, and Mr. Vanslyperken was allin all to him ; more- over, we may say, that he is the hero of the TAIL. This was one of the ugliest and most ill-conditioned curs which had ever been pro- duced ;—ugly in colour ; for he was of a dirty yellow, like the paint served out to decorate our men-of-war by his Majesty’s dockyards: —ugly in face ; for he had one wall-eye, and was so far under-jawed as to prove that a bull- dog had had something to do with his crea- tion ;—ugly in shape ; for although larger than a pointer, and strongly built, he was coarse and shambling in his make, with his fore-legs bowed out. His ears and tail had never been docked, which was a pity, as the more you curtailed his proportions, the better looking the cur would have been. But his ears, although not cut, were torn to ribbons by the various encounters with dogs on shore, arising from the acidity of his temper. His tail had lost its hair from an inveterate mange, and reminded you of the same appendage to6 THE DOG FIEND; OR, a rat. Many parts of his body were bared large, and the rims of them red with cold, and from the same disease. He carried his head his neck was So immeasurably long and thin, ‘and tail low, and had a villanous sour look. that his head appeared to topple for want of To the eye of a casual observer, there was not support. When he had come on deck, he one redeeming quality that would warrant his. stood with one hand raised to his forehead, Keep; to those who knew him well, there touching his hair instead of his hat, and the were a thousand reasons why he should be other occupied with a_ half-roasted red- hanged. He followed his master with the herring. ‘ Yes, sir,’ said Smallbones, stand- gteatest precision and exactitude, walking aft ing before his master. as he walked aft, and walking forward with “Be quick!’ commenced the lieutenant : the same regular motion, turning when his but here his attention was directed to the red- master turned, and, moreover, turning in the herring by Snarleyyow, who raised his head Same direction ; and, like his master, he ap- and snuffed at its fumes. Among other dis- peared to be not a little nipped with the cold, qualifications of the animal, be it observed and, as well as he, in a State of profound that he had no nose except fora red-herring, meditation. Thename of this uncouth animal ora post by the way-side. Mr. Vanslyperken Was very appropriate to his appearance and discontinued his orders, took his hand out of to his temper. It was Snarleyyow. his great-coat pocket, wiped the drop from off “At last Mr. Vanslyperken gave vent to his nose, and then roared out, ‘‘ How dare his pent-up feelings, ‘I can't, I won’t stand you appear on the quarter-deck of a king’s this any longer,” muttered the lieutenant, as ship, sir, with a ted-herring in your fist ?” he took his six strides forward. At this first ‘“Tf you please, sir,” replied Smallbones, sound of his master’s voice the dog pricked ‘‘if I wereto come for to go to leave it in the up the remnants of his ears, and they both galley I shouldn't find it when I went back.” turned aft. ‘‘She has been now fooling me “What do I care for that, sir? Itis for six years ;"’ and as he concluded this contrary to all the r sentence, Mr. Vanslyperken and Snarleyyow the service. Now, sir, hear me had reached the taffrail, and the dog raised his ‘“O Lord, sir? let me off this time, it’s tail to the half-cock. only a soldier,” replied Smallbones, deprecat- They turned, and Mr, Vanslyperken paused ingly ; but Snarleyyow’s appetite had been ‘a moment or two, and compressed his thin very much sharpened by his morning's walk ; lips ; the dog did the same. ‘‘I will have an it rose with the smell of the herring, so he answer, by all that’s blue!” was the ejacula- rose on his hind legs, snapped the herring out tion of the next six strides. The lieutenant of Smallbones’ hand, bolted forward by the Stopped again, and the dog looked up in his lee gangway, and would soon have bolted the naster'’s face; but it appeared as if the herring, had not Smallbones bolted after him current of his master’s thoughts was changed, and overtaken him just as he had laid it down for the current of keen air reminded Mr. Van- on the deck preparatory to commencing his Slyperken that he had not yet had his break- meal. A fight ensued ; Smallbones received fast. a severe bite in the leg, which induced him to The lieutenant leant over the hatchway, seizea handspike, and make a blow with it at took his battered speaking-trumpet from the dog’s head, which, if it had been well under hisarm, and putting it to his mouth, the aimed, would have probably put an end to all deck reverberated with, ‘ Pass the word for further pilfering. As it was, the handspike Smallbones forward." The dog put himself descended upon one of the dog’s fore-toes, in a baying attitude, with his fore-feet on the and Snarleyyow retreated, yelling, to the coamings of the hatchway, and enforced his other side of the forecastle, and as soon as he masters orders with a deep-toned and was out of reach, like all curs, bayed in measured bow, wow, wow. defiance. Smallbones soon made _ his appearance, Smallbones picked up the herring, pulled rising from the hatchway like a ghost; a up his trousers to examine the bite, poured thin, shambling Personage, apparently about down an anathema upon the dog, which was, twenty years old; a pale, cadaverous face, ‘' May you be starved, as I am, you beast !”’ high cheekbones, goggle eyes, with lank hair and then turned round to go aft, when he very thinly sown upon a head which, like bad struck against the spare form of Mr. Van- soil, would return but a scanty harvest. He _ slyperken, who, with his hands in his pockets looked like Famine’s eldest son just arriving and his trumpet under his arm, looked un- to years of discretion. His long, lanky legs utterably savage. were pulled so far through his trousers, that ‘‘ How dare you beat my dog, you villain?” his bare feet, and half way up to his knees, said the lieutenant at last, choking with were exposed to the chilling blast. The passion, sleeves of his jacket were so short, that four Lee Ss. a bitten my leg through and inches of bone above his wrist were bared to through, sir,” replied Smallbones, with a face view; hat he had none; his ears were very of alarm, ules and regulations of ”SNARLE uve you such thin legs, “Well, then?” sir, W “Cause I gets nothing to fill em up with.” ‘« Have younot a herring there, you herring- gutted ; iar 2? which, in defiance of all the rules of Ft] e service, you have brought on his M y's aoe you greedy rascal. and for which I intend —— fi Tt) arn tay. ecpicin sir, it be yours, for your breakfast ; the only one that is left out of the half-do oe This last k ay ed to pacify Mr Vanslyperken. “Go down below, sir,”’ said he, after a pause, ‘and let me know when my breakfast is ready.” Smaillt ones obeyed immediately, too glad to escape so easly. ‘* Snarleyyow, © { his master, looking at the dog, who remained on the other side of forecastle; ‘‘Oon yyo for shame ! Come here, sir. Come here, sir, directly.” But Snarleyyow, who was very ulky at the loss of his anticipated breakf was con- tumacious, and would not con He stood at the other side of the fe recastle, while his master apostrophised him, looking him in the of indeci ce. Then, after a pause sion, gave a howling sort of bark, trotted away to the main hatchway, and disappé eared below Mr. Vanslyperken returned to the quarter- deck, and turned, and turned as before. CHAPTER II. Showing what é of the re YrIng C\MALLBONES soon made his re-appearance informing Mr. Vanslyperken that his bre ak- fast was ready for him, and Mr. Vanslyper- eling himself quite ready for his break- cen, fe fast, went down below. A minute after he had disappeared another man came up to re- lieve the one at the wheel, who, as Soon as ; he had surrendered up the spokes, commen ited himself after the most approved warming method, by flapping his arms round his body. ‘©The. skippers rts again this morning,” said O! ma time, “ - heard him mutteri woman at the I t Haus. Then, by Got, we will have de breeze, replied Jansen, who was a Dutch seaman of huge proportions, Fr ndered still more prepos- terous by the PA tlic y of his nether clothing. “Yes, as sure as Mother Carey’s chickens raise the gale, so does the name of the Frau Vandersloosh. I'll be down and get my breakfast, there may be keel-hauling before noon.” “ Mein Got—dat is de tyfel.” 7 keep a VYOW. r nor-east, Jansen, ant “Keep he sharp lc ar out for the boats. ‘“Got for dam—how must I steer the chip and look for de boats at de same time ? not po ossible.’’ OL at’ s no consarn o’ mine Tee are the orders, and I passes fewie you must get over the unpossibility how you can. ~ “So saying, Obadiah ¢ ‘oble walked below. We must do the same, and introduce the reader to the cabin of Lieutenant Vansly- perken, which was not very splendid in its Firniture. One small table, one chair, a mat- in a standing bed-place, with curtains e of bunting, an open cupboard, con- aining three plates, one tea-cup and saucer, two drinking glasses, and two knives. More was not required, as Mr. Vanslyperken never indale ed. in company. There was anothe cupboard, but it was care fully locked. On the table ‘before the lie utenant was a white wash-hand basin, nearly half full ll of burgoo, a composition of boiled oatmeal and water, very wholesome and very hot. It was the allowance, from the ‘ship's coppers, of Mr. Vanslypetken and his servant Smallbones. Mr. Vanslyperken was busy stirring it about to cool it a little, with a leaden spoon. leyyow sat close to him, waiting for his waiting for orders. ‘“Smallbones,” said the heutenant, after trying the hot mess before him, and finding that he was still in danger o! burning his “bring me the red-herring.”’ mos th, erring, sir?” stammered Small- ‘Red-he bones. “Yes,"’ replied his master, fixing his little srey eye sternly on him, ‘the red-herring. " “Tt's gone, sir!” replied Smallbones, with alarm. “Gone! gone where?” «Tf you please, sir, Ff have tou ched it after the a-think that dog had Aid) i qian ¢ you would ! had it in his nasty m south ; and so, sir—if you please, Sif ‘And so what?” said Vanslyperken, com- pressing his thin lips. “Tate it myself—if you please—O dear, QO dear!” YOU did, did you—you eluttonous scare- crow—you did, did you? Are you aw ree you have ini a theft—and are you aware of the punishment attending it = ‘©© sir, it W as a mistake, dear sir,” cried on Ene whimpering. ‘In the first place, [ will cut you to rib- bons with he Gat. “Mercy, sir, O sir cried the lad, the tears streaming from his eyes. ‘« The thief’s cat, with three tail.” Smallbones raised up his th in arms, and clasped his hands, pleading for mercy. knots in eachaes ae ‘And after the flogging you shall be keel- hauled.” ‘‘OQ God!" screamed Smallbones, falling down on his knees, ‘‘mercy—mercy !.” But there wasnone. Snarleyyow, when he saw the lad go down on his knees, flew at him, and threw him on his back, growling over him, and occasionally looking at his master. ‘“Come here, Snarleyyow,” said Mr. Van- slyperken. ‘‘ Come here, sir, and lie down.” But Snarleyyow had not forgotten the red- herring ; so in revenge he first bit Smallbones in the thigh, and then obeyed his master. ‘‘Get up, sir,” cried the lieutenant. Smallbones rose, but his temper now rose also ; he forgot all that he was to suffer, from indignation against the dog: with flashing eyes, and whimpering with rage, he cried out, as the tears fell, and his arms swung round, ‘“T'll not stand this—I’ll jump overboard — that I will: fourteen times has that ere dog a-bitten me this week. I’d sooner die at once than be made dog's meat- of in this here way.” ‘Silence, you mutinous rascal, or I'll put you in irons.” ‘‘T wish you would—irons don't bite, if they hold fast. I'll run away—I don't mind being hung—that I don't—starved to death, bitten to death in this here way ——’’ “‘ Silence, sir. It’s over-feeding that makes you saucy.” ‘“The Lord forgive you!” cried Small- bones, with surprise; ‘‘I’ve not had a full meal ‘ ‘“ A full meal, you rascal ! there's no filling a thing like you—hollow from top to bottom, like a bamboo.”’ ‘‘And what I does get,’’ continued Small- bones with energy, ‘‘I pays dear for; that ere dog flies at me, if I takes a bit o’ biscuit. ! never has a bite without getting a bite, and it’s all my own allowance.” “ A proof of his fidelity, and an example to you, you wretch!" replied the lieutenant, fondly patting the dog on the head. ‘Well, I wish you'd discharge me, or hang me, I don't care which. You eats so hearty, and the dog eats so hearty, that I gets no- thing. We are only victualled for two.” ‘* You insolent fellow! recollect the thief’s Gat... ‘It's very hard,’’ continued Smallbones, unmindful of the threat, ‘‘ that that ere beast is to eat my allowance, and be allowed to half eat me too.” “You forget the keel-hauling, you scare- crow.” “Well, [hope I may never come up again, that’s all,” “Leave the cabin, sir.” This order Smallbones obeyed. **Snarleyyow,” said the lieutenant, you THE DOG FIEND; OR, are hungry, my poor beast.” Snarleyyow put his forepaw up on his master's knee. ‘You shall have your breakfast soon,” con- tinued his master, eating the burgoo between his addresses to the animal. ‘“Yes, Snarleyyow, you have done wrong this morning ; you ought to have no break fast." Snarleyyow growled. ‘‘ Weare only four years acquainted, and how many scrapes you have got me into, Snarleyyow !” Snarleyyow here put both his paws upon his master’s knee. ‘‘Well, you are sorry, my poor dog, and you shall have some breakfast ;” and Mr Vanslyperken put the basin of burgoo on the floor, which the dog tumbled down his throat most rapidly. ‘‘ Nay, my dog, not so fast; you must leave some for Smallbones ; he will require some breakfast before his punishment. There, that will do; and Mr. Vanslyperken wished to remove the basin with a little of the burgoo remaining init. Snarleyyow growled, would have snapped at his master, but Mr. Vanslyperken shoved him away with the bell- mouth of his speaking-trumpet, and reco- vering a portion of the mess, put it on the table for the use of poor Smallbones. ‘ Now, then, my dog, we will go on deck.” Mr. Vanslyperken left the cabin, followed by Snarleyyow ; but as soon as his master was half way up the ladder, Snarleyyow turned back, leaped on the chair, from the chair to the table, and then finished the whole of the breakfast appropriated for Smallbones. Having effected this, the dog followed his master. —_—___. CHAPTER It. A retrospect, and short description of a new character. BuT we must leave poor Smallbones to lament his hard fate in the fore peak of the vessel, and Mr. Vanslyperken and his dog to walk the quarter-deck, while we make our readers a little better acquainted with the times in which the scenes passed which we are now describing, as well as with the history of Mr. Vanslyperken. The date in our first chapter, that of the year 1699, will, if they refer back to history, show them that William of Nassau had been a few years on the English throne, and that peace had just been concluded between Eng- land with its alliesand France. The king occasionally passed his time ‘in Holland, among his Dutch countrymen, and the Eng- lish and Dutch fleets, which but a few years before were engaging with such an obstinacy of courage, had lately sailed together, and turned their guns against the French. Wil- liam, like all those continental princes who have been called tothe English throne, showed much favour to his own countrymen, and England was overrun with Dutch favouritesDutch courtiers, and peers of Dutch ex- traction. He would not even part with his Dutch guards, and was at issue with the Commons of England on that very account. But the war was now over, and most of the English and Dutch navy lay dismantled in port, a few small vessels only being in com- mission to intercept the smuggling from France that was carrying on, much to the detriment of English manufacture, of certain articles then denominated alamodes and lutestrings. The cutter we have described was on this service, and wasnamed the Yungfrau, although built in England, and forming a part of the English naval force. It may really be supposed that Dutch in- terest, during this period, was in the ascend- ant. Such was the case; and the Dutch offi- cers and seamen who could not be employed in their own marine were appointed in the English vessels, to the prejudice of own countrymen. Mr. Vanslyperken was of Dutch extraction, but born in England long before the Prince of Orange had ever dreamt of being called to the English throne. He was a near relation of King William’s own nurse, and even in these days that would cause powerful interest. Previous to the revolution he had been laid on the shelf for cowardice in one of the engagements between the Dutch and the English, he being then a lieutenant on board of a two-decked ship, and of long standing in the service; but before he had been appointed to this vessel, he had served invariably in small craft, and his want of this } i ] i our necessary qualification had never been dis- covered. ‘The interest used for him on the accession of the Dutch king was sufficient for his again obtaining the command of a small vessel. In those days, the service was very dif- ferent from what it is now. The commanders of vessels were alsothe pursers, and could Save a great deal of money by defrauding the crew: and further, the discipline of the ser- vice was such as ld astonish the modern philanthropist : there was no appeal for sub- ordinates, and tyranny and oppression, even amounting to the destruction of life, were practised with impunity. Smollett has given his readers some idea of the state of the ser- vice a few years after the time of which we are now writing, when it was infinitely worse, for the system of the Dutch, notorious for their cruelty, had been grafted upon that of the English. The consequence was, a com- bination of all that was revolting to humanity was practised, without any notice being taken of it by the superior powers, provided that the commanders of the vessels did their duty when called upon, and showed the necessary talent and courage. Lieutenant Vanslyperken’s character may be summed up in the three vices of avarice, cowardice, and cruelty. A miser in the tu wou SNARL EY¥OW. 9 extreme, he had saved up much money by his having had the command of a vessel for sO many years, during which he had de- frauded and pilfered both from the men and the government. Friends and connections he had none on this side of the water, and, when on shore, he had lived in a state of abject misery, althoughhe had the means of comfort- able support. He was now fifty-five years of age. Since he had been appointed to the Yungfrau, he had been employed in carrying despatches to the States-General from King William, and had, during his repeated visits to the Hague, made acquaintance with the widow Vandersloosh, who kept a Lust Haus,* a place of resort for sailors, where they drank and danced. Discovering that the comfort- ably fat lady was also very comfortably rich, Mr. Vanslyperken had made advances, with the hope of obtaining her hand and handling her money. The widow had, however, no idea of accepting the offer, but was too wise to give him a decided refusal, as she knew it would be attended with his preventing the crew of the cutter from frequenting her house, and thereby losing much custom. ‘Thus did she, at every return, receive him kindly and give him hopes, butnothing more. Since the peace, as we before observed, the cutter had been ordered for the prevention of smuggling. When and how Mr. Vanslyperken had picked up his favourite Snarleyyow cannot be discovered, and must remain a secret. The men said that the dog had appeared on the deck of the cutter in a supernatural way, and most of them looked upon him with as much awe as ill-will. This is certain, that the cutter had been a little while before in a state of mutiny, anda forcible entry attempted at night into the lieutenant’s cabin. It is therefore not un- reasonable to suppose that Vanslyperken felt that a good watch-dog might be a very useful appendage to his establishment, and had procured one accordingly. All the affection he ever showed to anything living was certainly concentrated on this one animal, and, next to his money, Snarleyyow had possession of his master’s heart. Poor Smallbones, cast on the world with- out father or mother, had become starved before he was on board the cutter, and had been starved ever since. As the reader will perceive, his allowance was mostly eaten up by the dog, and he was left to beg a precarious support from the good-will and charity of his shipmates, all of whom were equally disgusted with the commander's cruelty and the ungain temper of his brute companion. Having entered into this retrospect for the benefit of the reader, we will now proceed. Mr. Vanslyperken walked the deck for nearly a quarter of an hour without speaking ; * Pleasure house.10 LHE DOG FIEND: OR, the men had finished their breakfasts, and were lounging about the deck, for there was nothing for them to do, except to look out for the return of the two boats which had been sent away the night before. The lieutenant’s thoughts were at one minute upon Mrs. Vandersloosh, thinking how he could persuade her, and at another, upon Smallbones, think- ing how he could render the punishment adequate, in his opinion, to the magnitude of the offence. While discussing these two important matters, one of the men reported the boats ahead, and broke up the comman- der’s reverie. ‘““How far off?" demanded Mr. Vansly- perken. ‘* About two miles. ‘* Pulling or sailing ?”’ “ Pulling, sir; we stand right for them.’ But Mr. Vanslyperken was in no pleasant humour, and ordered the cutter to be hove- to. ‘*T tink de men have pull enough allnight, said Jansen, who had just been relieved at the wheel, to Obadiah Coble, who was standing by him on the forecastle. ‘‘T think so too: but there'll be a breeze, depend upon it—-never mind, the devil will have his own all in good time.” ‘“Got for dam,” said Jansen, looking at Beachy Head, and shaking his own, “Why, what's the matter -now, old Schnapps ?”’ said Coble. “Schnapps, yes—the tyfle—Schnapps, I think how the French schnapped us Dutch- men here when you Englishment wouldn't fight,” ‘* Mind what you say, old twenty breeches —wouldn’t fight—when wouldn't we fight ?” ** Here, where we were now, by Got, you leave us all in the lurch, and not come down?” “Why, we couldn’t come down.” ‘*Bah !” replied Jansen, who referred to the defeat of the combined Dutch and English fleet by the French off Beachy Head in r6go. ‘“We wouldn't fight, eh?” exclaimed Obadiah in scorn—‘‘ what do you say to the Hogue ?”’ “Yes, den you fought well—dat was good.” “And shall I tell you why we fought well at the Hogue, you Dutch porpoise—just be- cause we had no Dutchmen to help us.” “And shall I tell you why the Dutch were beat off this Head ?—because the English wouldn't come down to help us,”’ Here Obadiah put his tongue into his right cheek. Jansen in return threw his into his left, and thus the argument was. finished. These disputes were constant at the time, but seldom proceeded further than words—cer- tainly not between Coble and Jansen, who were great friends, The boats were soon on board; from the time that the cutter had been hove-to, every ” ’ ” stroke of their oars having been accompanied with a nautical anathema from the crews upon the head of their commander. The steers- man and first officer, who had charge of the boats, came over the gangway and went up to Vanslyperken. He wasa thick-set, stout man, about five feet four inches high, and, wrapped up in Flushing garments, looked very much like a bear in shape as well asin skin. His name was Dick Short, and in every respect he answered to his name, for he was short in stature, short in speech, and short in decision and action. Now when Short came up to the lieutenant, did not consider it at all necessary to say as usual, ‘‘Come on board, sir,” for it was self- evident that he had come on board. He therefore said nothing. So abrupt was he in his speech, that he never even said ‘‘Sir” when he spoke to his superior, which it may be imagined was very offensive to Mr. Vansly- perken ; so it was, but Mr. Vanslyperken was afraid of Short, and Short was not the least afraid of Vanslyperken. ‘“ Well, what have you done, Short?” “ Nothing.” ‘“* Did you see anything of the boat ?”’ pete, oF ai ‘*Did you gain any information ?”’ PNG. ‘What have you been doing all night 2?” SPO, 5 ‘*Did you land to obtain information ?” aes “‘And you got none?” ea Here Short hitched up the waistband of his second pair of trousers, turned short round, and was going below, when Snarleyyow smelt at his heels. ‘The man gave hima back kick with the heel of his heavy boot, which sent the dog off yelping and barking, and put Mr. Vanslyperken in a great rage. Not venturing to resent this affront upon his first officer, he was reminded of Smallbones, and immediately sent for Corporal Van Spitter to appear on deck, CHAP LER. ii. In which there is a desperate combat. EVEN at this period of the English history, it was-the custom to put a few soldiers on board of the vessels of war, andthe Yxxg/rau cutter had been supplied with a corporal and six men, all of whom were belonging to the Dutch marine. Toa person who was so unpopular as Mr, Vanslyperken, this little force was a great protection, and both Corporal Van Spitter and his corps were well treated by him. ‘The corporal was his purser and purveyor, and had a very good berth of it, for he could cheat as well as his commandant.- He was, more-over, his prime minister, and an obedient exe- cuter of all his tyranny, for Corporal Van Spitter.was without a shadow of feeling—on the contrary, he had pleasure in administering punishment; and if Vanslyperken had told him to blow any man’s brains out belonging to the vessel, Van Spitter would have im- mediately obeyed the order without the change of a muscle in his fat, florid countenance. ‘The corporal was an enormous man ; tall, and so corpulent that he weighed nearly twenty stone. Jansen was the only one who could rival him ; he was quite as tall as the corporal, and as powerful, but he had not the extra weight of his carcase. About five minutes after the summons, the huge form of Corporal Van Spitter was seen to emerge slowly from the hatchway, which appeared barely wide enough to admit the egress of his broad shoulders. Hehad a flat foraging cap on his head, which was as large as a buffalo’s, and his person was clothed in blue pantaloons, tight at the ankle, rapidly increasing in width as they ascended, until they diverged at the hips to an expanse which was something between the sublime and the ridiculous. The upper part of his body was cased in a blue jacket, with leaden buttons, stamped with the rampant lion, with a little tail behind, which was shoved up in the air by the protuberance of the parts. Having gained the deck, he walked to Vanslyperken, and raised the back of his right hand to his fore- head, ‘Corporal Van Spitter, get your cats up for punishment, and when you are ready fetch up Smallbones.” Whereupon, without reply, Corporal Van Spitter put his left foot behind the heel of his right, and by this manceuvre turned his body round likea capstan, so as to bring his face forWard, and then walked off in that direction. He soon re-appeared with all the necessary implements of torture, laid them down on one of the lee guns, and again departed to seek out his victim. After a short time, a scuffle was heard below, but it was soon over, and once more appeared the corporal with the spare, tall body of Small- bones under his arm. He held him, grasped by the middle part, about where Smallbones’ stomach ought to have been, and the head and heels of the poor wretch both hung down per- pendicularly, and knocked together as the corporal proceeded aft. As soon as Van Spitter had arrived at the gun, he laid down his charge, who neither moved nor spoke, He appeared to have re- signed himself to the fate which awaited him, and made no resistance when he was stripped by one of the marines, and stretched over the gun. ‘The men, who were on deck, said no- thing ; they looked at each other expressively the preparations were made, Flogging a SVARLEVYOW. It lad like Smallbones was too usual an occur- rence to excite surprise, and to show their dis- gust would have been dangerous. Smallbones’ back was now bared, and miserable was the spectacle ; the shoulder-blades protruded, so that you might put your hand sideways under the scapula, and every bone of the vertebrze and every process was clearly defined through the skin of the poor skeleton. The punish- ment commenced, and the lad received his three dozen without a murmur, the measured sound of the lash only being broken in upon by the baying of Snarleyyow, who occasionally would have flown at the victim, had he not been kept off by one of the marines, During the punishment, Mr. Vanslyperken walked the deck, and turned and turned again as before. Smallbones was then cast loose by the cor- poral, who was twirling up his cat, when Snar- leyyow, whom the marine had not watched, ran up to the lad, and inflicted a severe bite. Smallbones, who appeared, at the moment to be faint and lifeless—not having risen from his knees after the marine had thrown his shirt over him, roused by this new attack, appeared to spring into life and energy; he jumped up, uttered a savage yell, and to the astonishment of everybody, threw himself upon the dog as he retreated, and holding him fast with his naked arms, met the animal with his own wea- pons, attacking him with a frenzied resolution with his teeth. Everybody started back at this unusual conflict, and no one interfered. Long was the struggle; and such was the savage energy of the lad, that he bit and held on with the tenacity of a bull-dog, tearing the lips of the animal, his ears, and burying his face in the dog’s throat, as his teeth were firmly fixed on his windpipe. The dog could not escape, for Smallbones held him like a vice. At last, the dog appeared to have the advantage, for as they rolled over and over, he caught the Jad by the side of the neck ; but Smallbones recovered himself, and getting the foot of Snarleyyow between his teeth, the dog threw up his head and howled for suc- cour. Mr. Vanslyperken rushed to his assis- tance, and struck Smallbonesa heavy blow on the head with his speaking trumpet, which stunned him, and he let go his hold. Short, who had come on deck, perceiving this, and that the dog was about to resume the attack, saluted Snarleyyow with a kick on his side, which threw him down the hatchway, which was about three yards off from where the dog wa ‘at the time. « How dare you strike my dog, Mr. Short?” cried Vanslyperken. Short did not condescend to answer, but went to Smallbones and raised his head. The lad revived. He was terribly bitten about the face and neck, and what with the wounds in front, and the lashing from the cat, presented a melancholy spectacle.I2 Short called some of the men to take Small- bones below, in which act they readily assisted; they washed him all over with salt water, and the smarting from his various wounds brought him to his senses. He was then put in his hammock. Vanslyperken and the corporal looked at each other during the time that Short was giving his directions—neither interfered. The lieutenant was afraid, and the corporal waited for orders. So soon as the men had carried the lad below, Corporal Van Spitter put his hand up to his foraging cap, and, with his cat and seizings under his arm, went down below. As for Vanslyperken, his wrath was even greater than before, and with hands thrust even further down in his pockets than ever, and the speaking-trumpet now battered flat with the blow which he had administered to Smallbones, he walked up and down, mut- tering every two minutes, ‘‘I'll keel-haul the scoundrel, by heavens ! I'll teach him to bite my dog.”’ Snarleyyow did not re-appear on deck ; he had received such punishment as he did not expect. He licked the wounds where he could get at them, and then remained in the cabin in a sort of perturbed slumber, growling every minute, as if he were fighting the battle over again in his sleep. OHAPTER 1. A consultation in which there is much mutiny. THIs consultation was held upon the fore- castle of his Majesty's cutter Yungfrau, on the evening after the punishment of Small- bones. The major part of the crew attended : all but the Corporal Van Spitter, who, on these points, was known to split with the crew, and his six marines, who formed the corporal's tail, at which they were always to be found. The principal personage was not the most eloquent speaker, for it was Dick Short, who was supported by Obadiah Coble, Yack Jansen, and another personage, whom we must introduce—the boatswain or boat- swain’s mate of the cutter; for although he received the title of the former, he only re- ceived the pay of the latter. This person's real name was James Salisbury, but for reasons which will be explained, he was invariably ad- dressed or spoken of as Jemmy Ducks. He was indeed a very singular variety of human discrepancy as to form: he was handsome in face, with a manly countenance, fierce whiskers and long pigtail, which on him appeared more than unusually long, as it descended to within a foot of the deck. His shoulders were square, chest expanded, and, as far as half-way down, that is, to where the legs are inserted into the human frame, he was a fine, well-made, handsome, well-proportioned man, But what THE DOG FIEND; OR, a falling off was there.—for some reason, some accident it is supposed, in his infancy, his legs had never grown in length since he was three years old: they were stout as well as his body, but not more than eighteen inches from the hip to the heel ; and he consequently waddled about a very ridiculous figure, for he was like a man vazéed, or cut down. Put him on an eminence of a couple of feet, and not see his legs, and you would say at a dis- tance, ‘‘ What a fine-looking sailor!’’ but let him get down and walk up to you, and you would find that Nature had not finished what she had so well begun, and that you are exactly half mistaken. This malconformation below did not, however, affect his strength— it rather added to it; and there were but few men in the ship who would venture a wrestle with the boatswain, who was very appropriately distinguished by the cognomen of Jemmy Ducks. Jemmy was a sensible, merry fellow, and a good seaman: you could not affront him by any jokes on his figure. for he would joke with you. He was indeed the fiddle of the ship's company, and he always played the fiddle to them when they danced, on which instrument he was no mean performer ; and, moreover, accompanied his voice with his instrument when he sang to them after they were tired of dancing. We shall only observe that Jemmy was a married man, and he had selected one of the tallest of the other sex: of her beauty, the less that is said the better ——Jemmy did not look to that, or perhaps, at such a height, her face did not appear so plain to him as it did to those who were more ona level withit. The effect of perspective is well known, and even children now have as play- things, castles, &c., laid down on card, which, when looked at in a proper direction, appear just as correct as they do preposterous when lying flat before you. Now it happened that from the level that Jemmy looked up from to his wife's face, her inharmonious features were all in harmony, and thus did she appear—what is very ad- vantageous in the marriage state—perfection to her husband, without sufficient charms in the eyes of others to induce them to seduce her from her liege lord. Moreover, let it be recollected, that what Jemmy wavted was height, and he had gained what he required in his wife, if not in his own person : his wife was passionately fond of him, and very jealous, which was not to be wondered at, for, as she said, ‘‘ There never was such a husband before or since.” We must now return to the conference, observing, that all these parties were sitting down on the deck, and that Jemmy Ducks had his fiddle in his hand, holding it with the body downwards like a base viol, for he always played it in that way, and that he occasionally fingered the strings, pinching |them as you do a guitar, so as to send the sound of it aft, that Mr. Vanslypezken might suppose that they were all met for mirth. Two or three had their eyes directed aft, that the appearance of Corporal Van Spitter or the marines might be immediately perceived ; for, although the corporal was not a figure to slide into a conference unperceived, it was well known that he was an eavesdropper. **One thing’s sartin,’’ observed Coble, ‘“‘that a dog’s not an officer.” “No,” replied Dick Short. ‘*Fe’s not on the ship's books, so I can’t see how it can be mutiny.” “No,” rejoined Short. ‘*Mein Got—he is not a tog, he is te tyfel,” observed Jansen. ‘*Who knows how he came into the cut- tere “There's a queer story about that,” said one of the men. ‘Tum tum, tumty tum—said the fiddle of Jemmy Ducks, as if it took part in the con- ference. ‘That poor boy will be killed if things go on this way: the skipper will never be content till he has driven his soul out of his body—poor creature ; only look at him as‘he lies in his hammock.” ‘‘T never seed a Christian such an object,” said one of the sailors. ‘‘1lf the dog ain’t killed, Bones will be, that’s sartain,”’ observed Coble, ‘‘and I don’t see why the preference should be given to a human individual, although the dog is the skipper’s dog—now then, what d'’ye say, my lads ?”’ Tum, tum, tum, tum, tumty, tumty, tum, replied the fiddle. ‘‘Let’s hang him at once,” “*No,” replied Short. Jansen took out his snickerree, looked at Short, and made a motion with the knife, as if passing it across the dog’s throat. ‘*No,” replied Short. ‘‘Let’s launch him overboard at night,” said one of the men. ‘« But how is one to get the brute out of the cabin?” said Coble; ‘‘if it’s done at all it must be done by day.’’ Short nodded his head. ‘‘T will give him a launch the first oppor- tunity,” observed Jemmy Ducks, ‘‘ only— (continued he, in a measured and lower tone) —I should first like to know whether he really zs a dog or xof.”’ ‘‘A tag is a tog,” observed Jansen. ‘*Ves,” replied one of the forecastle men, ‘«we all know a dog is a dog, but the ques- tion is—is *hzs dog a dog.” Here there was a pause, which Jemmy Ducks filled up by again touching the strings of his fiddle. The fact was, that, although every one of SVARLEVYOW. 13 the sailors wished the dog was overboard, there was not one who wished to commit the deed, not on account of the fear of its being dis- covered who was the party by Mr. Vanslyper- ken, but because there was a great deal of superstition among them. It was considered unlucky to throw any dog or animal over- board ; but the strange stories told about the way in which Snarleyyow first made his ap- pearance in the vessel, added to the peculiarly diabolical temper of the animal, had often been the theme of midnight conversation, and many of them were convinced that it was an imp of Satan lent to Vanslyperken, and that to injure or to attempt to destroy it would infallibly be followed up with terrible con- sequences to the party, if not to the vessel and all the crew. Eyen Short, Coble, and Jansen, who were the boldest and leading men, although when their sympathies were roused by the suffering of poor Smallbones they were anxious to revenge him, had their own misgivings, and, on consideration, did not like to have anything to do with the busi- ness. But each of them kept their reflec- tions to themselves, for, if they could not combat, they were too proud to acknowledge them. The reader will observe that all their plans were immediately put an end to until this important question, and not a little difficult one, was decided—Was the dog a dog? Now, although the story had often been told, yet, as the crew of the cutter had been paid off since the animal had been brought on board, there was no man in the ship who could positively detail, from his own know- ledge, the facts connected with his first ap- pearance—there was only tradition, and to solve this question, to tradition they were obliged to repair. ‘“Now, Bill “‘Spurey,'” said’ Coble, ‘“you know more about this matter than any one, so just spin us the yarn, and then we shall be able to talk the matter over soberly.” “Well,” replied Bill Spurey, ‘‘ you shall have it just as I got it word for word, as near as I can recollcet. You know I wasn't in the craft when the thing came on board, but Joe Geary was, and it was one night when we were boozing over a stiff glass at the new shop there, the Orange Boven, as they call it, at the Pint of Portsmouth—and so, you see, falling in with him, I wished to learn some- thing about my new skipper, and what sort of a chap I should have to deal with. When I learnt all about Az, I'd half-a-dozen minds to shove off again, but then I was adrift, and so I thought better of it. It won't do to be so nice in peace times, you know, my lads, when all the big ships are rotting in Southamp- ton and Cinque Port muds. Well, then, what he told me I recollect as well—ay, every word of it—as ifhe had whispered it into my ear butthis minute. It was a blustering night, with a dirty south-wester, and the chafing of the harbour waves was thrown up in foams, which the winds swept up the street, they chasing one another as if they were boys at play. It was about two bells in the middle watch, and after our fifth glass, that Joe Geary said as this :— “‘It was one dark winter's night when we were off the Texel, blowing terribly, with the coast under our lee, clawing off under storm canvas, and fighting with the elements for every inch of ground, a hand in the chains, for we had nothing but the lead to trust to, and the vessel so flogged by the waves, that he was lashed to the rigging, that he might not be washed away; all of a sudden the wind came with a blast loud enough for the last trump, and the waves roared till they were hoarser than ever; away went the vessel's mast, although there was no more canvas on it than a jib pocket-handkerchief, and the craft rolled and tossed in the deep troughs for all the world like a wicked man dying in despair; and then she was a wreck, with nothing to help us but God Almighty, fast borne down upon the sands which the waters had disturbed, and were dashing about until they themselves were weary of the load; and all the seamen cried unto the Lord, as well they might. ‘“ Now they say, that #e did not cry as they did like men and Christians, to Him who made them and the waters which surrounded and threatened them ; for Death was then in all his glory, and the foaming crests of the waves were as plumes of feathers to his skeleton head beneath them ; but he cried likea child —and swore terribly as well as cried—talking about his money, his dear money, and not caring about his more precious soul. ‘‘ And the cutter was borne down, every wave pushing her with giant force nearer and nearer to destruction, when the man at the man at the chains shrieked out—‘ Mark three, and the Lord have mercy on our souls!’ and all the crew, when they heard this, cried out —‘ Lord save us, or we perish!’ But still they thought that their time was come, for the breaking waves were under their lee, and the yellow waters told them that, in a few minutes, the vessel, and all who were on board, would be shivered in fragments ; and some wept and some prayed as they clung to the bulwarks of the unguided vessel, ‘and others in a few minutes thought oyer their whole life, and waited for death in silence, But Ze, he did all; he cried, and he prayed, and he swore, and he was silent, and at last he became furious and frantic ; and when the man said again and again, ‘The Lord save us!’ he roared out at last, ‘ Will the devzl help us, for In a moment, before these first words were out of his mouth, there was THE DOG FIEND; OR, a flash of lightning, that appeared to strike the vessel, but it harmed her not, neither did any thunder follow the flash; but a ball of blue flame pitched upon the knight heads, and then came bounding and dancing aft to the taffrail, where fe stood alone, for the men had left him to blaspheme by himself. Some say he was heard to speak, asif in con- versation, but no one knows what passed. Be it as it may, on a sudden he walked forward as brave as hecould be, and was followed by this creature, who carried his head and tail slouching as he does now. ‘“And the dog looked up and gave one deep bark, and as soon as he had barked the wind appeared to lull—he barked again twice and there was a dead calm—he barked again thrice, and the seas went down—and e patted the dog on the head, and the animal then bayed loud for a minute or two, and then, to the astonishment and fear of all, instead of the vessel being withina cable’s length of the Texel sands in a heavy gale, and without hope, the Foreland lights were but two miles on our beam, with a clear sky and smooth water..’ ‘The seaman finished his legend, and there was adead silence for a minute or two, broken first by Jansen, who in a low voice said, ” “ Then te tog is not a tog.”’ ‘‘No,”’ replied Coble, ‘‘an imp Sent by the devil to his follower in distress.” ‘'Yes,”’ said. Short. ‘‘Well, but,” said Jemmy Ducks, who for some time had left off touching the strings of his fiddle, ‘‘ it would be the work of a good Christian to kill the brute.” ‘“‘Tt’s not a mortalanimal, Jemmy.” True, I forgot thaf,-: *‘ Gifen by de tyfel,’’ observed Jansen. ‘* Ay, and christened by him too,”’ continued Coble. ‘‘ Who ever heard any Christian brute with such a damnable name?”’ ‘Well, what’s to be done?” ‘Why,’ replied Jemmy Ducks, ‘atall events, imp o’ Satan or not, that here Small- bones fought him to-day with his own weapons.’ ‘* And beat him too,” said Coble. “Yes, Said short: ‘Now, it’s my opinion that Smallbones arnt afraid of him,’’ continued Jemmy Ducks, and devil or no devil, he'll kill him, if he can. ‘He's the proper person to do it,” replied Coble ; ‘‘ the more so, as you may say that he's his zaturaZ enemy.” ‘‘Yes, mein Got, de poy is de man,” said Jansen. ‘“We'll put him up toit at all events, as soon as he is out of his hammock,’’ rejoined Jemmy Ducks. A little more convesation took place, and then it was carried unanimously that Small-bones should destroy the animal, if it was possible to destroy it. The only party who was not consulted was Smallbones himself, who lay fast asleep in his hammock. The consultation then broke up, and they all went below, CHAPTER VI. Ln which, as often happens at sea when signals are not made out, friends exchange broadsides. NOTWITHSTANDING all the precautious of the party on the forecastle, this consultation had been heard by no less a person than the huge Corporal Van Spitter, who had an idea that there was some mystery going on forward and had contrived to crawl up under the bulwark, and throw himself down on the forestaysail, which lay between two of the guns. Having so done without being per- ceived, for it was the very moment that the party were all listening to Bill Spurey’s legend of the dog's first appearance on board, he threw a part of the sail over his fat carcase, and thus remained undiscovered during the remainder of the colloquy. He heard them all descending below, and remained still quiet, till he imagined that the forecastle was clear. In the meantime, Mr. Vanslyperken, who had been walking the deck abaft, unaccompanied by his faithful attendant (for Snarleyyow re- mained coiled up on his master’s bed), was meditating deeply how to gratify the two most powerful passions in our nature, love and revenge : at one moment thinking of the at fair Vandersloosh, and of hauling in her guilders, at another reverting to the starved Smallbones and thecomfort of a keel-hauling. The long conference on the forecastle had not been unperceived by the hawk’s eye of the lieutenant, and as they descended he walked forward to ascertain if he could not pick up some straggler who, unsupported by his comrades, might be induced by fear to acquaint him with the subject of the dis- cussion. Now, just as Mr. Vanslyperken came forward, Corporal Van Spitter had re- moved the canvas from his body, and was about to rise from his bed, when he perceived somebody coming forward. Not making it out to be the lieutenant, he immediately dropped down again and drew the canvas over him, Mr. Vanslyperken perceived this manceuvre, and thought he had now caught one of the conspirators, and moreover, one who showed such fear as to warrant the sup- position that he should be able to extract from him the results of the night’s unusally long conference. Mr. Vanslyperken walked up to where the corporal lay as quiet but not quite so small asa mouse, It occurred to Mr, Vanslyperken SVMVARLTEVVOW, 15 that a little taste of punishment 7x esse would very much assist the threats of what might be received zz posse, so he laid aside his speaking-trumpet, looked round, picked up a handspike, and raising it above his head, down it came, with all the force of the lieutenant’s arm, upon Corporal Van Spitter, whose car- case resounded like a huge kettle-drum. *Tunder and flame !”’ roared the corporal ¢ under the canvas, thinking that one of the seamen, having discovered him eavesdropping, had thus wreaked his revenge, taking advan- tage of his being covered up, and pretending not to know him. ‘‘Tunder and flame!” roared the corporal, muffled upin the canvas, and trying to extricate himself; but his voice was not recognised by the lieutenant, and, before he could get clear of his envelope, the handspike had again descended; when up rose the corporal, like a buffalo out of his muddy lair, half blinded by the last blow, which had fallen on his head, ran full butt at the lieutenant, and precipitated his senior officer and commander headlong down the fore-hatchway. Vanslyperken fell with great force, was stunned, and lay without motion at the foot of the ladder, while the corporal, whose wrath was always excessive when his blood was up, but whose phlegmatic blood could not be raised without some such decided stimulus as a handspike, now turned round and round the forecastle like a bull looking for his assailants; but the corporal had the forecastle all to himself, and, as he gradually cooled down, he saw lying close to him the speaking- trumpet of his senior officer. ‘““Tousand tyfels,” murmured Corporal Van Spitter, ‘‘ but it must have been the skipper. Got for dam, dis is hanging matter!’’ Cor- poral Van Spitter was as cool as a cucumber as soon as he observed what a mistake he had made ; in fact he quivered and trembled in his fat. ‘‘ But then,” thought he, ‘‘ perhaps he did not know me—no, he could not, or he neyer would have handspiked me.'’ So Cor- poral Van Spitter walked down the hatchway, where he ascertained-that his commandant lay insensible. ‘* Dat is good,” thought he; and he went aft, lighted his lantern, and, asa ruse, knocked at the cabin-door. Receiving no answer but the growl of Snarleyyow, he went in, and then ascended to the quarter-deck, looked round him, and tinquired of the man at the wheel.where Mr. Vanslyperken might be. The manreplied that he had gone forward a few minutes before, and thither the corporal proceeded. Of course, not ‘finding him, he returned, telling the man that the skipper was not in the cabin or forecastle, and wondering where he couldbe. He then descended to the next officer in command, Dick Short, and called him. ‘‘ Well,” said Short,16 ‘'Can‘t find Mr, Vanslyperken anywhere,”’ said the corporal. “Look,” replied Dick, turning round in his hammock. “Mien Got, I have looked de forecastle, de quarter-deck, and de cabin—he not any- where.” “Overboard,” replied Dick. ‘‘T come to you, sir, to make inquiry,’’ said the corporal, ‘‘Turn out,” said Dick, suiting the action to the words, and lighting with his feet on the deck in his shirt. While Short was dressing himself, the cor- poral summoned up all his marines ; and the ‘noise occasioned by this turn out, and the conversation overheard by those who were awake, soon gave the crew of the cutter to understand that some accident had happened to their commander. Even Smallbones had it whispered in his ear that Mr. Vanslyperken had fallen overboard, and he smiled as he lay in the dark, smarting with his wounds, mut- tering to himself that Snarleyyow should soon follow his master. By the time that Short was on the quarter-deck, Corporal Van Spitter, who knew very well where to look for it, had, very much to the disappointment of the crew, found the body of Mr. Vanslyperken, and the marines had brought it aft to the cabin, and would have laid it on the bed, had not Snarley- yow, who had no feeling in bis composition, positively denied its being put there. Short came downand examined his superior officer. ‘Is he dead?” inquired the corporal with alarm. ‘*" No,” replied Short. “Vat can it be then?” said the corporal. ** Stunned,” replied Short. ‘“ Mein Got]! how could it happen ?” ‘“Tumbled,” replied Short. ‘What shall we do, sir?” rejoined the corporal. ‘‘ Bed,” replied Short, turning on his heel, and a minute after turning into his hammock. ‘Mein Got, the dog will not let him go to bed,” exclaimed the corporal. ‘‘Let’s put him in,” said one of the marines ; ‘‘ the dog won't bite his master.” So the marines lifted up the still insensible Mr. Vanslyperken, and almost tossed him into his standing bed-place, right on the body of the snarling dog, who, as soon as he could disengage himself from the weight, revenged himself by making his teeth meet more than once through the lantern cheek of his master, and then leaping off the bed, retreated growl- ing under the table. “Well, you are a nice dog,” exclaimed one of the marines, looking after Snarleyyow in his retreat. Now, there was no medical assistance on board so smalla vessel. Mr, Vanslyperken THE, DOG FIEND; OR, was allowed a small quantity of medicine, unguents, &c.; -but these he always sold to an apothecary as soon as he had procured them from the authorities. ‘The teeth of the dog had, however, their effect, and Mr. Vanslyperken opened his eyes, and in a faint voice cried, ‘‘Snarleyyow.”’ Oh, if the dog had any spark of feeling, how must he then havebeen stung with remorse at his ingratitude to sokindamaster! But heapparently showed none, at least report does not say that any symptoms were manifested. After a little burnt oakum had excoriated his nose, and a certain quantity of the cold salt-water from alongside had wetted through his bed-cloths, Mr. Vanslyperken was com- pletely recovered, and was able to speak, and look about him. Corporal Van Spitter trembled a little as his commandant fixed his eyes upon him, and he _ redoubled his attention. ‘“Mein Got, Mynheer Vanslyperken, how was this happen?’’ exclaimed the corporal in a pathetic tone. Whereupon Mr. Vansly- perken ordered every one to leave the cabin but Corporal Van Spitter. Mr. Vanslyperken then communicated to the corporal that he had been knocked down the hatchway by one of the men when he went forward ; that he could not distinguish who it was, but thought it must have been Jansen from his size. Corporal Van Spitter, delighted to find that his skipper was ona wrong scent, expressed his opinion in corroboration of the lieutenant’s ; after which a long consultation took place relative to mutiny, disaffection, and the proper measures to be taken. Vansly- perken mentioned the consultation of the men during the first watch, and the corporal, to win his favour, was very glad to be able to communicate the particulars of what he had overheard, stating that he had concealed him- self for that purpose. ‘‘And where did you conceal yourself?” said Vanslyperken, with a keen inquiring look: for it immediately occurred to him that, unless it was under the sail, there could be no con. cealment for such a huge body as that of the corporal; and he had his misgivings. But the corporal very adroitly observed, that he stood at the lower step of the fore-ladder, with his head level with the coamings ; and had, by this means, overheard the conversation unperceived, and had only walked away when the party broke up. This restored the con- fidence of Mr. Vanslyperken, and a long discussion took place, in which it was agreed between them, that the only way to prevent Snarleyyow from being destroyed, was to try some means to make away quietly with poor Smallbones, But this part of the conversation was not carried to any length: for Mr. Vansly- perken, indignant at having received such injury in his face from his ungrateful cur, did lL eanot, at that moment, feel the current of his affection run so strong as usual in that di- rection. After this, the corporal touched his hat, swung round to the rightabout in military Style and left the cabin. CHAPTER VII: ln which Mr. Vanslyperken goes on shore to woo the widow Vandersloosh, THREE weeks of comparative calm now passed away, during which Mr. Vanslyperken re- covered of his wounds and accident, and meditated how he should make away with Smallbones. The latter also recovered of his bites, and meditated how he should make away with Snarleyyow. Smallbones had re- turned to his avocations, and Mr. Vansly- perken, intending mischief, treated him more kindly as ablind. Snarleyyow also, not for- getting his defeat on the quarter-deck, did not renew. his attacks, even when the poor lad helped himself to biscuit. The Yunzgfrauanchored in the Downs, and Mr. Vanslyperken receivee despatches for the Hague ; King William having written some letters to his friends, and sent over to them a little English money, which he knew would be acceptable ; for continental kings on the English throne have never appeared to ;have a clear sense of the honour conferred upon them. England, in their ideas, has always been a farvenu kingdom; her nobles not able to trace further back thar the Conquest while in their country, the lowest baron will prove his sixteen quarters, and his descent from the darkest ages. But, nevertheless, upon the same principle that the poor aristocracy will condescend to unite them- selves occasionally to city wealth, so have these potentates condescended to reign over us, Mr. Vanslyperken received his despatches, and made the best of his way to Amsterdam, where he anchored, delivered his credentials, and there waited for the letters of thanks from his Majesty's cousins, But what a hurry and bustle there appears to be on board of the Yuxgfrau—Smallbones here, Smallbones there—Coporal Van Spitter pushing to and fro with the dog-trot of an elephant ; and even Snarleyyow appears to be unusually often up and down the hatchway. What can it all beabout? Oh! Mr. Vansly- perken is going on shore to pay his respects and continue his addresses to the widow Van- dersloosh. His boat is manned alongside, and he now appears on the cutter’s quarter- deck. Is it possible that this can be Mr. Vansly- perken? Heavens, how gay! An uniform certainly does wonders with some people: that is to say, those who do not look well in plain clothes are invariably improved by it ; oe SNVARLEYYOW. 1} while those who look most like gentlemen in plain clothes, lose in the same proportion. At all events Mr, Vanslyperken is wonderfully improved, He has a loose pair of blue pantaloons with boots rising above his knees pulled over them : his lower parts remind you of Charles the Twelfth. Hehasa long scarlet waistcoat, with large gilt buttons and flap pockets, and his uniform coat over all, of blue turned up with red, hasa very commanding appearance Toa broad black belt over his shoulder hangs his cutlass, the sheath of which is mounted with silver, and the hilt of ivory and gold threads ; and, above all, his small head i: almost dignified by being surmounted with a three-cornered turned up and gold-banded cocked hat, with one corner of the triangle in front parallel with his sharp nose. Surely, the widow must strike her colours to scarlet, and blue, and gold. But although women are said, like mackarel, to take such baits, still widows are not fond of a man who is as thin as a herring; they are too knowing, they prefer stamina, and will not be persuaded to take the shadow for the substance. Mr. Vanslyperken was, nevertheless, very well pleased with himself, which was some- thing, but still not quite enough on the present occasion ; and he strutted the deck with great complacency, gave his final orders to Dick Short, who, as usual, gave a short answer ; also to Corporal Van Spitter, who, as usual, received them with all military honour ; and, lastly, to Smallbones, who received them with all humility. . The lieutenant was about to step into the boat when a doubt arose, and he stopped in his advance, perplexed.. It was one of no small importance— was Snarleyyow to accompany him or not? That was the knotty question, and it really was a case which required some deliberation. If he left him on board after the conspiracy which had been formed against him, the dog would probably be overboard before he returned ; that is, if Smallbones were also left on board ; for Mr. Vanslyperken knew that it had been decided that Smallbones alone could and should destroy the dog. He could not, there- fore, leave the dog on board with safety; and as for taking him on shore with him, in that there was much danger, for the widow Van- dersloosh had set her face against the dog. No wonder: he had behaved in ker parlour as bad as the dog Crabin the FwoGentlemen of Verona; and the Frau was a very clean person, and had no fancy for dogscomparing their legs with those of her polished maho- gany chairs and tables. If Mr. Vansly- perken's suit was to be decided according to the old adage, ‘‘love me, love my dog,” he certainly had but a poor chance; for the widow detested the cur, and had insisted that it should never be brought into her house B18 THE DOG FIEND ; OR, lake the dog on shore, therefore, he could not; but, thought Mr. Vanslyperken, I can take Smallbones on shore, that will do as well, I have some biscuit to dispose of, and he shall go with it and wait till I come off again. Smallbones was, therefore, ordered to put on his hat and step into the boat with two half bags of biscuit to carry up to the widow's house, for she did a little business with Mr. Vanslyperken, as well as allowing him to make love to her; and was never so sweet or so gracious as whenclosing a bargain. So Mr. Vanslyperken waited for Smallbones, who was soon ready, for his best consisted only in a pair of shoes to his usually naked feet, and a hat for his generally uncovered head. And Mr. Vanslyperken, and Small- bones, and the biscuit, were in the boat, when Snarleyyow intimated his intention to join the party; but this was refused, and the boat shoved off without him. As soon as Mr. Vanslyperken had shoved off, Dick Short, being in command, thought he might as well give himself leave and goon shore also. So he went down, put on his best,and ordered the other boat to be manned; and leaving Obadiah Coble on board as the next officer, he took with him Jansen, Jemmy Ducks, and four or five others, to have a cruise. Now, as Snarleyyow had this time made up his mind that he would go on shore and Short was willing to indulge him, for he knew that Smallbones, if he fell in with him would do his-best to launch him into one of the canals, so convenient in every street, the cur was permitted to get into the boat, and ‘was landed with the rest of the party, who, as usual, repaired to the Lust Haus of the widow Vandersloosh ; where we must leave them for the present, and return to our friend, Mr. Vanslyperken, CHAPTER VIII. In which the widow lays a trap for Mr. Vansly- perken, and Surallbones lays a trap for Snarley- yow, and both bag thetr game. THE widow Vandersloosh, as we have: in- formed the reader, was the owner of a Lust Haus, or pleasure-house for sailors : we will describe that portion of her tenements more particularly by-and-bye: at present“we must advert to her own private house, which Stood adjoining, and had a communication ‘with the Lust Haus by a private door through ‘the party wall. This was a very small;’'snug little: habitation, with one’ window in each front, and two stories high ; containing a front ‘par- lour and-kitchen on the basement, two small rooms’on the first and two on the ‘second floor, Nothing could be better arranged for a widow's residence. Moreover, shé-had a backyard running the whole length of the wall of the Lust Haus inthe rear, with con- venient offices, and a back-door into the street behind. Mr. Vanslyperken had arrived, paid his humble devoirs to the widow, more humble, because he was evidently pleased with his own person, and had been followed by Small- bones, who ‘laid the biscuit by the scraper at the door, watching it as in duty bound. The lieutenant imagined that he was more graciously received than usual. Perhaps he was, for the widow had not had so much custom lately, and was glad the crew of the cutter were arrived to spend their money. Already had Vanslyperken removed his sword and belt, and laid them with his three-cornered laced hat on the side-table’; he was already cosily, as of wont, seated upon the’ widow's little fubsy sofa, with the lady By -his’side, and ‘he had just taken her hand and was about to renew his suit, to pour forth the impromptu effusions of his heart, concocted on the quar- ter-deck of the Yangfrau, when who should bolt into the parlour but the unwelcome Snarleyyow. ‘“O that nasty brute! Mynheer Vansly- perken, how dare you bring him into my house?" cried the widow, jumping up from the sofa, with her full-moon-face red with anger, ‘“Indeed, widow,” replied Vanslyperken, ‘‘T left him on board, knowing that you were not fond .of -animals’; but someone’ has brought him on shore. However,’ I'll find out who it was, and keel-haul him in honour of your charms.” ‘*T am fond of animals, Mr. Vanslyperken, but Iam not fond of such animals as that— such a filthy, ugly, disagreeable, snarling brute; nor-can I think how you ean keep him after what I have said about it. It don’t prove mtich regard, Mr. Vanslyperken, when such a‘dog as that is- kept: on purpose to annoy me.”’ ‘*T assure you, widow “Don't assure me. Mr.°Vanslyperken, there’s no occasion—your dog is your own— but I'll thank you to take him out‘of this house; arid, perhaps, as he won’t go without you, you had better go with him.” Now the widow had never spoken so in- dignantly before. If the reader wishes to know, why she did ‘so now, we will acquaint him. The widow Vandersloosh had perceived Small- - ‘bones, who sat like Patience on a monument, upon the two half bags of biscuit before her porch. It was‘a query to the widow whether they were to be a present, or an article to be bargained for: it was, therefore, very ad- visable to pick a quarrel that the matter might be cleared up. The widow’'s:vwse met with all the success which it deserved. In the first place, Mr, Vanslyperken did what he never would have believed himself capableof; but the wrath of the widow had worked him also up to wrath, and he saluted Snarley- yow with such a kick on the side, as to send him howling into the back yard, followed him out, and, notwithstanding an attempt at de- fence on the part of the dog, which the lieu- tenant’s high boots rendered harmless, Snarley- yow was fairly or unfairly, as you may please to think it, kicked into an outhouse, the door shut, and the key turned upon him; after which Mr. Vanslyperken returned to the parlour, where he found the widow, erect, with her back turned to the stove, blowing and bristling, her bosom heaving, reminding you of seas-mountains high, as if she were still under the effect of a just resentment for the affront offered to her. There she stood, waiting in all dignity for Mr. Vanslyperken to repair the injury done, whether unintentional or not. In few words, there she waited for the dzscuzt to be presented’to her. And it was presented, for Vanslyperken knew no other way of appeasing her wrath. Gradually the storm was allayed—the flush of anger disappeared, the corners of the scornfully- turned-down mouth were turned up again— Cupid’s bow was no longer bent in anger, and the widow’s bosom slept as when the ocean sleeps, like ‘‘an unweaned child.” The biscuit bags were brought in by Smallbones, their contents stored, and harmony restored. Once more was Mr. Vanslyperken upon the little sofa by the side of the fat widow, and once more did he take her melting hand. Alas! that her heart was not ‘made of the same soft materials, But we must not only leave Short and his companions in the Lust Haus, but the widow and the lieutenant in their soft dalliance, and now occupy ourselves with the two principal personages of this our drama, Smallbones and Snarleyyow. When Smallbones had retired, with the empty bread-bags under his arm, he remained some time reflecting at the porch, and then, having apparently made up his mind, he walked to a chandler’s shop just over the bridge of the canal opposite, and purchased a needle, some strong twine, and a red-herring. He also procured, ‘‘ without purchase,” as they say in our War Office Gazettes, a few pieces of stick. Having obtained all these, he went round to the door of the yard behind the widow’s house, and let himself in. Little did Mr. Vanslyperken imagine what mischief was brewing, while he was praising and drink- ing the beer of the widow's own brewing. Smallboneés had no difficulty in finding out where Snarleyyow was confined, for the dog was very busy gnawing his way through the door, which, however, was. a work of ‘time; and not yet a quarter accomplished. The place had been a fowl-house, and, at the bot- tom of the door, there was a small hatch for SNARLEYYOW. 19 the ingress and egress of these bipeds, the original invention of some thrifty-spinster, to prevent the maids from stealing eggs. But this hatch was closed, or Snarleyyow would have escaped through it. Smallbones took up his quarters in another out-house, that he might not be observed, and commenced his He first took out the bottom of one: bread- bag, and then sewed that on the other to make it longer; he then ran a string through the mouth, so as to draw it close when neces- sary, and cut his sticks so as to support it and keep it open. All this being arranged, he went to where Snarleyyow was busy gnawing wood with great pertinacity, and allowed him not only to smell, but to tear off the tail of the red-herring, under the door; and then gradually drew the herring along until he had brought it right under the hatch in the middle, which left it at the precise distance the dog could snuff it but not:reach it, which Snarleyyow now did, in preference to’ gnaw- ing wood. When you lay a trap much de- pends upon the bait; Smallbones knew his enemy’s partiality for savoury comestibles. He then brought out his bag, set up his sup- porters, fixed it close to the hatch, and put the red-herring inside of it. With the string in one hand, he lifted up the hatch with the other. Snarleyyow rushed out‘and rushed in, and in a moment the strings were drawn, and as soon as drawn were tied tight round the mouth of the bag. Snarleyyow was caught ; he tumbled over and over, rolling now to the right and now to the left, while Smallbones grinned with delight. After amusing himself a short time with the evolutions of: his pri- soner, he dragged him in his bag into the out- house where he had made his trap, shut the door, and-left him. The next object was to remove any suspicion on the. part of Mr. Vanslyperken ; and to effect this, Smallbones tore off the hatch, and broke it in two or three pieces, bit parts of itwith his own teeth, and laid them down before the door, making it appear as if the dog had gnawed his own way out. The reason for allowing the dog still to remain in prison, was that Small- bones dared not attempt anything’ further until it was dark, and there was yet an hour or more to wait for the close of the day. Smallbones had but just finished his work in time: for the widow’ having» been 'sum- moned to her guests in the Lust Haus;-had left Vanslyperken alone, and: the leutenant thought this a‘good opportunity to look: after his four-footed favourite. He came out into the yard, where he found Smallbones, and he had ‘his misgivings. ‘What are you doing here; “Waiting for youy sir,” bones, humbly. “ And the dog??’ ‘said Vanslyperken, ob- sir?” replied Small-20 serving the strewed fragments of the door hatch. ‘‘ He's a-bitten himself out, sir, I believe.” “ And where is he, then?”’ “I don’t know, sir; I suppose he’s gone down to the boat.’ Snarleyyow hearing his master’s voice, had commenced a whine, and Smallbones trem- bled: fortunately, at that moment, the widow's ample form appeared-at the back- door of the house, and she called to Mr. Vanslyperken. The widow's voice drowned the whine of the dog, and his master did not hear it. At the summons, Vanslyperken but half convinced, but not daring to show any interest about the animal in the presence of his mistress, returned to the parlour, and very soon the dog was forgotten. But as the orgies in the Lust Haus in- creased, so did it become more necessary for the widow to make frequent visits there ; not only to supply her customers, but to restrain them by her presence: and as the evening wore away, so did the absences of the widow become more frequent. This Vanslyperken well knew, and he, therefore, always pressed his suit in the afternoon, and as soon as it was dark returned on board. Smallbones, who watched at the back door the movements of his master, perceived that he was refixing his sword-belt over his shoulder, and he knew ithis to be the signal for departure. . It was now quite dark; he, therefore, hastened to the outhouse, and dragged out Snarleyyow in the bag, swung him over his shoulder, and walked out of the yard-door, proceeded to the canal in front of the widow’s house, looked round him, could perceive nobody, and then dragged the bag with its contents into the stagnant water below, just as Mr. Vanslyper- ken, who had bidden adieu to the widow, came out of the house. There was a heavy splash—and silence. Had such been heard on the shores of the Bosphorus on such a night, it would have told some tale of un- happy love and a husband's vengeance ; but, at Amsterdam, it was nothing more than the drowning of a cur. ‘‘Who's there—is it Smallbones?” Mr. Vanslyperken. ‘Yes, sir,’’ said Smallbones, with alarm. ‘* What was that noise I heard ?.”’ “ Noise, sir? Oh, I kicked a paving-stone into the canal.’’ ‘‘And don’t you know there is a heavy fine for that, you scoundrel? And pray where are the bread-bags ?”” ‘‘The bread-bags, sir? Oh, Mr. Short took them to tie up some vegetables in them.” ‘“Mr. Short! O, very well. Come along, sir,and nomore throwing stones into the canal; why you might have killed somebody—there is a boat down there now, I hear the people talking.” And Mr. Vanslyperken hastened to said THE DOG FIEND; OR, his boat, which was waiting for him ; anxious to ascertain if Snarleyyow, as he fully expected, was in it. But to his grief and disappointment he was not there, and Mr. Vanslyperken sat in the stern sheets, in no pleasant humour, think- ing whether it was or was not a paving-stone which Smallbones had thrown into the canal, and resolving that if the dog did not appear, Smallbones should be keel-hauled. ‘There was however, one more chance. the dog might have been taken on board. CHAPTER IX. A long chapter, tn which there is lamentation, stinging, bibbling, and dancing. Ir may readily be supposed that the first question asked by Mr. Vanslyperken, on his gaining the quarter-deck, was, if Snarleyyow were on board. He was received with the military salute of Corporal Van Spitter, for Obadiah Coble, having been left commanding officer, had given himself leave, and, witha few men, had joined Bob Short and the first party at the Lust Haus, leaving the corporal as the next senior officer in charge. The an- swer in the negative was a great mortification to Mr. Vanslyperken, and he descended to his cabin in no very good humour, and sum- moned Smallbones. But before Smallbones was summoned, he had time to whisper to one or two of the conspirators— ‘‘ He's gone.’ It was enough; in less than a minute the whisper was passed throughout the cutter. ‘‘ He’s gone,’ was siffilated above and below, until it met the ears of even Corporal Van Spitter, who had it from a marine, who had it from another marine. who had it from a seaman, who—but it was, however, soon traced up to Smallbones by the indefatigable corporal—- whoconsidered it his duty to report the report to Mr. Vanslyperken. Accordingly he de- scended to the cabin and knocked for admis- sion. In the meantime Vanslyperken had been venting his ill-humour upon Smallbones, hav- ing, as hetook off from his person, and replaced in his drawers, his unusual finery, administered an unusual quantity of kicks, as well as a severe blow on the head with his sheathed cutlass to the unfortunate lad, who repeated to himself, by way of consolation, the magic words—‘‘ He's gone,” “‘If you please, sir,’’ said Corporal Van Spitter, ‘‘ I’ve discovered from the ship’s com- pany that the dog zs gomte."’ ‘‘T know that, corporal,’’ replied Vansly- perken. ‘‘ And, sir, the report has been traced to Smallbones.”’ ‘“Indeed! Then it was you that said the dog is gone—now, you villain, where is he?” ‘* Tf you please, I did say that the dog was gone, and so he is: but I didn’t say that Iknew were he was—no more I don’t. He's runned away, and he'll be back to-morrow; I’m sure he will.” ‘‘Corporal Van Spitter, if the dog is not on board again by eight o'clock to-morrow morning, you will get all ready for keel-haul- ing this scoundrel.” **Yes, mynheer,” replied the corporal, de- lighted at having something to do in the way of punishment. Smallbones made up a lachrymal face. ‘““It’s very hard,”’ said he; ‘‘suppose the dog has fallen into the canal, is that my fault ? If he’s a-gone to the bottom of the canal, that’s no reason why I’m to be dragged under the bottom of the cutter.” ‘‘ Yes, yes,’ replied Vanslyperken, ‘ I'll teach you to throw paving-stones off the wharf. Leave the cabin, sir.” Smallbones, whose guilty conscience flew into his pallid face at the mention of the pav- ing-stones, immediately made a hasty retreat ; and Vanslyperken turned into his bed and dreamt of vengeance. We must now return to the Lust Haus, and the party on shore ; and our first task must be to give the readers an idea of what a Lust Haus may be. It is, as its name imports, a resort for pleasure and amusement ; and in this respect the Dutch are certainly very much in advance of the English. who have, in the pot-houses and low inns resorted to by seamen, no accommodation ofthe kind. Thereis barely room for Jack to foot it inareel, the tap-room is so small; and as Jack is soon reeling after he is once on shore, it is a very great defect. Now, the Lust Haus is a room as large as an assembly-room in a country town, well lighted up with lamps and chandeliers, well warmed with stoves, where you have room to dance fifty reels at once, and still have plenty of accom- modation at the chairsand tables ranged round on each side. At the end of the roomisa raised chair, with a protecting railing, on which the musicians, to the number of seven or eight, are posted, and they continue during the evening to play when requested. The people of the Lust Haus furnish wine and spirits of every description, while cakes, nuts, . walnuts, oranges, &c., are supplied from the { baskets of numerous young women, who hand ‘ them round, and press their customers to pur- chase. Police-officers superintend these re- sorts, to remove those who are violent and interfere with the amusements of others. On the whole, it isa very gayscene, and is resorted to by seamen of all nations, with a sprinkling of those who are not sailors, but who like amusement, and there are plenty of females who are ready to dance with them, and to share their beer or grog. Be it further known, that there is a great deal of decorum in a Lust Haus, particularly among the latter sex ; and altogether it is infinitely more rational and less SNARLEYYOW. 21 debasing than the low pot-houses of Ports- mouth or Plymouth. Such was the place of amusement kept by the Frau Vandersloosh, and in this large room had been seated, for some hours, Dick Short, Coble, Jansen, Jemmy Ducks, and some others of the crew of his Majesty’s cutter Yung/frau. The room was now full, but not crowded ; it was too spacious well to be so. Some six- teen couples were dancing a quadrille to a lively tune played by the band, and among the dancers were to be seen old women, and children of ten or twelve; for it was not con- sidered improper to be seen dancing at this humble assembly, and the neighbours fre- quently came in. The small tables and nu- merous chairs round the room were nearly all filled, beer was foaming from the mouths of the opened bottles, and there was the ringing of the glasses as they pledged each other. At several tables were assemblages of Dutch seamen, who smoked with all the phlegm of their nation, as they gravely looked upon the dancers. At another were to be seen some American seamen, scrupulously neat in their attire, and with an air dzstinguée, from the superiority of their education, and all of them quiet and sober, The basket-women flitted about displaying their stores, and invited every one to purchase fruit, and particularly hard-boiled eggs, which they had brought in at this hour, when those who dined at. one might be expected to be hungry. Sailors’ wives were also there, and perhaps some who could not produce the marriage certificates ; but as these were not asked for at the door, it was of no consequence. About the centre of the room, at two small tables joined toge- ther, were to be seen the party from the Yung- Jrau ; some were drinking beer, some grog, and Jemmy Ducks was perched on the table, with his fiddle as usual held like a bass viol. He was known by those who frequented the house by the name of the Mannikin, and was a universal object of admiration and good- will. The quadrille was ended, and the music stopped playing. “Come now,” said Coble, tossing off his glass, ‘‘spell oh!—let’s have a song while they take their breath. Jemmy, strike up.” “Hurrah, for a song!’ cries Jemmy. ‘Here goes." Jemmy then tuned one string of his fiddle, which was a little out, and accompanying his voice, sang as follows: all those who were present immediately keeping silence, for they were used to Jemmy’s melody. ’Twas on the twenty-fourth of June I sail’d away to sea, I turn’d my pockets in the lap of Susan on my knee ; Says I, my dear, ’tis all I have, I wish that it was inore. It can’t be help’d, says Susan then, ‘ou know we've spent galore.wernt 22 You know we’ve spent galore, my Bill, And merry have been we, Again you must your pockets fill, For Susan on your knee. ‘' Chorus, my boys !""— For Susan on my knee, my boys, With Susan on my knee. The gale came on in thunder, lads, in lightning, and in foam, Before that we had sail’d away. three hundred miles from home ; And on the Sunday morning, lads, the coast was on our lee. Oh, then I thought of Portsmouth, and of Susan on my knee. For howling winds and waves to boot, With black rocks on the lee, Did not so well my fancy suit, As Susan on my knee. Chorus.—With Susan on my knee, my boys, ith Susan on my knee. Next morning we were cast away upon the French- man’s shore, We saved our lives, but not our all, for we could save no more ; They march’d us toa prison, so we lost our liberty, I peep’d between the bars, and sigh’d for Susan on my knee. For bread so black, and wine so sour, And a sous a-day to me, Made me long ten times an hour, For Susan on my knee. Chorus,—For Susan on my knee, my-boys, For Susan on my knee. One night we smash’d our jailer’s skull, and off our boat did steer, And in the offing were pick’d up by a jolly pri- vateer ; We sail’d in her the cruise, my boys, and prizes did take we, T’ll be at Portsmouth soon, thinks I, with Susan on my knee. We shared three hundred pounds a man, I made all sail with glee, Again I danced and,toss’d my can, With Susan on my knee. Chorus.—With Susan on my, knee, my boys, With Susan on my knee. ‘That's prime, Jemmy. Now my boys, all together,’ cried Obadiah Coble, Chovus.— Very good song, and very well sung, olly companions every one ; We are all here for mirth and glee, We are all here for jollity. Very good song, and very well sung, Jolly companions every one: Put your hats on to keep your heaas warm, A little more grog will do us no harm. ‘Hurrah ! Now, Bill Spurey, suppose you ap us a stave. . But I say, Babette, you Dutch-built galliot, tell old Frank Slush to send us another dose of the stuff; and, d’ye hear, a short pipe for me, and a paper o’ baccy.”’ The short, fat Babette, whose proportions ail the exercise of waiting upon the customers THE DOG FIEND; OR, could not reduce, knew quite enough English to require no further explanation. ‘‘Come,,Jemmy, my hearty, take your fin- gers off your fiddle, and hand in your pot,” continued Coble; ‘‘and then, if they are not going to dance, we'll haye another song. Bill Spurey, wet.your whistle, and just clear the cobwebs out of your throat. Here’s more ’baccy, Short.” Short made no reply, but he shook out the ashes, and filled his pipe. ‘The music did not strike up again, so Bill Spurey sang as fol- lows :— Says the parson one day, as I cursed a Jew, Do you know, my lad, that we call it a sin? I fear of you sailors there are but few, St. Peter, to heaven, will ever let in. Says I, Mr. Parson, to tell you my mind, No saslors to knock were ever yet seen, 3 Those who travel by land may steer ’gainst wind, But we shape a course for Fiddler’s Green. For Fiddler’s Green, where seamen true, When here they’ve done their duty, The bowl of grog shall still renew, And pledge to love and beauty. Says the parson, I hear you've married three wives, Now do you not know that that is a sin? You sailors, you lead such very bad lives, St. Peter, to heaven, will ne’er let. you in. Parson, says I, in each port I’ve but ove; And never had more, wherever I’ve been ; Below I’m obliged.to be chaste as a nun, But I’m promised a dozen at Fiddler’s Green. At Fiddler’s Green, where seamen true, When here they’ve done their duty, The bowl of grog shall still renew, And pledge to love and beauty. Says the parson, says he, you’re drunk, my man, And do you not know that that is a sin? If you sailors will ever be swigging your can, To heaven you surely will never get in. (Hiccup.) Parson, you may as well be mum, ’Tis only on shore I’m this way seen ; But oceans of punch, and rivers of rum, Await the sailor at Fiddler’s Green. At Fiddler’s Green, where seamen true, When here they’ve done their duty, The bowl of grog shall still renew, And pledge to love and beauty. ‘‘Well reeled off, Billy,"". cried. Jemmy Ducks, finishing with a flourish on his fiddle, and a refrain of the air. ‘‘I don’t think we shall meet 427 and his dog at Fiddler's Green —heh!”’ ‘“No,’ replied Short, taking his pipe from his lip. ‘‘No, no, Jemmy, a seaman true means one true in heart as well as in knowledge ; but, like a blind fiddler, he'll be led by his dog somewhere else.” ‘ From vere de dog did come from,” ob- served Jansen. The band now struck up again, and played a waltz—a dance new to our country, but older than the Heptarchy. Jansen, with his pipe in his mouth, took one of fhe women by the waist, and steered round the room aboutas leisurely as a capstan heaving up. Dick Short also took another, made four turns, reeled up against a Dutchman who was doing it with sang froid, and then suddenly left his partner, and dropped into his chair. “T say, Jemmy,” said Obadiah Coble, ‘t why don’t you give a girl a twist round?” ‘* Because I can’t, Oby; my compasses arn’t long enough to describe a circle. You and I are better here; old boy. I, because I’ve very little legs, and you, because you havn't a leg to stand upon.” ‘‘ Very true—not quite so young as I was forty years ago. Howsomever I mean this to be my last.vessel. I shall bear up for one of the London dockyards as a rigger.” “Yes, that'll do; only keep clear of the girt-lines, you're too stiff for that.” ‘No, that would not exactly tell; I shall pick my own work, and that’s where I can bring my tarry trousers toan anchor—mousing the mainstay, or puddening the anchor, with the best of any. *baccy.”” Short pe out his box without saying a word. Coble took a quid, and Short thrust the box again into his pocket. In the meantime the waltz continued, and being a favourite dance, there were about fifty couple going round and round the room. Such was the variety in the dress, country, language, and appearance of the parties col- lected, that you. might. have imagined it a SNARLEYYOW. you again. Dick, lend us a bit of Send all my merry mena I havn't th That ship there is a Frenchman, who Shoré stay apeak was the anchor, We had but a short minute more, In short, I no longer could hanker, For short was the cash in my store. I gave one skort look, As Poll heaved a skort sigh, One short hug I took, Short the matter cut I, And off I went to sea. ‘Go on, Bob,” ‘‘No,” replied Short, resuming his pipe. ‘Well, then, chorus, my boys.” Very good song, and very well sung, Jolly companions every one; We all are here for mirth and glee, We all are here for jollity. Very good song, and very well sung, Jolly companions every one ; Put your hats on, and keep your heads warm, A little more liquor will do us no harm. “ Now, then, Jemmy Ducks, it’s round to Strike up, fiddle and all.” ‘Well, here goes,’ said Jemmy Ducks, The captain stood on the carronade—first lieutenant, says he, to me: bred to the sea ; with we. Odds blood, hammer.and tongs, long as I’ve been to sea, : os I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—but I’ve gained ft here, for they must list e gift of the gab, my sons—because I’m means to fight masquerade. It was, however, getting late, and Frau Vandersloosh had received the inti- mation of the people ot the police who super- intend these resorts, that it was the time for shutting up; so that, although the widow aes was sorry on her own account to disperse SO J havn’t the gift of the gab, my boys; so each man merry and so thirsty a party as they were now to his gun ; becoming, so soon as the waltz was ended the If sbe’s not mine in half an hour, Tl flog each musicians packed up their instruments and mother's son. departed. Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, long as I’ve been the victory. That ship there is a Frenchman, and if we don’t take she, ; "Tis a thousand bullets to one, that she will capture : F to sea, This was a sigdalefore many, but ByARe I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—and I’ve gained means for all, todepart ; for music being over, shewictory., and the house doors closed, a few who re- mained, provided they made no disturbance, were not interfered with by the police. Among those who stayed were the party from the Yungfrau, one or two American, and some Prussian sailors. Having closed up to- gether,— ‘‘Come,” cried Jemmy, “now that we are quiet again, Jet's have another song ; and who is it to be—Dick Short?” ‘‘ Short, my boy, come, you must sing.” ** No,” replied Short. “Yes, yes—one verse, ‘‘He never sings more,” Ducks, ‘‘so h¢ must give us that. Short.” y omely, each man stood “Yes,” replied Short, taking the pipe out oe Se ee aa of his mouth, and wetting his lips, with the J¢ you hadn't, you villains, assure as day, I’d have grog. flogged each mother’s son. We fought for twenty minutes, when the Frenchman had enough ; | ; I little thought, said he, that your men were of such stuff ; The captain took the Frenchman’s sword, alow bow made to he; : I havn’t the gift of the gab, monsicur, but polite I wish to be. Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, to sea, io I’ve fought ’gainst every odds—and I’ve gaina the victory. long as I’ve been ’ said Spurey. Our captain sent for all of us; mty merry men said replied Jemmy he, Come, 1! havn’t the gift of the gab, my lads, but yet | thankful be:24 THE DOG FIEND; OR, Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, as long as I’m at sea, . ; Tl fight ’gainst every odds—and I’H gain the vic- tory. Chorus. Very good song, and very well sung, Jolly companions every one; We all are here for mirth and glee, We all are here for jollity. Very good song, and very well sung, Jolly companions every one ; Put your hats on to keep your heads warm, A little more grog will do us no harm. ‘* Now, Coble, we must have yours,” said Jemmy Ducks. ‘‘ Mine! well, if you please; but half my notes are stranded. You'llthink that Snarley- yow is baying the moon. Howsomever, take it as it is.” Oh, what’s the use of piping, boys, I never yet could larn, The good of water from the eyes I never could disarn ; Salt water we have sure enough without our pump- ing more; ‘50 let us leave all crying to the girls we leave on shore, They may pump, As in we jump To the boat, and say ‘‘ Goc1 bye ;” But as for men, Why, I say again, That crying’s all my eye. i went to school when quite a boy, and never larnt to read, ‘The master tried both head and tail—at last it was agreed No larning he could force in me, so they sent me off to sea; My mother wept and wrung her hands, and cried most bitterly. So she did pump, As I did jump In the boat, and said, ‘“‘ Good bye ;” But as for me, Who was sent to sea, To cry was all my eye. I courted Poll, a buxom lass ; when I return’d A B, I bought her ear-rings, hat, and shawl, a sixpence did break we ; At last ’twas time to be on board, so, Poll, says I, farewell ; She roar’d and said, that leaving her was likea funeral knell. So she did pump, As I did jump In the boat, and said, ‘Good bye ;” But as for me, With the rate A B, To cry was all my eye. I soon went back, I shoved on shore, and Polly I did meet, For she was watching on the shore, her sweetheart for to greet ; She threw her arms around me then, and much to my surprise, She vow'd she was so happy that she pump’d with both her eyes. So she did pump, As I did jump To kiss her lovingly ; But I say again, That as for men Crying is all my eye. Then push the can around, my boys, and let us merry be ; : We'll rig the pumps if a leak we spring, and work most merrily : Salt water we have sure enough,,we’ll add not to its store, But drink, and laugh, and sing, and chat, and call again for more, The girls may pump, As in we jump To the boat, and say, ‘‘ Good bye; ”* But as for we, Who sailors be, Crying is all my eye. ‘Bravo, Obadiah! now one more song, and then we'll aboard. It won't do to bowse your jib up too tight here,” said Jemmy ; “‘ for it's rather dangerous navigation among all these canals—no room for yawing.” *“ No,” replied Dick Short. ‘“Then,’’ said Jemmy, jumping off the table with his fiddle in his hand. ‘'let’s have the roarer by the way of a finish—what d'ye say, my hearties ?”’ Up they all rose, and gathered together in the centre of the room, save Jemmy Ducks, who flourishing with his fiddle, commenced, — Jack’s alive, and a merry dog, When he gets on shore, He calls for his glass of grog, He drinks, and he calls for more. So drink, and call for what you please, Until you've had your whack, boys ; We think no more of raging seas, Now that we’ve come back, boys. ‘Chorus, now. '=— With a whip, snip, high cum diddledy, The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling ; Smack, crack,—this is our jubilee: Huzza, my lads ! we'll keep the pot boiling. All the seamen joined in the chorus, which they accompanied both with their hands and feet, snapping their fingers at whzf and Snztp, and smacking their hands at smack and crack, while they danced round in the most grotesque manner, to Jemmy’s fiddle and voice ; the chorus ending in loud laughter, for they had now proved the words of the song to be true, and all were alive and merry. According to the rules of the song, Jemmy now called out for the next singer, Coble. Jack’s alive and merry, my boys, When he’s on blue water, In the battle’s rage and noise, And the main-deck slaughter. So drink and call for what you please, Until you’ve had your whack, boys ; We'll think no more of angry seas, Until we go back, boys.3 Chorus. With a whiZ, sxif, high cum diddledy, The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling ; Smack, crack,—this is our jubilee: Huzza, my lads! we'll keep the pot boiling. Jansen and Jemmy Ducks, after the dancing chorus had finished, — Yack alive and merry, my boys, Ven he get him /raz, And he vid her ringlet toys, As he take her paw. So drink, and call for vat you please, Until you hab your vack, boys ; Ve’ll think no more of angry seas, Till ve standen back, boys. Chorus and laughter. With a whzZ, snip, high cum diddledy, The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling ; Smack, crack,—this is our jubilee: Huzza, my lads ; we’ll keep the pot boiling. Bill Spurey— Jack’s alive and merry, boys, When he’s got the shiners ; Heh! for rattle, fun, and noise, Hang all grumbling whiners. Then drink and call for what you please, Until you’ve had your whack, boys ; We think no more of raging seas, Now that we’ve come back, boys. Chorus. With a whi, snip, high cum diddledy, The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling ; Smack, crack—this is our jubilee : Huzza, my lads! we’ll keep the pot boiling. ‘‘Dick Short must sing.” ** Yes,” replied Dick. Jack’s alive and full of fun, When his hulk is crazy, As he basks in Greenwich sun, Jolly still, though lazy. So drink and call for what you please, Until you’ve had your whack, boys ; We'll think no more of raging seas, Now that we’ve come back, boys. Chorus. With a whzp, snip, high cum diddledy, The cog-wheels of life have need of much oiling ; Smack, crack—this is our jubilee: Huzza, my lads! we’ll keep the pot boiling. As this was the last chorus, it was repeated three or four times, and with hallooing, scream- ing, and dancing in mad gesticulation. ‘‘ Hurrah, my lads,” cried Jemmy, “ three cheers and a bravo.’ It was high time that they went on board ; so thought Frau Vandersloosh, who trembled for her chandeliers ; so thought Babette, who had begun to yawn before the last song, and who had tired herself more with laughing at it ; so thought they all, and they sallied forth out of the Lust Haus, with Jemmy Ducks having the advance, and fiddling to them the whole way down to the boat. Fortunately, not one of them fell into the canal, and in ten minutes they were all on board; they were not, however, permitted to turn into their SNARLEYYOW. 25 hammocks without the important information being imparted to them that Snarleyyow had disappeared CHAPTER :X, In which ts explained the sublime mystery of keel- hauling—Snarleyyow saves Smallbones from being drowned, although Smallbones would have drowned hint. IT is a dark morning ; the wind is fresh from the north-west ; flakes of snow are seen waft- ing here and there by the wind, the avant- couriers of a heavy fall; the whole sky is of one murky grey, and the sun is hidden behind a dense bank. The deck of the cutter is wet and slippery, and Dick Short has the morning watch. He is wrapped up in a Flushing pea-jacket, with thick mittens on his hands ; he looks about him, and now and then a fragment of snow whirls into his eye; he winks it out, it melts and runs like a tear down his cheek. If it were not that it iscon- trary to man-of-war custom he would warm himself with the doud/e-shufie, but such a step would be unheard of on the quarter-deck of even the cutter Yung/frau, The tarpaulin over the hatchway is pushed on one side, and the space between the coam- ings is filled with the bull head and broad shoulders of Corporal Van Spitter, who, at last, gains the deck ; he looks round him, and apparently is not much pleased with the weather. Before he proceeds to business, he examines the sleeves and front of his jacket, and having brushed off with the palm of his hand a variety of blanket-hairs, adhering to the cloth, he is satisfied, and now turns to the right and to the left, and forward and aft—in less than a minute he goes right round the compass. What can Corporal Van Spitter want at so early an hour? He has not come up on deck for nothing, and yet he appears to be strangely puzzled: the fact is, by the ar- rangements of last night, it was decided, that this morning, if Snarleyyow did not make his appearance in the boat sent on shore for fresh beef for the ship’s company, the unfortunate Smallbones was to be &eel-hauled. What a delightful morning for a keel-haul- ing ! This ingenious process, which, however, like many other good old customs, has fallen into disuse, must be explained to the non- nautical reader. It is nothing more nor less than sending a poor navigator on a voyage of discovery under the bottom of the vessel, lowering him* down over the bows, and with * The author has here explained boc tiaainy as practised in those times in small fore and «aft vessels. In large and square-rigged vessels, the man was hauled up to one main-yard arm, and dropped into the sea, and hauled under the bottom of the vessel to the other; but this in small fore and aft vessels was not so easily effected, nor was it considered sufficient punishmentunder the kelsom, while he is drawn aft by a hauling line until he makes his appearance at the rudder chains, generally speaking quite out of breath, not at the rapidity of his motion, but because, when so long under the water, he has expended all the breath in his body, and is induced to take in salt water ex Yeu. There is much merit in this invention: people are very apt to be content with walking the deck of a man-of-war, and complain of it as a hardship, but when once they have learnt, by expérience, the difference between being comfortable above board, and the number of deprivations which they have to submit to when under board and overboard at the same time, they find that there are worse situations than being on the deck of a vessel—we say privations when under board, for they really are very important :—you are deprived of the air to breathe, which is not borne with patience even by 4 philosopher, and you are obliged to drink salt water instead of fresh. In the days of keel-hauling, the bottoms of vessels were not coppered, and in consequence were well studded with a species of shell-fish which attached themselves, called barnacles, and as these shells were all open mouthed and with sharp cutting points, those who under- went thts punishment (for they were made by the ropes at each side, fastened to their arms, to hug the kelsom of the vessel) were cut and scored all over their body, as if with so many lancets, generally coming up bleeding in every part, and with their faces, especially their noses, as if they had been gnawed by the rats; but this was considered rather advantageous than otherwise, as the loss of blood restored the patient if he was not quite drowned, and the consequence was, that one out of three, it is said, have been known to recover after their submarine excursion. The Dutch have the credit, and we will not attempt to take from them their undoubted right, of having invented this very agreeable description of punishment. They are considered a heavy, phlegmatic sort of people, but on every point in which the art of ingeniously tormenting is in request, it must be admitted that they have takes the lead of much more vivacious and and otherwise more inventive nations. And now the reader will peroeive why Corporal Van Spitter was in a dilemma. With all the good-will in the world, with every anxiety to fulfil his duty, and to obey his superior officer, he was not a seaman, and did not khow how to commence operations. He knew nothing about foddering a’ vessel’s bottom, much less how to fodder it with the carcase of one of his fellow-creatures. ‘The corporal, as we said before, turned round and round the compass to ascertain if he could compass his wishes; at last, he commenced by dragging one rope’s-end from one side and 26 THE DOG FIEND; OR, ropes retaining him exactly in his position another from the other; those would do for the side ropes, but he wanted a long one from forward and another from aft and how to get the one from’ aft under the cutter’s bottom was a puzzle; and then there was the mast and the rigging in his way ;—the corporal re- flected the more he considered the matter, the more his brain became confused ; he was at a nonplus, and he gave it up in despair: he stood still, took out a blue cotton handkerchief from the breast of his jacket and wiped his forehead, for the intensity of thought had made him perspire—anything like reflection was very hard work for Corporal Van Spitter. ““Tousand tyfels!’’ at last exclaimed. the corporal, and he paused and knocked his big head with his fist. ‘*Hundred tousand tyfels!’’ repeated the corporal after five minutes’ more thought. ‘Twenty hundred tousand tyfels!” muttered the corporal, once more knocking his head: but he knocked in vain; like an empty house, there was no one within to answer the appeal. The corporal could no more; so he returned his pocket-handkerchief to the breast of his jacket, and a heavy sigh escaped from hisown breast. All the devils invhell were mentally conjured and summoned to his aid, but they were, it is to be presumed, better employed; for although the work in hand was’ diabolical enough, still Smallbones was such a poor devil, that probably he might have been ¢on- sidered as remotely allied to the fraternity. It may be inquired why, as this was oz service, Corporal Van Spitter did not apply for the assistance of the seamen belonging’ to the vessel, particularly to the officer in charge of the deck; but the fact was, that he was unwilling to do this, knowing that his applica- tion would be in vain, for he was aware that the whole of the crew sided with Smallbones ; it was only asa last resource that he intended to do this, and being now at his wz¢s’ end, he walked up to Dick Short, who had been watching the corporal’s motions in silence, and accosted him, “If you please, Mynheer Short, Mynheer Vanslyperken give orders dat de boy be keel- hauled dis morning ;—I want haben de rope and de way.” Short looked at the corporal, and made no reply. *“Mynheer Short, I haben tell de order of Mynheer Vanslyperken.” Dick Short made no reply, but leaning over the hatchway, called out, ““Jemmy.” ‘“ Ay, ay,”” replied’ Jemmy Ducks, turning out of his hammock and dropping on the lower deck. Corporal Van Spitter, who imagined that Mr. Short was about to comply with his re- quest after his own Harpocratic fashion, re- mained quietly on the deck until Jemmy Ducks made his appearance,‘* Hands,” quoth Short. Jemmy piped the hands up. ‘‘Boat,’’ quoth Short, turning his head to the small boat hoisted up astern. Now as all this was apparently preparatory to the work required, the corporal was satis- fied. The men soon came up with their ham- mocks on their shoulders, which they put into the nettings, and then Jemmy proceeded to lower down the boat. As soon as it was down and hauled up alongside, Short turned round to Coble, and waving his hand towards the shore, said,— Beef.” Coble, who perfectly understood him, put a new quid into his cheek, went down the side, and pulled on shore to bring off the fresh beef and vegetables for the ship's company, after which Dick Short walked the deck and gave no further orders, Corporal Van Spitter perceiving this, went up to him again. ‘* Mynheer Short, you please get ready.” ‘* No!” thundered Short, turning away. “‘Got for dam, dat is mutiny,” muttered the corporal, who immediately backed stern foremost down the hatchway, to report to his commandant the state of affairs on deck. Mr. Vanslyperken had already risen ; he had slept but one hour during the whole night, and that one hour was so occupied with wild and fearful dreams that he awoke from his sleep un- refreshed. _He had dreamed that he was making every attempt to drown Smallbones, but without effect, for, so soon as the lad was dead he came to life again; he thought that Smallbones’ soul was incorporated in a small animal something like a mouse, and that he had to dislodge it from its tenement of clay ; but.as soon as he drove it from one part of the body it would force its way back again into another; if he forced it out by the mouth after incredible exertions, which made him perspire at every pore, it would run back again into the ear; if forced from thence, through the nostril, then in at the toe, or any other part ; in short, he laboured apparently in his dream for years, but without success. And then the “ change came o’er the spirit,of his dream ;’ but still there was analogy, for he was now trying to press his suit, which was now a liquid in a phial, into the widow Vandersloosh, but in vain, He administered it again and again, but it acted as an emetic, and she could not stomach it, and then he found himself rejected by all—the widow kicked him, Smallbones stamped upon him, even Snarleyyow flew at him and bit him; at last, he fell with an enormous paving-stone round his neck, de- scending into a horrible abyss head fore- most, and, as he increased his velocity, he awoke trembling and confused, and could sleep no more. This dream was not one to put Mr. Vanslyperken into good humour, and SNARLEYVYOW. 27 two severe cuts on hischeek with the razor as he attempted to shave, for his hand still trembled, had added to his discontent, when it was raised to its climax by the entrance of Corporal Van Spitter, who made his report of the mutinous conduct of the first officer. Never was Mr. Nanslyperken in such a tumult of rage ; he pulled off some beaver from his hat to staunch the blood, and wiping off the remainder of the lather, for he put aside the operation of shaving till his hand was more steady, he threw on his coat, and followed the corporal on deck, looked round with a savage air, spied out the diminutive form of Jemmy Ducks, and desired him to pipe ‘‘all hands to keel-haul.” Whereupon Jemmy put his pipe to his mouth, and after a long flourish, bawled out what appeared to Mr. Vanslyperken to be— all hands to be 4ee/-hauled ; but Jemmy slur- red over quickly the little change made in the order, and, although the men tittered, Mr. Vanslyperken thought it better to say nothing. But there is an old saying that you may bring a horse to the pond but you cannot make him drink. Mr. Vanslyperken had given the order, but no one attempted to commence the ar- rangements. The only person who showed any activity was Smallbones himself, who not awarethat he was to be punished, and hearing all hands piped for something or another, came shambling, all legs and wings, up the hatch- way, and looked round to ascertain what was to be done. He was met by the bulky form of Corporal Van Spitter, who, thinking that Smallbones’ making his appearance in such haste was with the intention of jumping over- board to avoid his punishment, immediately seized him by the collar with the left hand, turned round on a pivot towards Mr. Vansly- perken, and raising his right hand to his for- aging cap, reported, ‘‘ The prisoner on deck, Mynheer Vanslyperken.” This roused the lieutenant to action, for he had been walking for a half minute in deep thought. ‘Ts all ready there, forward?” cried Mr. Vanslyperken. No one replied. T say, boatswain, is all ready?” ‘*No, sir,” replied Jemmy ; “ nobody knows how to set about it. J don’t, any how—I never seed anything of the like since I’ve been in the service—the whole of the ship's company say the same.’ . But even the flakes of snow, which now fell thick, and whitened the blue jacket of Mr. Vanslyperken, could not assuage his wrath; he perceived that the men were refractory, so he summoned the six marines, who. were completely under the control of their corporal. } Poor Smallbones had, in the meantime, discovered what was going on, and thought that he might as well urge something in bis own defence,28 “If you please, what are you going for to do with me?” said the lad, with a terrified look. “Lead him forward,” said Mr. Vansly- perken; ‘‘follow me, marines;" and the whole party, headed by the lieutenant, went before the mast. ‘* Strip him,” cried Mr. Vanslyperken. ‘‘Strip me, with the snow flying like this ! Arn't I cold enough already?” ‘* You'll be colder when you're under the bottom of the cutter,’’ replied his master. “‘O Lord, then it is keel-hauling a'ter all; why, what have I done?” cried Smallbones, as the marines divested him of his shirt, and exposed his emaciated body to the pitiless storm. ** Where is Snarleyyow, sir?—confess.” ‘“‘Snarleyyow—how should I know, sir! it’s very hard because your dog is not to be found, that I’mto be dragged under the bottom of a vessel,” “*T'll teach you to throw paving stones in the canal,”’ **Paving stones, sir!’’ and Smallbones’ guilty conscience flew in his face. ‘‘ Well, sir, do as you please, I’m sure I don’t care; if I am. to be killed, be quick about it—I’m sure I shan't come up alive.” Here Mr. Vanslyperken remembered his dream, and the difficulty which he had in driving Smallbones’ soul out of his body, and he was fearful that even keel-hauling would not settle Smallbones. By the direction of Mr. Vanslyperken, the hauling ropes and other tackle were collected by the marines, for the seamen stood by, and appeared resolved, to a man, to do nothing, and, in about half an hour, all was ready. Four marines manned the hauling line, one was placed at each side-rope fastened to the lad’s arms, and the corporal, as soon as he had lifted. the body of Smallbones over the larboard gunwale, had directions to attend the bow-line, and not allow him to he dragged on too fast: a better selection for this purpose could not have been made than Corporal Van Spitter. Smallbones had been laid without his clothes on the deck, now covered with snow, during the time that the lines were making fast to him ; he remained silent, and, as usual when punished, with his eyes shut; and as Vanslyperken. watched him with feel- ings of hatred, he perceived an occasional smile to cross the lad’s haggard features. He knows where the dog is, thought Vansly- perken, and his desire to know what had be- come of Snarleyyow overcame his vengeance. He addressed the shivering Smallbones :— ‘‘Now, sir, ifyou wish to escape the punish- ment, tell me what has become of the dog, for I perceive that you know.” Smallbones grinned as his teeth chattered— he would have undergone a dozen keel- THE DOG FIEND; OR, haulings rather than have Satisfied Vansly- perken. ‘‘T give you ten minutes to think of it,” continued the lieutenant; ‘‘hold all fast at present,” The snow-storm now came on so thick that it was difficult to distinguish the length of the vessel. Smallbones’ naked limbs were gradually covered, and, beforethe ten minutes were expired, he was wrapped up in snow as in a garment ; he shook his head oceasionally to clear his face, but remained silent. ‘““Now, sir,’’ cried Vanslyperken, ‘‘will you tell me ? or overboard you go at once. Will you tell me?” ‘‘No,” replied Smallbones. *‘Do you know, you scoundrel ?” *'Yes,’”’ replied Smallbones, whose indig- nation was roused. ‘And you won't tell?” ‘*No,’’shrieked the lad—‘‘no, never, never, never !”’ “‘Corporal Van Spitter, over with him,” cried Vanslyperken in a rage, when a sudden stir was heard amongst the men aft, and as the corporal raised up the light frame of the culprit, to carry it to the gunwale, to the astonishmentof Vanslyperken, of the corporal, and of Smallbones, Snarleyyow appeared on the forecastle, and madea rush at Smallbones, as he lay in the corporal’s arms, snapped at his leg, and then set up his usual deep baying, ‘‘bow, bow, bow!” The re-appearance of the dog created no small sensation—Vanslyperken felt that he had now no reason for keel-hauling Small- bones, which annoyed him as much as the sight of the dog gave him pleasure. The corporal, who had dropped Smallbones on the snow, was also disappointed. As for Smallbones, at the baying of the dog, he started up on his knees, and looked at it as if it were an apparition, with every demon- stration of horror in his countenance ; his eyes glared upon the animal with horror and astonishment, and he fell down in a swoon. The whole of the ship’s company were taken aback—they looked at one another and shook their heads—one only remark was made by Jansen, who muttered, ‘‘De tog is no tog a ter all,” Mr. Vanslyperken ordered Smallbones to be taken below, and then walked aft; perceiv- ing Obadiah Coble, he enquired whence the dog had come, and was answered that he had come off in the boat which he had taken on shore for fresh beef and vegetables. Mr. Vanslyperken made no reply, but, with Snarleyyow at his heels, went down into the cabin.CHAPTER XI. In which Snarleyyow does not at all assist his master’s cause with the widow Vandersloosh. IT will be necessary to explain to the reader by what means the life of our celebrated cur was preserved. When Smallbones had thrown him into the canal, tied up, as he supposed, in his winding-sheet, what Mr. Vanslyperken observed was true, that there were people below, and the supposed .pavingstone might have fallen upon them; the voices which he heard were those of a father and son, who were in a small boat going from a galliot to the steps where they intended to land ; for this canal was not like most others, with the water in it sufficiently high to enable people to step from the vessel’s gunwale to the jetty. Snarleyyow fell in his bag a.few yards ahead of the boat, and the splash naturally attracted their attention; he did not sink immediately, but floundered and struggled so as to keep himself partly above water. ‘‘ What is that?” exclaimed the father to his son, in Dutch. ‘Mein Got! who is to know ?—but we will see ;’’ and the son took the boat-hook, and with it dragged the bread-bags towards the boat, just as they were sinking, for Snar- leyyow was exhausted with his efforts. The two together dragged the bags with their contents into the boat. ‘‘It isadog or something,’’ observed the son. ‘Very well, but the bread-bags will be useful,’ replied the father, and they pulled on to the landing-stairs. When they arrived there they lifted out the bags, laid them on the stone steps, and proceeded to unrip them, when they found Snarleyyow, who was just giving signs of returning animation. They took the bags with them, after having rolled his carcase out, and left it on the steps, for there was a fine for throwing anything into the canal. The cur soon after recovered, and was able to stand on his legs; so soon as he could walk he made his way to the door of the widow Vandersloosh, and howled for ad- mittance. The widow had retired: she had been reading her book of prizéres, as every one should do who has been cheating people all day long. She was about to extinguish her light, when this serenade saluted her ears ; it became intolerable as the dog gained strength. Babette had long been fast asleep, and was with difficulty roused up and directed to beat the cur away. She attempted to perform the duty, arming herself with the broom: but the moment she opened the door Snarleyyow dashed in between her legs, upsetting her on the brick pavement. Babette screamed and her mistress came out in the passage to ascer- tain the cause ; the dog not being able to run SNARLE YYOW. 29 into the parlour, bolted up the stairs, and snapping at the widow as he passed, secured a berth underneath her bed. _“* Oh, mein Got! it is the dog of the lieutenant,” exclaimed Babette, coming up the stairs in greater dishabille than her mis- tress, and with the broom in her hand. ‘‘'What shall we do—how shall we get rid of him?” ** A thousand devils may take the lieutenant and his nasty dog, too,” exclaimed the widow in great wrath; ‘‘this is the last-time that either of them enter my house; try, Babette, with your broom—shove at him hard.” ‘*Yes, ma'am,’ replied Babette, pushing with all her strength at the dog beneath the bed, who seized the broom with his teeth, and pulled it away from Babette. It was a struggle of strength between the girl and Snarleyyow—pull, Babette—pull, dog—one moment the broom, with two-thirds of the handle, disappeared under the bed, the next the maid recovered her lost ground, Snarley- yow was first tired of this contention, and to prove that he had no thoughts of abandoning his position, he let go the broom, flew at Babette’s naked legs, and having inserted his teeth half through her ankle, he returned growling to his former retreat. ‘‘O dear, mein Got!’ exclaimed Babette, dropping her broom, and holding her ankle with both hands. ‘‘What shall we do?” cried the widow, wringing her hands. It was indeed a case of difficulty. Mynheer Vandersloosh, before he had quitted this transitory scene, had become a personage as bulky as the widow herself, and the bed had been made unusually wide; the widow still retained the bed for her own use, for there was no knowing whether she might not again be induced to enter the hymeneal state. It occupied more than one half of the room, and the dog had gained a position from which it was not easy for two women to dis- lodge him; and, as the dog snarled and growled under the bed, so did the widow’s wrath rise as she stood shivering—and it was directed against the master. She vowed mentally, that so sure as the dog was under the bed, so sure should his master never get into it. And Babette’s wrath was also kindled, now that the first pain of the bite had worn off; she seized the broom again, and made some furious lunges at Snarleyyow, so furious, that he could not regain possession with his teeth. The door of the room had been left open that the dog might escape—so had the street-door ; and the widow stood at the foot of the bed, waiting fer some such effect being produced by Babette’s vigorous attacks ; but the effects were not such as she anticipated; the dog became more enraged, and at last sprang out30 at the foot of the bed,: flew at the widow, tore her only garment, and bit her in the leg. Frau Vandersloosh screamed and reeled— reeled against the door left half open, and falling against it, slammed it to with her weight, and fell downshrieking. Snarleyyow, who probably had intended to make off, see- ing that his escape was prevented, again retreated under the bed, and as soon as he ' was there he recommenced an attack upon Babetie’s legs. Now, it appears, that what the united courage of the two females could not accom- plish, was at last effected by their united fears. The widow Vandersloosh gained her legs as soon as she could, and at first opened the door to run out, but her night dress was torn ‘o ribbons in front. She looked at her situa- tion—modesty conquered every other feeling —she burst into tears, and exclaiming, ‘‘ Mr. Vanslyperken! Mr. Vanslyperken!’’ she threw herself in an ecstacy of grief and rage on. the centre of the bed., At: the same moment the teeth of the dog were again fixed upon the ankles of Babette, who also shrieked, and threw herself on the bed, and upon her mistress. The bed was a good bed, and had for years done its duty ; but you may even overload a bed, and so it proved in this instance. The united weights of the mistress and the maid coming down upon it with such emphasis, was more than the bed could bear —the sacking gave way altogether, and the mattress which they lay upon was now sup- ported by the floor. But this misfortune was their preservation —for when the mattress came down, it came down upon Snarleyyow.. The animal con- trived to clear his loins, or he would have perished; but he could not clear his long mangy tail, which was now caught and firmly fixed in a new species. of trap, the widow's broadest proportions having. firmly secured him by it. Snarleyyow pulled, and pulled, but he pulled in vain-—he was fixed—he could -not bite, for the mattress was.between them —he pulled, and he howled, and barked, and turned himself every way, and yelped; and had not, his tail been of coarse and_ thick dimensions, he might have left it behind him, so great were his exertions; but no, it was im- possible. The widow was a widow. of. sub- stance, as’ Vanslyperken had imagined, and as she now proved to the dog—the only differ- ence was, that the master wished to be in the very situation the dog was now so. anxious to escape from—to wit, tailed on to the widow. Babette, who soon perceived that the dog was so, now got out of the bed, and begging her mistress not to moye an inch, and seizing the broom, she hammered Snarleyyow most unmercifully, without any fear of retaliation. The dog redoubled his exertions, and the extra weight of Babette being now removed, THE DOG FIEND; OR, he was at last able to withdraw his appendage, and probably feeling that there was now n@ chance of a quiet night's rest in his present quarters, he made a bolt out of the room down the stairs, and into the street. Babette chased him down, threw the broom at his head as he cleared the threshold, and then bolted the door. ‘‘O the beast!” exclaimed Babette, going up stairs again out of breath; ‘‘he’s gone at last, ma’am.”’ ‘‘Yes,”” replied the widow, rising up with difficulty from the hole made with her own centre of gravity; ‘‘and—and his master shall go too. Make love, indeed—the atomy —the shrimp—the dried up stock-fish. Love, quotha—and refuse to hang a cur like that, O dear! Odear! get me something to put on. One of my best chemises all in rags— and his nasty teeth in my leg in two places, Babette, Well, well, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see—I don’t care for their custom. Mr. Vanslyperken, you'll not sit on my sofa again, I can tell you;—hug your nasty cur—quite good enough for you. Yes, yes, Mr, Van- slyperken.”’ By this time the widew had received a fresh supply of linen from Babette; and as soon as she had put it on she rose from the bed, the fractured state of which again called forth her indignation. ‘“« Thirty-two years have I had this bed, wedded and single, Babette! "’ exclaimed the widow. ‘‘For sixteen years did I sleep on that bed with the lamented Mr. Vandersloosh —for sixteen years have I slept in it, a lone widow—but never till now did it break down. How am I to sleep to-night? What am I to do, Babette?” "Twas well it did break down, ma’am,” replied Babette, who was smoothing down the jagged skin at her ankles; ‘‘or we should never have got the nasty biting brute out of the house.” ‘Very well—very well. Yes, yes, Mr. Van- slyperken—marriage, indeed, I’d as soon marry his cur.”’ “ Mein Got! exclaimed, Babette: =< F think, madam, if you did marry, you would soon find the master as cross as the dog; but I must make this bed.”’ Babette proceeded to examine the mischief, and found that it was only the cords which tied the sacking which had given way, and considering they had done their office for thirty-two. years and the strain whieh had been put upon them after so long a period, there was not much to complain of, A new cord was procured, .and, in a quarter of an hour, all was right again; and the widow, who had sat in the chair fuming and blowing off her steam, as soon as Babette had turned down the bed turned in again, muttering, ‘' Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken—marriage ‘indeed, Ww“Mr. Vanslyperken ;”’ Well, well, we shall see. Stop till to-morrow, and’ as./Babette. has closed the curtains, so will we. close this chapter. CHAPTER” RTF; In which resolutions are entered into in_all quarters, and SFemmy Ducks zs accused of mutiny for singing a song im a snow-storm. WHuaAT were the adventures of Snarleyyow after this awkward interference with his master’s speculations upon the widow, until he jumped into the beef boat to go on board of the cutter, are lost for ever; but it, is to be supposed that he could not have remained the whole night without making himself dis- agreeable in some quarter or another. But, as we before observed, we know. nothing about it; and, therefore, may be excused if we,.do not tell, The widow Vandersloosh slept. but. little that night: her soul was full of. vengeance ; but although smarting with the imprints of the cur’s teeth, still she had an eye to busi- ness: the custom of the crew,of, the cutter was not, to be despised, and, as she thought of this, she gradually cooled down. . It was not till four o’clock in the morning that she came to her decision ; and it» was a -yery prudent one, which was to demand the dead body of the dog to be laid at her door before Mr. Vanslyperken should be allowed ad- mittance. This was her right,.and if he was sincere, he would not refuse; if he did refuse, it was not at all clear that she should lose the custom of ‘the seamen, over the major part of whom Vanslyperken then appeared to have very little control; and all of whom, she knew, detested him most cordially, as well as_his dog. After which resolution the widow Van- dersloosh fell fast asleep, But we must. return. on..board, where there was almost as much confusion, as there had been on shore. ‘The reappearance of Snarleyyow was considered supernatural, for Smallbones hau distinctly told in what man- ner he had tied him up in the bread-bags, and thrown him into the canal. Whisperings and murmurings were heard all round the cutter’s decks. Obadiah Coble shrugged up. his shoulders, as he took an extra quid—Dick Short ;walked about. with lips;compressed, more taciturn than ever—Jansen shook his head; muttering, ‘‘Te tog is. no tog,” —Bill Spurey had to repeat to the ship's company the legend of his coming on board over and over again. The only persons who appeared not to have lost their courage were. Jemmy Ducks,and. poor Smallbones, who had been put in his hammock to recover him from -his refrigeration. The former Said.tnnctpat i they were to sail with the devil, it could not SNARLEYYOW. 3! be helped, pay and prize-money would still go on;" and the latter, who had quite recovered his self-possession, ‘‘ vowed that dog or devil, he would never cease his at- tempts to destroy him—if he was the devil, or one of his imps, it was his duty asa Christian to oppose him, and he had no chance of better treatment if he were to remain quiet.” The snow-storm continued, and the men re- mained below, all but Jemmy Ducks, who leaned against the leeside of the cutter’s mast, and as the snow fell, sang, to a slow air, the following ditty, it probably being called to his recollection by the state of the weather. 'Twas at the landing-place that’s just below Mount Wyse, Poll leaned against the sentry’s box, a tear in both her eyes ; Her apron twisted round ‘her arms, all for to keep them warm, Being a windy storm. And Bet and Sue Both stood there too, A shivering by her side, They both were dumb, And both look’d glum, As they watch’d the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, At the admiral’s house look’d she, To thoughts before in limbo, She now a'vent gave free. You have sent the ship in’a gale to work, On a lee shore to be jamm’d, I'll give you a piece of my mind, old Turk, Port Admiral, you be d——d. Chorits.—We'll give you a piece of our mind, old Turk, Port Admiral, you be d——d. Christmas-day, and also a snow- Who ever heard in the sarvice ofa frigate made to sail On Christmas-day, it, blowing hard, with sleet, and snow,/and hail ? : I wish I had the fishing of your back that is so bent, I’d use‘the* galley content. Here Bet and Sue Are with me too, A shivering by my side, They both'aré dumb, And both look glum, And watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, At theadmiral’s ‘house look’d she, To thotights that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free. You’ve 'got,a'roaring fire I’ll bet, In it your toes are JADIOLO 5k Let’s give himra piece of our mind, my Bet, Port Admiral, you be d d. Chorus.—Let’s give him a piece’of our mind, my poker hot unto your heart’s et, Port Admiral, you be d—d. I liad the flour and plums all pick’d, and suet all chopp’d fine; : To mix into.a pudding. rich for all the mess to dine ; ‘ 4XTo REET CANN NON REI 32 THE DOG FIEND; OR, I pawn’d my ear-rings for the beef, it weigh’d at least a stone, Now my fancy man is sent to sea, and I am left alone.” Here’s Bet and Sue . Who stand here too, A shivering by my side; They both are dumb, They both look glum, And watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, ‘At the admiral’s house look’d she, To thoughts that were in limbo, She now a vent gave free, You’ve got a turkey, I’ll be bound, With which you will be cramm’d ; I'll give you a bit of my mind, old hound, Port Admiral, you be d——d. Chorts.—I1l give you a bit of my mind, old hound, Port Admiral, you be d I’m sure that in this weather they cannot cook their meat, To eat it raw on Christmas-day will be a pleasant treat ; = i But let us all go home, girls; it’s no use waiting here, We'll hope that Christmas-day to come they will have better cheer. So, Bet and Sue, Don't stand here too, A shivering by my side ; Don’t keep so dumb, Don’t look so glum, Nor watch the ebbing tide. Poll put her arms a-kimbo, At the admiral’s house look’d she, To thoughts that were in limbo, he now a vent gave free. Se while they cut their raw salt junks, With dainties you'll be cramm’d ; Here’s once for all my mind, old hunks, Port Admiral, you be d—d. Chorus.—So once for all our mind, old hunks, Port Admiral, you be do=--d. ‘““Mein Got! but dat is rank mutiny, Mynheer Shemmy Tucks,”’ observed Corporal Van Spitter, who had come upon the deck unperceived by Jemmy, and had listened to the song. ‘‘Mutiny, is it?” replied Jemmy; ‘and report this also— I’ll give you a bit of my mind, fat thief; You, corporal, may be dd,” ‘Dat is better and better—I mean to Say, worser and worser,’’ replied tle Corporal. ‘« Take care I don’t pitch you overboard,” replied Jemmy, in wrath. ‘* Dat is most worse still,’’ said the corporal, stalking aft, and leaving Jemmy Ducks to follow up the train of his own thoughts. Jemmy, who had been roused by the corporal, and felt the snow insinuating itself into the nape of his neck, thought he might as well go down below. The corporal made his report, and Mr. Vanslyperken made his comments, but he did no more, for he was aware that a mere tnfle would cause a general mutiny. The recovery of Snarleyyow consoled him, and little thinking what had been the events of the preceding night, he thought he might as well prove his devotion to the widow, by paying his respects in a snow-storm—but not in the attire of the day before—Mr. Vanslyperken was too economical for that ; so he remained in his loose threadbare great-coat and foul- weather hat. Having first locked up his dog in the cabin, and entrusted the key to the corporal, he went on shore, and presented himself at the widow’s door, which was opened by Babette, who with her person barred entrance: she did not wait for Vansly- perken to speak first. ‘*Mynheer Vanslyperken, you can't come in. Frau Vandersloosh is very ill in bed—the doctor says it's a bad case—she cannot be seen.’ “Til!” exclaimed Vanslyperken; ‘‘ your dear, charming mistress ill! Good heavens! what is the matter, my dear Babette ?”’ replied Vanslyperken, with all the pretended interest of a cevoted lover. ‘All through you, Mr. Vanslyperken,”’ replied Babette. “Me!” exclaimed Vanslyperken. ‘Well, all through your nasty cur, which is the same thing.” ‘“My dog! I little thought that he was left here,’ replied the lieutenant; ‘‘but, Babette, let me in, if you please, for the snow falls fast, and ‘*And you must not come in, Mr. Vansly- perken,” replied Babette, pushing him back. ‘‘Good Heavens! what is the matter ?”’ Babette than narrated what had passed, and as she was very prolix, Mr. Vanslyperken was a mass of snow on fhe windward side of him before she had finished, which she did by pulling down her worsted stockings, and showing the wounds which she had received as her portion in the last night's affray. Having thus given ocular evidence of the truth of what she had asserted, Babette then delivered the message of her mistress; to wit, ‘*that until the dead body of Snarleyyow was laid at the porch where they now stood, he, Mr, Vanslyperken, would never gain re- admission.’’ So saying, and not feeling it very pleasant to continue a conversation in a snow-storm, Babette very unceremoniously slammed the doorin Mr. Vanslyperken’s face, and left him to digest the communication with what appetite he might. Mr. Vansly- perken, notwithstanding the cold weather, hastened from the door ina towering passion. The perspiration actually ran down his face, and mingled with the melting snow. ‘‘To be or not to be '"—give up the widow or give up his darling Snarleyyow—a dog whom he loved the more, the more he was, through him entangled in scrapes and vexations—a dog whom everyone hated, and therefore he loved—a dog which had not a single recommenda- tion, and therefore was highly prized—a dog assailed by all, and especially by that scare- crow Smallbones, to whom his death would be a victory—it was impossible. But then the widow—with such lots of guilders in the bank, and such a good income from the Lust Haus, he had long made up his mind to settle in possession. It was the haven which, in the vista of his mind, he had been so long ac- customed to dwell upon, and he could not give up the hope. Yet one must be sacrificed. No, he could part with neither. ‘‘I have it,” thought he; ‘‘T will make the widow believe that I have sacrificed the dog, and then, when I am once in possession, the dog shall come back again, and let her say a wordif she dares; I'll tame her, and pay her off for old scores.” Such was the determination of Mr. Van- slyperken, as he walked back to the boat. His reverie, was, however, broken by his breaking his nose against a lamp-post, which did not contribute to his good-humour. ‘‘Yes, yes, Frau Vandersloosh, we will see,” muttered Vanslyperken ; ‘‘ you would kill my dog, would you? It’s a dog’s life I'll lead you when I’m once secure of you, Madame Van- dersloosh. You cheated me out of my biscuit —we shall see;” and Mr. Vanslyperken Stepped into his boat and pulled on board. On his arrival he found that a messenger had come on board during his absence, with the letters of thanks from the king’s loving cousins, and with directions that he ‘should return with them forthwith. This suited the views of Vanslyperken; he wrote a long letter to the widow, in which he expressed his willingness to sacrifice everything for her, not only to hang his dog, but to hang himself if she wished it—lamented his immediate orders for sailing, and hinted that, on his return, he ought to find her more favourable. The widow read the letter, and tossed it into the grate with a ‘‘Pish! I was not born yester- day, as the saying is,”’ cried the widow Van- dersloosh. CHAPTER XIII. In which the shi~’s company join in a chorus, and the corporal goes on a cruise. Mr. VANSLYPERKEN isin his cabin, with Snar- leyyow at his side, sitting upon his haunches, and looking in his master’s face, which wears an air of anxiety and discomfiture ; the fact is that Mr. Vansivperken is anything but content ; he is angry with the widow, with the ship's company, with the dog, and with himself ; but his anger towards the dog is‘softened, for he feels that, if anything in’ this world ‘loves him, it is the dog—not that his affection is great, but as much as the dog's nature will SVMARLEVYOW. 33 permit; and, at all events, if the animal’s attachment to him is not very strong, still he is certain that Snarleyyow hates everybody else. It is astonishing how powerful is the feeling that is derived from habit and associa- tion. Now that the life of his cur was de- manded by one, and, as he was aware, sought for by many, Vanslyperken put a value upon him that was extraordinary. Snarleyyow had become a precious jewel in the eyes of his master, and what he suffered in anxiety and disappointment from the perverse disposition of the animal, only endeared him the more. ‘“ Yes, my poor dog,”’ apostrophised the lieu- tenant, “they would seek your life, nay, that hardhearted woman demands that you should be laid dead at her porch. All conspire against you, but be not afraid, my dog, your master will protect you against all.” Vanslyperken patted the animal on the head, which was not a little swelled fron the blows received from the broom of Babette, and Snarleyyow rubbed his nose against his master’s trousers, and then raised himself up, by putting his paw upon his master’s knee, This brought the dog’s head more to the light, and Vanslyperken observed that one eye was swelled and closed. He examined it, and, to his horror, found that it had been beaten out by the broom of Babette. . There was no doubt of it, and Mr.. Vanslyperken’s choler was extreme. ‘‘ Now, may all the curses of ophthalmia seize the faggot,’”” cried the lieu- tenant; ‘'I wish I had, her here.” My poor, poor dog!” and Vanslyperken kissed the os frontis of the cur, and what perhaps had never occurred since childhood, and what nothing else could have brought about, Mr. Vansly- perken wept—actually wept over an animal, which was not, from any qualification he possessed, worth the charges of the cord which would have hanged him. Surely the affections have sometimes a bent towards insanity. After°a short time the lieutenant rang his bell, and ordered some warm water, to bathe the dog’s eye. Corporal Van Spitter, as Small- bones was in hishammock, answered the sum- mons, and when he returned aft with the water, he made known to Mr. Vanslyperken the mutinous expressions of Jemmy Ducks, The lieutenant’s small eye twinkled with satis- faction. ‘‘ Damned the Admiral, did he! which one was it—Portsmouth or Plymouth?” This Corporal Van Spitter could not tell: but it was certain that Jemmy had damned his superior officer ;. ‘‘ And, moreover, con- tinued the corporal, ‘‘ he damned me.” Now Mr. Vanslyperken had a great hatred against Jemmy Ducks, because he amused the ship's company, and he never could forgive any one who made people happy ; moreover, he wanted some object to visit his wrath upon: so he asked a few more questions, and then dis- missed the corporal, put on his tarpaulin hat, Cc34 put his speaking-trumpet under his arm, and went on deck, directing the corporal to ap- point one of the marines to continue to bathe the eye of his favourite. Mr. Vanslyperken looked at the dog-vane, and perceived that the wind was foul for sail- ing, and moreover, it would be dark in two hours, so he determined upon not Starting till the next morning, and then he thought that he would punish Jemmy Ducks; but the question occurred to him whether he could do so ornot. Was James Salisbury a boatswain by right or not?. He received only the pay of a boatswain’s mate, but he was styled boat- Swain on the books, It was a nice point, and the balance was even. Mr. Vanslyperken’s own wishes turned the scale, and he resolved to flog Jemmy Ducks if he could. We say, if he could; for as, at that. time, tyrannical Oppression on the part of the superiors was winked at, and no complaints were listened to by the Admiralty, insubordination, which was the natural result, was equally difficult to get over; and although on board of the larger vessels, the strong arm of power was certain to conquer, it was not always the case in the smaller, where the superiors were not in sufficient force, or backed by a numerous party of soldiers or marines, for there was then little difference between the two services. Mr. Van- slyperken had had more than one mutiny on board of the vessels which he had commanded, and, in one instance, his whole ship's com- pany had taken the boats and gone on shore, leaving him by himself in the vessel, preferring to lose the pay due to them than to remain longer on board. ‘They joined other ships in the service, and no notice was taken of their conduct by the authorities, Such was the state of half discipline at the period we speak of in the service of the king. The ships were, in every other point, equally badly fitted out and manned; peculation of every kind was carried to excess, and those who were in command thought more of their own interest than of anything else. Ship’s stores and provisions were constantly sold, and the want of the former was frequently the occasion of the loss of the vessel, and the sacrifice of the whole crew. Such maladministration is said to be the case even now in some of the Continental navies, It is not until a long series of years have elapsed, that such regulations and ar- rangements as are at present so economically and beneficially administered to our navy can be fully established. Having settled the point so far, Mr. Van- slyperken then proceeded to debate in his own mind whether he should flog Jemmy in har- Dour, or after he had sailed; and feeling that if there was any disturbance on the part of the men, they might quit the vessel if in har- bour, he decided that he would wait until he had them in blue water, His thoughts, then THE DOG FIEND} OR, reverted to the widow, and, ashe turned and turned again, heclenched his fists in his great- coat pockets, and was heard by those near him to grind his teeth. In the meantime, the news had been im- parted by the marine, who came up into. the galley for more warm water, that the dog had had one of his eyes put out, and it was strange the. satisfaction which. this. intelligence ap- peared to give to the ship’scompany. It was passed round like wildfire, and, when com- municated, a beam of pleasure was soon apparent throughout the whole cutter, and for this simple. reason, that-the accident re- moved the fear arising from the supposition of the dog being supernatural, for the men argued, and with some reason, that if you could put out his eye you could kill him al- together ; for if you could destroy a part you could destroy the whole. No one ever heard of the devil’s eye being put out-—ergo,. the dog could not be a devil, or one of his imps ; so argued a knot of the men in conclave, and Jansen wound up by observing, ‘‘ Dat de tog was only a tog after all.” Vanslyperken returned to his cabin and stated his intentions to his factotum and con- fidant, Corporal Van Spitter. Now, in this instance, the corporal did not adhere to. that secrecy to which he was bound, and the only reason we can give is that he had as great a dislike to Jemmy Ducks as his lieutenant -—for the corporal. obeyed orders so exactly that he considered it his duty not to have even an opinion or a feeling contrary to those of his superior officer. He was delighted at the idea of flogging Jemmy, andcommunicated the lieutenant’s intention to the most favoured of his marines, who also told the secret to another, and thus in five minutes it was known throughout the cutter, that as soon as they were in blue water the little boatswain was to be tied up for having damned the admiral in a snow-storm. ‘The consequence was, as the evening was clear, that there was a very nu- merous assemblage upon the forecastle of the cutter Yunefrau, “Flog Jemmy!”’ said BillSpurey. “ Why, Jemmy’s a hofficer.”’ ‘“To be sure he is,’’ observed another 3 “‘and quite as good a one as Vanslyperken himself, though he don’t wear brass on hishat.’” a. nit—what next—heh, Coble?” Coble hitched up his trousers. ‘‘It’s m Opinion he'll be for flogging ws next, Short,” said the old man. ‘‘ Yes,” replied Short. ‘‘ Shall we allow Jemmy to be flogged?” *‘ No,” replied Short. ‘If it warn’t for them ere marines, and the lumpy beggar of a corporal,’ observed one of the seamen, ‘‘ Pish,” quoth Jemmy, who was standing among them, ee Se**Won't he make Served Spurey. **Mein Got! it was mutiny to flog de officer,” said Jansen. ‘That's very true," observed another. “But Jemmy can’t stand against the fat corporal and the six marines,’’ observed Bill Spurey. ‘‘One up and t’other down, I’ll take them all,” observed Jemmy, expanding his chests ‘Yes, but they'll all be down upon you at once, Jemmy.” ‘If they lays their hands upon an officer,’ observed Coble, ‘* it will be mutiny; and then Jemmy calls in the ship’s company to protect him.” ‘* Exactly,” observed Jemmy. ‘“And-den, mein Got, I zettle for de corporal,” observed Jansen. ‘I'll play him a trick yet. “‘But now, it’s-no-use palavering, Served Spurey; ‘‘let’s come to some tlement. Obadiah, give us your opinion to what's best to be done.”’ Hereupon Coble squirted out a modicum of ‘baccy juice, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, ‘‘ It’s my opinion that the best way of getting one man out of a serape is to get ‘all the rest in it, Jemmy, d’ye see, is to be hauled up for singing an old song in which a wench very properly damns the admiral for sending a ship out on a Christmas Day, which, let alone the unchris- tian-like act, as you may know, my. lads, always turns up on a Friday, a day on which nothing but being blown out ~ from your anchors can warrant any vessel Sailing on. Now d’ye see, it may be mutiny to damn a live admiral, with his flag hoisted—I won't Say but what it is—but this here admiral as Jemmy damned is no more'alive than a stock fish; and, moreover, it is not Jemmy. as damns him, but Poll; therefore, it can be no mutiny. Now, what I consider best is this, if so be it be against the articles—well, then, let's all be in for it together, and then Vansly- perken will be puzzled, and, moreover, it will give him a hint how matters stand, and he may think better of it ; for, although we must not have Jemmy touched, still, it’s quite as well not to have a regular breeze with the jollies; for if so be that the Scarborough, or any other king’s ship, be in port when we arrive, Vanslyperken may run under the guns, and then whip the whole boiling of us off to the Ingies, and glad to get us, too, and that’s no joke. Now, that’s my idea of. the matter.” “Well, but you've not told us how we. are to get into it Coble.” “More T have—well, that’s funny ;left out the whole burden of my song. Why, I con- sider that we had better now directly sing the song overagain, allin chorus, and then we shall it out mutiny?” ob- Ob- set- as SVARLEVYOW. 35 have damned the admiral.a dozen times Over; and Vanslyperken will hear us, and say to him- self, “They don't sing that song for nothing.’ What do you. say, Dick Short, you're first hofficer 2”’ ‘ Yes,’’ replied. Short, “Hurrah! my... lads, then,’ cried~ Bill Spurey ; ‘‘now, then, strike up, Jemmy, and let us give it lots of mouth.” The song which our readers have already heard from the lips of Jemmy Ducks was then sung by the whole of the men, cou anim € strepzto, and two verses had been roared out, when Corporal Van Spitter, in.great agitation, presented himself at the cabin-door, where he found Mr. Vanslyperken \very busy summing up his accounts, ‘‘ Mein Got, sar |. dere is the mutiny in the Yiungfrau,' cried the corporal; ‘' Mutiny |.” cried. Vanslyperken, catching at his sword, which hung up on the bulk- head. “Yaw, mynheer--de mutiny—hear now de ship's company.”’ Vanslyperken. lent his ears, when the as- tounding chorus come rolling aft through the door of the cabin, I'll give you a bit of my mind, old hunks ; Port admiral—you be d——d ‘* Bow, wow, wow,” barked Snarleyyow. ‘‘ Why, it's the whole ship's company t” cried Vanslyperken, ‘‘ All but.de Corporal Van Spitter, and de six marines,’’ replied the corporal, raising his hand up to his head ada militaire. ‘Shut the door, corporal. This is indeéd mutiny, and defiance,’ cried’ Vanslyperken, jumping up from his chair, ‘‘It is one tyfel of a song,’ corporal, ‘‘ I_must find out the ringleaders, corporal ; do you think that you could contrive to over- hear. what they say after the song is over? they will be consulting together, and-we may find out something,” ‘‘Mynheer, I’m not very small for to creep in and listen,” replied the corporal, casting his eyes down upon his huge carcass. ‘“‘Are. they. all. forward?” inquired’ the lieutenant. ‘“ Yes, mynheer ;. not one:soul baft.” ‘‘'There is a small boat astern; do you think you could get,softly intoit, haul it upto the bows, and lie there quite still? You would then hear what they said, without their think- ing of it, now that it is dark.” “I will try, mynheer,”’ replied the corporal, who quitted the;cabin. But. there were others who condescended to listen aswell, as the corporal, and. in this instance every word which had passed had been overheard by Smallbones, who had been for some hours out of his hammock, When replied the36 THE DOG FIEND; OR, the corporal's hand touched the lock of the door, Smallbones made a hasty retreat. Corporal Van Spitter went on the quarter- deck, which he found vacant; he hauled up the boat to the counter, and, by degrees Jowered into it his unwieldy carcass, which almost swamped the little conveyance. He then waited a little, and with difficulty forced the boat up against the strong flood-tide that was running, till at last he gained the chess-tree of the cutter, when he shortened in the painter (or rope that held the boat), made it fast to a ring-bolt without being perceived, and there he lay concealed, not daring to move, for fear of making a noise, Smallbones had, however, watched him carefully, and as the corporal sat in the middle thwart, with his face turned aft, catching but imperfectly the conversation of the men, the lad separated the painter with a sharp knife, and at the same tire dropping his foot down, gave the bow of the boat a shove off, which made it round with thestream. The tide was then running five or six miles an hour, and before the corporal, in the utter darkness, could make out what had occurred, or raise his heavy carcass to assist himself, he was whirled away by the current clear of the vessel, and soon disappeared from thesight of Smallbones, who was watching his progress. It is true that the corporal shouted for assistance when he found himself astern, and also that he was heard by the men, but Small- bones had leaped among them and in a few words told them what he had done; so of course they took no notice, but rubbed their hands with delight at the idea of the corporal being adrift like a bear ina washing-tub, and they all prayed fora gale of wind to come on that he might be swamped, and most of them remained on deck to hear what Mr. Vansly- perken would say and do when the corporal’s absence was discovered. Mr. Vanslyperken remained nearly two hours without sending for the corporal; at last, surprised at not seeing him return, he went on‘deck. The men on the forecastle perceiving this, im- mediately disappeared gently down the fore- hatchway. Mr. Vanslyperken walked forward, and found that everyone was, as he supposed, either in bed or below; for, in harbour, the corporal kept one of the watches, and this night it was his first watch. Vanslyperken looked over the side all round the cutter, and could see no boat and no Corporal Van Spitter, and it immediately occurred to him that the corporal must have gone adrift, and he was very much puzzled how to act. It would be flood-tide for two ‘hours more, and then the whole ebb would run before it was daylight. | Corporal Van Spitter would tra- verse the whole Zuyder Zee before they might find him. Unless he had the fortune to be picked up by some small craft, he might “a, perish with cold and hunger. He could not sail without him ; for what could he do with- out Corporal Van Spitter, his protection, his factotum, his distributor of provisions, &c. The loss was irreparable, and Mr. Vansly- perken, when he thought of the loss of the widow's favour, and the loss of his favourite, acknowledged with bitterness that his star was not in the ascendant. After some re- flection, Mr, Vanslyperken thought that as nothing could be gained by making the fact known, the wisest thing that he could do was to go to bed and say nothing about it, leaving the whole of the ulterior proceedings until the loss of the boat should be reported to him in the morning. Having arranged this in his mind, Mr. Vanslyperken took two or three turns more, and then went down and turned in, CHAPTER XIV. ln which some new characters appear on the stage, although the corporal is not to be heard of. THE loss of the boat was reported by Obadiah Coble at daylight, and Mr.. Vanslyperken immediately went on deck with his spy-glass, to ascertain if he could distinguish the corporal coming down with the last of the ebb-tide, but he was nowhere to be seen. »Mr.. Vansly- perken went to the mast-head and surveyed in every direction, but he could neither see any- thing like the boat or Corporal Van. Spitter. His anxiety betrayed to the men that he:was a party to the corporal’s proceedings, and they whispered among themselves. At. last Mr. Vanslyperken came down on deck, and desired Corporal Van Spitter to be sent. to him, Of course, it was soon reported to him that Corporal Van Spitter was nowhere to be found, and.Mr. Vanslyperken pretended to be much astonished. As the lieutenant took it for granted that the boat had been swept out with the ebb, he determined to get under weigh in pursuance of his orders, pick up the corporal, if he could find him, and then pro- ceed to Portsmouth, which was the port of his desijination. Smallbones attended his master, and was so unusually active that the suspicious Mr. Vanslyperken immediately decided that he had a finger in the business ; but he took no notice, resolving in his own mind that Smalibones should some day. or another be adrift himself, as the corporal was, but with this difference, that there should be no search made after him. As soon as the men had finished their breakfasts, the cutter was got under weigh and proceeded to sea. During the whole day Vanslyperken cruised in the Zuyder Zee looking for the boat, but without success, and at last he unwillingly shaped his course for England, much puzzled aad perplexed, as now ke had no one to actas his steward to whom he could confide, or by whose arrangements he could continue to defraud the ship's company ; and, further, he was obliged to put off for the present all idea of punishing Jemmy Ducks, for without the corporal, the marines were afraid to move a Step in defiance of the ship’s company. The consequence was that the three days that they were at sea Mr. Vanslyperken confined himself altogether to his cabin, for he was not without some fears for hisown safety. On his arrival at Portsmouth, he delivered his letters to the admiral, and received orders to return to his cruising ground after the smug- glers as soon as he had replaced his lost boat. We have observed that Mr. Vanslyperken had no relations on this side of the water; but in saying that, we referred to the epoch that he was in the service previous to the accession of King William. Since that, and about a year from the time we are now writing about, he had brought over his mother, whom he had not, till the peace, seen for years, and had established her ina small apartment in that part of the town now known by the name of the Halfway Houses. The old woman lived upon a small pension allowed by the Dutch court, having been employed for many years in a subordinate capacity in the king’s household. She was said to haveonce been handsome, and when young prodigal of her favours; at present she was a palsied old woman, bent double with age and infirmity, but with all her faculties as complete asif she was inher prime. Nothing could escape her little twinkling bloodshot eyes or her acute ear; she-could scarcely hobble fifty yards, but she kept no servant to assist her, for, like her son, she was avaricious in the extreme. What crime she had committed was not known, but that something lay heavy on her conscience was certain; but if there was guilt, there was no repentance; only fear of future punishment. Cornelius Vanslyperken was her only living child; she had been twice married. “Lhe old woman did not appear to be very fond of him, although she treated him still as a child, and executed her parental authority as if he were still in petticoats. Her coming over was a sort of mutual con- venience. She had saved money, and Vansly- perken wished to secure that, and also havea home and a person to whom he could trust ; and she was so abhorred, and the reports against her so shocking where she resided, that she was glad to leave a place where every one, as she passed, would get out of her way, as if to avoid contamination, Yet these reports were vague, although hinting at some horrid and appalling crimes. No one knew what they exactly were, for the old woman had outlived her contemporaries, and the tradition was imperfect ; but she had been SNVARLEVYVOW. handed down to the next gereration as one to be avoided as a basilisk, It was to his mother’s abode, one room on the second floor, to which Mr. Vanslyperken proceeded, as soon as he had taken the necessary steps for the replacing of the boat. As he ascended the stairs, the quick ear of the old woman heard his footstep, and recognized it. It must be observed; that all the conversation between Vanslyperken and his mother was carried on in Dutch, of which we, of course, give the translation. ‘«‘There you come, Cornelius Vanslyperken; I hear you, and by your hurried tread, you are vexed. Well, why should you not be vexed as well as your mother, in this world of devils?" This was a soliloquy of the old woman’s before that. Vanslyperken had entered the room, where he found his mothey sitting over a few cinders half ignited ina very small grate. Parsimony would not allow her to use more fuel, although her limbs trembled as much from cold as palsy; her nose and chin nearly met; her lips were like old scars, and of an ashy white; and her sunken, hollow mouth reminded you of a small, deep, dark sepulchre; teeth she had none. ‘How fare you, mother?’ said Vansly- perken, on entering the room. ‘“l'm alive; ‘* And long may you live, dear mother.” ‘* Ah!” replied the woman, as if doubting. ‘‘Tam here but for ashort time,’’ continued Vanslyperken. ‘‘ Well, child, so much the better: when on board you save money ; on shore you must spend some. Have you brought any’ with you?” ‘‘T have, mother, which I must leave to you cares ‘Give it me, then.’ Vanslyperken pulled out a bag and laid it on the lap of his mother, whose trembling hands counted it over. ‘*Gold, and good gold—while you live, my child, part not with gold. I'll not die yet— no, no, the devils may pull at me, and grin at me, but I'm not theirs yet.” Here the old woman paused, and rocked herself in her chair. ‘‘ Cornelius, lock this money up, and give me the key:—there, now that is safe, you may talk, if you please, child; I can hear well enough.” Vanslyperken obeyed; he mentioned all the events of the last cruise, and his feelings against the widow, Smallbones, and Jemmy Ducks. The old woman never interrupted him, but sat with her arms folded up in herapron ‘Just so, just so,” said she, at last, when he had done speaking ; ‘‘ I felt the same, but then you have not the soul to act asI did. I could do it, but you—you are a coward; no33. one dared cross my path, or if they’ did—ah,’ well, that’s years ago, and I’m not dead yet.’ All this was muttered by the old woman in a sort of half soliloquy: she paused and continued—‘‘ Better leave the boy alone—get nothing by it;—the woman—there’s. work there, for there’s money.” “But, she refuses, mother, if I do not destroy the dog.” ‘‘ Refuses—ah, well—-let me see :—can’t you ruin her character, blast her reputation? «she is yours and her money too ;—then, then— there will be money and revenge—both good; but money—-no—yes, money's best. The dog must live, to gnaw the Jezebel—gnaw her bones—but you, you area coward—you dare do nothing.” ‘‘ What do I fear, mother ?”’ ‘*Man—the gallows and death. I fear the last, but I shall not die yet: no, no, I w¢Z/ live—I will zo¢ die. Ay, the corporal—lost in Zuyder Zee—dead men tell no tales; and he could tell many of you, my child, Let the fish fatten on him,” “‘T cannot do without him, mother.” ‘‘A hundred thousand devils!’ exclaimed the old mother, ‘‘ that I should have suffered such throes fora craven. Cornelius Vansly- perken, you are not like your mother :—your father indeed ——~” ‘* Who was my father?” ‘* Silence, child—there, go away—I wish’ to be alone. with memory.” Vanslyperken, who knew that resistance or remonstrance would be useless, and only lead to bitter cursing and imprecation on the part of the old woman, rose and walked back to the sallyport, where he slipped into his boat and pulled on board of the Yuxgf/rau, which lay at anchor in the harbour, about a cable’s length from the shore. ‘« Here he comes,” cried a tall bony woman with nothing on her head but a cap with green faded ribbons, who was standing on the forecastle of the cutter. ‘‘ Here he comes; he, the villain, as would have flogged my Jemmy.’’ This was the wife of Jemmy Ducks, who lived at. Portsmouth, and who, having heard what had taken place, vowed revenge. ‘‘ Silence, Moggy,” said Jemmy, who was standing by her. “Yes, I'll hold my tongue till the time comes, and then I'll sarve him out, the cheat- ing vagabond.”’ ‘Silence, Moggy.”’ ** And as for that ‘peaching old Corporal Blubber, I'll Wen Spriter him, if ever he turns up again to blow the gaff against my own dear Jemmy.”’ ‘Silence, Moggy—there’s rowed of all, and a marine at your elbow.” ‘Let him take that for his trouble,’’ cried Moggy, turning round, and delivering a swinging box of the ear upon the astonished THE DOG FIEND; OR, marine, who, not liking to encounter such an Amazon, made a hasty retreat down the fore- hatchway. ‘So there you are, are you?” continued Moggy, as Vanslyperken stepped on the deck. ‘* Silence, Moggy, ‘* You, that would flog my own dear darling duck, my own Jemmy. ‘Silence ! Moggy, will you?” said Jemmy Ducks, in an angry tone, ‘or I’'llsmash your peepers. ” ““You must climb on the gun to reach them my little man,” replied his wife.’ ‘‘ Well, the the more I holds my tongue now, the more for him when I gets hold on him. Oh !-he’s gone to his cabin, has he, to’kiss his Snarley- yow :—I'll make smadlbones of that beast afore I’m done with him. Flog my Jemmy —my own, dear, darling Jemmy—a nasty lean a ‘“Go down below, Moggy,” said Jemmy Ducks, pushing her towards the hatchway. ‘“Snivelling, great-coated me ‘““Go below," continued Jemmy, shoving her. ‘« Ferret-eyed, razor-nosed ‘‘ Go down below, will you?” cried Jemmy, pushing her near the hatchway. *‘ Herring-gutted, bare-poled " ‘* Confound it ! go below.”’ *‘Cheating rip of a wagabond! Lord, Jemmy, if you a’n't shoved me down the hatchway! Well, never mind, my darling, let's go to supper ;’ and Moggy caught hold of her husband as she was going down, and with surprising strength lifted him off his legs, and carried him down in her armsas she would have done a child, much to the amusement of the men who were standing on the forecastle. When it was dusk, a boat dropped along- side of the cutter anda man stepped out of it on the deck, when he was met by Obadiah Coble, who asked him, ‘! What's your plea- sure?” “TI must speak with the commander of this vessel directly.” “Wait a moment, and I'll tell him what you say,”’ replied Coble, who reported the message to Mr. Vanslyperken, ‘“What sort of a person is he?’ demanded the lieutenant. ‘“ Oh, I don’t know—sort of half-bred, long- shore chap—looks something between a bum- bailey and a bumboatman.” ‘‘ Well, you may show him down.” The man, who shortly after entered the cabin, was a short, punchy little fellow, with a red waistcoat, knee-breeches, and a round jacket of green cloth. His face was covered with carbuncles, some of them so large that his small pug-nose was nothing more in appearance than a larger blotch than heothers. His eyes were small and keen, and his whiskers of a deep red. As soon as he entered the cabin, he very deliberately locked the door after him. ‘* Nothing like making sure,” observed he. ‘‘ Why, what the devil do you want?” ex- claimed Vanslyperken, rather alarmed ; while onarleyyow walked round and round the thick calves of the man’s legs, growling, and in more than two minds to have a bite through his blue worsted stockings ; and the peculiar obliquity with which hecarried his head, now that he surveyed with only one eye, was by no means satisfactory. ‘Take your cur away, and let us proceed to business, for there is no time to lose,” said the man coolly, taking a chair. ‘‘ Now there can beno eavesdropping, I trust, for my life may be forfeited, if I’m discovered.”’ “*T cannot understand a word of all this,’ replied Vanslyperken, much surprised. ‘‘In a few words,do you want to put some five thousand pounds in your pocket?” At this question Vanslyperken became attentive. He beat off the dog, and-took a chair by the side of the stranger. ‘‘Ah! interest will always bring civility ; so now to the point. You command this cut- ter, do you not?” ‘‘T do,” replied Vanslyperken. ‘‘Well, you are about to cruise after the smugglers ?”’ Ft Yesi- ‘‘T can give information of a cargo to be landed on a certain night, worth ten thousand pounds or more.”’ ‘‘ Indeed !’’ replied Vanslyperken. ‘‘ Yes, and put your boats in such a position that they must seize the whole.” ‘«T'm very much obliged to you. Will you take something, sir, any scheedam?’’ said Vanslyperken, unlocking one ofhis cupboards, and producing a large stone bottle, and a couple of glasses, which he filled. ‘This is very good stuff,” observed the man; ‘‘ I'll trouble you for another glass.” This was one more than Mr. Vanslyperken intended; but on second thoughts, it would make his new acquaintance more communica- tive, so another was filled, and as soon as it was filled it was emptied. . ‘Capital stuff! ’’ said he of the rubicund face, shoving his glass towards Vanslyperken, by way of hint; but the lieutenant would not take the hint, as his new guest had already swallowed as much as lasted himself for a week. ‘‘But now,’ observed Vanslyperken, ‘‘ where is this cargo to be seen, and when !”’ ‘‘ That’s tellings,” replied the man. ‘‘T know that; but you have come to tell, or what the devilelse ?’’ replied Vanslyperken, who was getting angry. ‘* That's according ——’’ replied the man. SVARLEVYOW, 39 ‘« According to what?” ‘“’The snacks,” replied the man. will you giveup?” “Give up! How do you mean?” ‘What is my share to be?” ‘‘Share! you can’t share—you're not a king’s officer."’ ‘‘No, but I’m an informer, and that’s the same thing.” ‘“Well, depend upon it, I’ll behave very liberally.’’ ** How much, I ask?” “We'll see to that afterwards ; something handsome,.depend upon it.” “That won't do. Wish you good evening, sir. Many thanks for the scheedam—capital stuff ! "’ and the man rose from his chair. But Mr. Vanslyperken had no intention to let him go ; his avarice induced him at first to try if the man would be satisfied with his promise to reward him—a promise which would certainly never have been adhered to. “‘Stop! my dear sir, do not bein sucha hurry. Take another glass.” ‘‘ With pleasure,’’ replied the man, reseating himself, and drinking off the scheedam. ‘‘ That's really prime ; I like it better every time I taste it. Now, then, shall we go to business again? I'll be plainwith you. Half is my conditions, or I don’t inform,” ‘‘ Half!’ exclaimed Vanslyperken ; ‘‘ half of ten thousand pounds? What ! five thousand pounds?” ‘Exactly so; half of ten is five, as you Say.’ ‘‘ What! give you five thousand pounds?” ‘‘T rather think it is I who offer you five thousand, for the devil a penny will you get without me. And that I will have, and this bond you must sign to that effect, or I’m off. You're not the only vessel in the harbour.” Vanslyperken tried for some time to reduce the terms, but the man was positive. Vansly- perken then tried if he could not make the man intoxicated, and thus obtain better terms ; but fifteen glasses of his prime scheedam had no effect further than extorting unqualified praise as it was poured down, and at last Mr. Vanslyperken unwillingly consented to the terms, and the bond was signed. ‘‘ We must weigh at the ebb,”’ said the man, as he put the bond in his pocket. ‘‘I shall stay on board; we have a moonlight night, and if we had not, I could find my way out in a yellow fog, Please to get your boats all ready, manned and armed, for there may be a sharp tussle.”’ ‘‘But when do they run, and where?”’ de- manded Vanslyperken. ‘«'T’o-morrow night at the back of the Isle. Let me see,” continued the man, taking out his watch; ‘‘mercy on me! how time has flown—that’s the scheedam. In a couple of hours we must weigh, 1’ll go up and see if ‘What40 THE DOG FIEND; OR, the wind holds in the same quarter. If you please, lieutenant, we'll just drink success to the expedition. . Well, that’s prime stuff, I do declare.”’ CHAPTER XV. In which.the crew of the Yungfraru lose a good prize, and Snartleyyow loses his character, THE next morning the Yuxp/frau was clear of St. Helen's, and sounding the eastern part of the Isle of Wight, after which she made sail into the offing, that she might not be suspected by those on shore waiting to receive the cargo. The weather was fine, and the water sinooth, and. as soon as she was well out,. the cutter was hove-to. In the hurry of weighing, Mr. Vanslyperken had not thought, or-had not known perhaps, that the wife of Jemmy Ducks was still on board, and as he was turning up and down on the quarter-deck, he perceived her on the forecastle, laughing and talking with the men. “What woman is that ?”’ said he to Jansen, who was at the wheel. “De fran, mynheer. Dat is de frau of Shimmy Duk.” “ Flow dare she come on board? Send her aft here, marine.” The marine went forward and gave the order ; and Jemmy, who expected a breeze, told his wife to behave herself quietly. His advice did not, however, appear to be listened to, as will be shown in the sequel. ‘‘ How came. you on board, woman?” cried Vanslyperken, looking at her from top to toe several times, as usual, with his hands in his great-coat pockets, and his battered speaking trumpet under his arm. ““Fow did I come on board! why, in a boat to be sure,” replied Moggy, determined to have a breeze. ‘« Why did you not go on shore before the cutter sailed? ’’ replied Vanslyperken in an angry tone. “Why, just for the contrary reason, because there was no boat.” ‘“Well, I'll just tell you this, if ever I see you on. board again, you'll take the con- sequences,” retorted Vanslyperken. « And.1 il just tell. ‘you- this,” ‘replied Moggy ; ‘‘if ever you come on shore again you shall take the consequences. I'll have you —I give you warning. Flog my Jemmy, heh ! my own dear, darling Jemmy.”” Here- upon. Mogey held out one arm bent, and with the palm of her other hand slapped her elbow —"' There /”’ cried she. What Jemmy’s wife meant by this sign it is impossible for us to say ; but that it was a very significant one was certain, for Mr. Van- slyperken foamed with rage, and all the cutter’s crew were tittering and laughing, It was a species of free-masonary known only to the initiated at the Sally Port. ‘“Send the marines aft here. Take this woman below,” cried Vanslyperken. ‘‘I shall put all this down to your husband's ac- count, and give him a receipt in full, depend upon it.’ ‘“So you may. Marines, keep off, if you don’t wish your heads broken ; and I'll put all this down to your account ; and as you say that you'll pay off on my pet, mark my words, if I don't pay off on yours—on your nasty cur there. I'll send him to cruise after Corporal Van, Spitter.. As sure as I stand here, if you dare to lay a fingeron my Jemmy, I'll kill the brute wherever I find him, and make him into sazssingers, just for the pleasure of eating him. I'llsend youa pound as.a present. You marine, don't be a fool —Ican walk forward without your hoffering yourarm, and be d d to you.’” So saying, Moggy stalked forward, and joined the men on the forecastle. ‘“D'ye know much of that strapping lass?” said Mr. Vanslyperken’s new acquaintance. ‘‘Not I,’’replied Vanslyperken, not much pleased at the observation. “Well, look out for squalls, she'll be as good as her word. We'll draw the foresheet, and stand in now, if you please.” It was about dusk, for the days were now short, and the cutter was eight miles off the land. By the directions of the informer, for we have no other name to give him, they now bore up and ran along the island until they were, by his calculations, for it then was dark, abreast of a certain point close to the Black Gang Chyne. Here they hove-to, hoisted out their boats, three in number, and the men were sent in, well armed with pistols and cutlasses. Short had the charge of one, Coble of the second, the stern sheets of the third was occupied by Vansiyperken and the informer. As soon as all was ready, Jemmy Ducks, who much to Vanslyperken’s wish was left in charge of the cutter, received his orders to lie-to where he was, and when the tide made flood, to stand close in-shore ; and all was prepared for a start, when it occurred to Vanslyperken that to leave Snarleyyow, after the threat of Jemmy’s wife, and the known animosity of Smallbones, would be his death-warrant. He determined, therefore, to take him in the boat. ‘The informer pro- tested against it, but Vanslyperken would not listen to his protestations. The dog was handed into the boat, and they shoved off. After they had pulled a quarter of an hour in- shore, they altered their course, and continued along the coast until the informer had made out exactly where he was. He then desired the other two boats to come alongside, told the crews that they must keep the greatest silence, as where they were about to proceedwas directly under where the smugglers would have a party to receive the goods, and that the least alarm would prevent them from making the capture. The boats then pulled in to some large-rocks, against which the waves hoarsely murmured, although the sea was still smooth, and passing between them, found themselves in a very small cove, where the water was still, and in which there was deep water. The cove was not defended so much by the rocks above water, for the mouth of it was wide : but there appeared to bea ridge below, which broke off the sweli of the ocean. Neither was it deep, the beach not being more than perhaps fifty feet from the entrance. The boats, which had pulled in with muffled oars, here lay quietly for nearly an hour, when a fog cameon and obscured the view of the offing, which otherwise was extensive, full, and had shone as the moon was at her bright. ep hs 9 informer: ‘‘t once. Hark They all listened ; of oars was heard, and their arms. The splash of the oars was now more plain. Be silent and ready,” whispered the inform- er, and the whisper was passed round. In another minute a _ large, lugger-built boat, evidently intended for sailing as wellas pulling through the fog looming still larger he all the better,”” whispered the into the trap at , hey will fall ! hist ! I hear oars. it was true, the sound the men prepared was seen from the mist, pulling intot ‘Silence, and not a word. Let her pass, cove. whispered the informer. The boat approached rapidly — she was within ten fathoms of the entrance, when Snarleyyow, hearing the sound, darted for- ward under the thwarts, and jumping on the bow of the boat, commmenced a most unusual and prolonged baying of Bow wow, bow wow wow wow ! At the barking of the dog the smugglers hacked water to stop their way. They knew that there was no dog with those they ex- pected to meet, it was, therefore, clear that the Philistines were at hand. ‘The dog barked in f allattempts to prevent him, and acting this timely warning, the lugger-boat short round, just as lights were shown ify an enemy at hand, for spite o upon pulled from the cliffs to-not the barking of the dog had not escaped the vigilance of those on shore, and in a few seconds she disappeared in the mist. ‘Blast your cur! Five thousand pounds out of my pocket,” exclaimed the informer. “T-told ‘you so. Chuck him overboard, my men, for. your pockets would have been lined.” Vanslyperken was a “Give way, my men, give way ; her yet,” s savage, and exclaimed, ie we'll have SNARLEVYOW. AY ‘‘Send a cow tu chase a hare,” replied the informer, throwing himself back in the stern sheets of the boat. ‘‘ I know better; you may save yourself the trouble, and the men the fatigue. May the devil take you, and your cursed dog with you! Who but a fool would have brought a dog upon such an occasion? Well, I've lost five thousand pounds; but there’s one comfort, you've lost too. That will be a valuable beast, if you put all down to his account.” At this moment Vanslyperken was so much annoyed at the loss of what would have been a fortune to him, that he felt as angry as the informer. The boat's crew were equally en: raged, the dog was pommielled, and kicked, and passed along from one to the other, until he at last gained the stern sheets, and crouched between the legs of his master, who kicked him away in a rage, and he saved him- self under the legs of the informer, who, seizing a pistol, struck him with the butt-end of it such a blow that nothing but the very thick skull of the dog could have saved him. Snarleyyow was at a sad discount just then, but he very wisely again sought protection with his master, and this time he was not noticed. ‘“‘ What slyperker . ‘“Go back again like dogs with their tails between their legs; but observe, Mr. Lieute- nant, you have made me yourenemy, and that is more serious than you think for.” “Silence, sir: you are in a king’s boat.” ‘The king be d d,” replied the informer, falling back sulkily against the gunwale of the boat. ‘Give way, men, and pull on board,’ Vanslyperken, in equally bad humour. In equally bad humour the men did give way, and in about an hour were on board the cutter. Every one was in a bad humour when the affair was made known; but Smallbones observed ‘‘that the dog could be no such great friend, as supposed, of Vanslyperken’s, to thwart his interests in that way, and certainly no imp sent by the devil to his — assistance.” The ship’s company were con” soled with this idea, and Jansen again repeated ‘‘that the zog was but a tog, after all.” are we to do now?” observed Van- ’ said CHAPTER XVI. In which we change the scene, and the sex of our performers. Wr must now leave the cutter to return to Portsmouth, while we introduce to our readers a new and strange association. We stated that the boats had been ensconced in a very small cove at the back of the Isle of Wight. Above these hung the terrific cliff of the Black42 Gang Chynhe, which to all appearance was in- accessible. But this was not the case, or the smugglers would not have resorted. there to disembark their cargo, At that time, for since that period much of the cliff has fallen down, and the aspect is much changed, the rocks rose up from the water, nearly perpendicularly, to the height of fifty or sixty feet. At that height there was a flat of about one hundred feet square in front of a cave of very great depth. The flat, so called in contradistinction to the perpendicular cliff, descended from the seaward to the cave, so that the latter was not to be seen either by vessels passing by, or by those who might be adventurous enough to peep over the ridge above, and fragments of rocks, dispersed here and there on this flat,.or platform, induced people to imagine that the upper cliff was a continuation of the lower. The lower cliff, on which this platform in front of the cave was situated, was on the eastern side as abrupt as on that fronting the sea to the southward; but on the western side, its height was decreased to about fifteen feet, which was surmounted bya ladder removed at pleasure, To this means of access to the cave there was a zigzag path, used only by the smugglers, leading from the small cove, and another much more tedious, by which they could transport their goods to the summit of this apparently: inaccessible mass. of rocks. The cave itself was large, and with several diverging galleries, most of which were dry ; but in oné.or two there was a continual fil- tering of clear, pure water through the lime- Stone rock, which was collected in pits dug for that purpose on the floor below ; these pits were always full of water, the excess being carried off by small open drains which trickled over the eastern side of the platform. Some attention to comfort had been paid by the inhabitants of these caverns, which were portioned off here and there by sail-cloth and boards, so as to form separate rooms and Store-houses. The cookery was carried on outside at the edge of the platform nearest the sea, under an immense fragment. of rock, which lay at the very edge; and by an inge- nious arrangement of smaller portions of the rock, neither the flame was to be distinguished nor was the smoke, which was divided and made to find its passage through a variety of fissures, never in such a volume as to be sup- posed to be anything more than the vapours drawn up by the heat of the sun, In this abode there were at least thirty people residing, and generally speaking, it might be called a convent, for it was tenanted by women. Their husbands, who brought over the cargoes, returned immediately in their boat to the opposite shore, for two Teasons ; one, that their boats could only Jand in particular seasons, and could never remain in the cove without risk of being dashed to LHE DOG FIEND; OR, pieces; and the other, that the absence of all men prevented suspicion; the whole of the interior smuggling being carried on by the other sex, who fearlessly showed themselves on every part of the island, and purchased their necessary supplies of provisions here and there, without exciting any misgivings as to the nature of their employment. A few isolated. cottages, not far from the beetling brow of the cliff above were their supposed abodes; but no one ever troubled them witha visit; and if they did, and found that they could gain no admittance, they imagined that the occupants had locked their doors for security, while they were busied with their labours in the field. Accustomed to. climb up. the tortuous path from the cave to the summit, the women would, on the darkest night, carry up their burdens and deposit them in the cottages above, until they had an opportunity of delivering their contraband articles. into the hands of their agents; and this traffic had been carried on for many years, without. the government or excise having. the slightest Suspicion by what means the smuggling was accomplished. As we before observed, the great articles in request, and which were now smuggled from France, were alamodes and lute-strings. The attention of government’ had been called to check the admission of these goods, but, hitherto, their attempts had not been attended with much success. : At the grey of the morning after the attemptto seize the smuggiers had been defeated by thein- strumentality of Snarleyyow, uponthe topofthe immense fragment of the rock which we have described as lying upon the Sea-edge of the platform was perched a fair, slight-made little girl, of about twelve years of age. She was simply clad in a short worsted petticoat and bodice of a dark colour; her head was bare, and her hair fluttered with the breeze; her small feet, notwithstanding the severity of the weather, were also naked, and her short petti- coat discovered her legs half way up to the knee. She stood there, within a few inches of the precipice below, carelessly surveying the waves as they dashed over the rocks, for she was waiting until the light would enable her to see further on the horizon. By those who might have leaned over the ridge above, as well as by those who sailed below, she might have been taken, had she been seen to move, for some sea bird reposing after a flight, so small was her frame in juxtaposition with the wildness and majesty. of nature which surrounded her on every side. Ac- customed from infancy to her mode of life, and this unusual domicile, her eye quailed not, nor did her heart beat quicker, as she looked down into the abyss below, or turned her eyes up to the beetling mass of rock which appeared, each moment, ready to fall down and overwhelm her, She passed herhand across her temples to throw back the hair which the wind had blown over her eyes, and again scanned the distance as the sun's light increased, and the fog gradually cleared away. ‘©A sharp look-out, Lilly, dear; you've the best eyes among us, and we must have a clue from whence last night’s surprise proceeded.” ‘‘T cansee nothing yet, mother; but the fog is driving back fast.”’ ‘«Tt's but a cheerless night your poor father had, to pull twice -across the channel, and find himself just where he was. God speed them, and may they be safe in port again by this time!” ‘‘T Say so too, mother, and amen.” “ D'ye see nothing, child?” ‘‘Nothing, dear mother; but it clears up fast to the eastward, and the sun is bursting out of the bank, and I think I see something under the sun.” ‘“Watch well, Lilly,”’ replied the woman, who was throwing more wood on the fire. ‘“T see-a vessel, mother. It is a sloop beat- ing to the eastward.” ‘A coaster, child?” ‘(No, mother) I think not. No, it is no coaster—it is that king’s vessel, I think, but the glare of the sun is too great. When he rises higher I shall‘make it out better.” “Which do you mean, the king's cutter on the station, the Yungfrau ?” ‘“‘VYes, mother,” replied Lilly, ‘‘it is. I'm sure itis the Yungfrau.” ‘©Then it is from her that the boats came last night. She must have received some in- formation. There must be treachery soine- where ; but we'll soon find that out.” It may appear singular that Lilly could speak so positively as to a vessel at a great distance; but it must be remembered that she had been brought up to it, nearly all her life. It was her profession, and she had lived wholly with seamen and seamen’s wives, which will account for her technical language being so correct. What Lilly said was true; it was the Yungfrau, which was beating up to regain her port, and having to stem a strong ebb tide during the night, had not made very great progress. “There are three other vessels in the offing,” said Lilly, looking round, ‘fa. ship and two brigs, both going down channel :’ and, as she said this, the little thing dropped lightly from rock to rock till she stood by her mother, and commenced rubbing her hands before the now blazing fire. “Nancy must go over to Portsmouth,” observed the mother, ‘‘and find out all about this. J hardly know whom to suspect; but let Nancy alone, she'll ferret out the truth— she has many gossips at the Point. Whoever informed against the landing must know of this cave,” SNARLEYVYOW. 43 But we must introduce the mother of Lilly to the reader. She was a tall, finely-featured woman, her arms beautifully moulded and bare. She was rather inclined to be stout, but her figure was magnificent. She was dressed in the same costume as her daughter, with the exception of a net worsted shawl of many colours over her shoulders. Her ap- pearance gaye you the idea that she was never intended for the situation which she was now in; but of that hereafter. As the reader may have observed, her language was correct, as was that of the child, and proved that she had not only been educated herself, but had paid attention to the bringing up of Lilly. The most perfect confidence appeared to subsist between the mother and daughter: the former treated her child as her equal, and confided everything to her; and Lilly was far advanced beyond her age in knowledge and reflection; her countenance beamed with in- telligence; perhaps a more beautiful and more promising creature never existed. A third party now appeared from the cave; although not in canonicals, his dress indicated his profession of a priest. He approached the mother and daughter with, ‘* Peace be with you, ladies.” ‘‘You forget, good father,’’ replied the elder.of the females, ‘‘my name is Alice— nothing more.”’ ‘‘T crave pardon for my forgetting who you were. Iwill be more mindful. Well, then, Alice—yet that familiar term sounds strangely, and my tongue will not accustom itself, even were I to remain here weeks, instead of but two days—I was about to say, that the affair of last night was most untoward. My presence is much wished for, and much required, at St. Germains. It was unfortunate, because it proves that we have traitors among us some- where; but of that, and of the whole affair, I will have cognisance in a few days.” “« And should you'discover the party?” ‘« His doom is. sealed.” ‘You are right.” ‘In so important and so righteous a cause, we must not stop at aught necessary to secure our purpose. But, tell me, think you that your husband will soon be here again? " " «T should think not to-night, but to-morrow or the next he will be off; and if we can show the signals of surety he will land, if the weather will permit.’ “’Tis indeed time that I were over. Some- thing might now be done.” “> would so too, father; it is a tedious time that I have spent here.”’ “And most unfitting for you, were it not that you laboured in a great cause ; but it must soon be decided, and then that fair lily shall be transplanted, like a wild flower from the rock, and be nurtured ina conservatory.” ‘Nay, for that the time is hardly come. Se cr oe eee ce SFE NET44 She is better here, as you see her, father, than in the chambers of a court. For her sake I would stillremain; but for my husband’s sake, and the perils he encounters, I wish that, one way or the other, it were decided.” “Had there been faith in that Italian, it had been so before now,” replied the priest, grinding his teeth, and turning away. But the conversation was closed at the appearance of some women who came out of the cave. ‘They were variously clothed, some coarsely, and others with greater pretensions to finery: they brought with them the imple- ments for cooking, and appeared surprised at the fire being already lighted. Among them was one about twenty-five years of age, and although more faded than she ought to have been at that early age, still with pre- tensions to almost extreme beauty. She was more gaily dressed than the others, and had a careless, easy air about her, which suited to her handsome slight figure. It was impossible to see her without being interested, and desiring to know who she was. This person was the Nancy mentioned by Alice in her conversation with Lilly. Her original name had been Nancy Dawson, but she had married one of the smugglers of the name of Corbett. Her original profession, previous to her marriage, we will not dwell upon ; suffice it to say, that she was the most celebrated person_of that class in Portsmouth, both for her talent and extreme beauty. Had she lived in the days of King Charles II., and had he seen her, she would have been more renowned than ever was Eleanor Gwynne; even as it was, she had been celebrated in a song, which has not been lost to posterity. Aftera few vears of dissipated life, Nancy reformed, and became an honest woman, and an honest wife. By her marriage with the smuggler, she had become one of the fraternity, and had taken up her abode in the cave, which she was not sorry to do, as she had become too famous at Portsmouth to remain there as a married woman. Still, she occasionally made her appearance, and to a certain degree kept up her old acquaintances, that she might discover what was going on—very necessary information for the smugglers. She would laugh and joke, and have her repartee as usual, but in other points she was truly re- formed. Her acquaintance was so general, and she was such a favourite, that she was of the greatest use to the band, and was always sent over to Portsmouth when her services were required. It was supposed there, for she had reported it, that she had retired to the Isle of Wight, and lived there with her husband, who was a pilot, and that she came Over to Portsmouth occasionally, to inquire after her old friends, and upon business. “Nancy Corbett, I must speak to you,” said Alice, ‘Come aside : I wish you, Nancy, to 4 THE DOG FIEND ; OR, go over immediately. Can you go up, do you think, without being perceived ?”’ ‘“Yes, Mistress Alice, provided there is no one to see me.” “The case is so important that we must run the risk.”’ ‘‘ We've run cargoes of more value than that.” ‘‘But still you must use discretion, Nancy.” ‘That's a commodity that I’ve not been very well provided with through life; but I have my wits in its stead.” ‘“Then you must use your wit, Nancy.” “It's like an old knife, well worn, but all the sharper.”’ Alice then entered into a detail of what she vould find out, and gave her instructions to Nancy. . The first point was to ascertain whether it was the cutter which had received the information; the second, who the informer was. Nancy, having received her orders, tied the string of her bonnet, caught up a handful of the victuals which was at the fire, and bidding the others a laughing good-bye, with her mouth full, and one hand also occupied, descended the ladder previously to mounting the cliff. ‘‘ Nancy,’’ said Lilly, who stood by the ladder, ‘ bring me some pens,” ‘“Yes;. dear -will you have them alive or dead?” ‘“ Nonsense, I mean some quills,” “So do I, Miss Lilly; but if you want them dead, I shall bring them in my pocket—if alive, I shall bring the goose under my arm.” ‘I only want the quills, Nancy,’’ replied Lilly, laughing. ‘‘And I think I shall want the feathers of them before I'm at the top,” replied Nancy, looking up at the majestic cliff above her. ‘“Good-bye, Miss Lilly.” Nancy Corbett again filled her handsome mouth with bread, and commenced her ascent. In less than a quarter of-an hour she had disappeared over the ridge, GHAPTER. X VIL Ln which there is a great deal of plotting and a little execution, WE will follow Nancy Corbett for the present, Nancy gained the sammit of the cliff, and, panting for breath, looked round to ascertain if there was any one in sight, but the coast was clear: she waiteda minute to recover her- self a little, and then set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the hamlet of Ryde, which then consisted of a few fishermen’s huts. It was an hour and a half before she gained this place, from whence she took a boat, and was safely landed at the Point. ‘The fisher- man who brought her over was an old acquaintance of Nancy's, and knew that hewould have to remain to take her back, but he was well paid for his trouble, and it was a lucky day for him when Nancy required his services. The Yungfrau had rounded St. Helen's, and wasstanding into Spithead, when Nancy landed, and the first door at which she knocked was at the lodgings of Moggy Salis- bury, with whom she was well acquainted, and from whom she expected to be able to gain information. On inquiry, she found that Moggy had not come on shore from the cutter, which had sailed during the night very unexpectedly. This information pleased Nancy, as Moggy would in all probability be able to give her important information, and she took up her quarters in Moggy’s apartments, anxiously awaiting her arrival, for Nancy was not at all desirous to be seen. In due time the cutter was again anchored in the harbour, and the first order of Mr. Vanslyperken’s was, that Moggy Salisbury should be sent on shore, which order was complied with, and she left the vessel, vowing vengeance upon the lieu- tenant and his dog. The informer also hastened into a boat, and pulled on shore on the Gosport side, with a very significant fare- well look at Mr.. Vanslyperken. Moggy landed, and hastened, full of wrath, to her own lodgings, where she found Nancy Corbett waiting for her. At first she was too full of her own injuries and the attempt to flog her dear, darling Jemmy, to allow Nancy to put in a word. Nancy perceived this, and allowed her to run herself down like a clock; and then proposed that they should send for some purl and have a cosey. chat, to which Moggy agreed; and as soon as they were fairly settled, and Moggy had again delivered herself of her grievances, Nancy put the requisite questions, and discovered what the reader is already acquainted with. She requested and obtained a full description of the informer, and his person was too remarkable for Nancy not to recognise immediately who it was. “The villain !’” eried she ;. ‘‘ why if there was any man in whom we thought we could trust, it was—him ;”’ for Nancy had, in her indignation, nearly pronounced his name. “Nancy,” said Moggy, ‘‘you have to do with the smugglers, I know, for your husband is one of them, if report saystrue. Now, I've been thinking, that the cutter is no place for my Jemmy, and that with this peak-nosed villain he will always be introuble. Tellme, will they let him in, if he volunteers ex ‘T can’t exactly say, Moggy ; but this I can tell you, that you may be very useful to them in giving us information, which you may gain through your husband.” ‘Ay, aud not only through my husband, put from every body on board the cutter. I’m yours, Nancy—and here's my hand on it—- you'll sce what I can do... The wagabond, to SS 2 ™ SNARLEYYOW., 45 attempt to flog my own dear, darling duck— my ownJemmy. Only tellme what you want to know, andifI don’t ferret it out, my name's not Moggy. But hear me, Nancy; I join you now hand and heart, though I gain nothing by it: and when you choose to have him, I’ll bring you my little duck of a husband, and he will be worth his weight in gold, though I say it that shouldn't say it.”’ ‘“Thanky, Moggy; but you shall not work for nothing ;”’ and Nancy laida gold Jacobus onthetable. ‘‘ This for your present informa- tion. Besecret and cautious, and no gossip- ping, and you'll find that you shall have all you wish, and be no loser in the bargain. And now, good night—I must be away. You shall see me soon, Moggy; and remember what I have told you.” Moggy was astonished at the sight of the gold Jacobus, which she took up and examined as Nancy departed. ‘‘ Well,” thought she, ‘‘but this smuggling must be a pretty consarn ; and as sure as gold is gold, my Jemmy shall be a smuggler.” Nancy turned down the street, and passed rapidly on, until she was clear of the fortifica- tions, in the direction of South Sea Beach. A few scattered cottages were at that time built upon the spot. It was quite dark as she passed the lines, and held her way over the shingle. A man was standing alone, whose figure she recognised. It was the very person that she wished to find. Nancy watched him for awhile, and observed him pull out a paper, tear it in‘two, and throw it down with gesti- culations of anger and indignation, Shethen approached. ‘‘ What's o'clock?” said Nancy. “Do you want the right time?” replied the man. “Toa minute,” replied Nancy, who, find- ing that the password was given correctly, now stopped, and faced the other party. as that you, Cornbury?”’ “Yes, Nancy,” replied the man, who was the same person who went on board of the cutter to give the information. ‘‘T have been seeking you,’ replied Nancy. “There has been some information laid, and the boats were nearly surprised. Alice desires that you will find out whatboats en- tered the cove, whom they belonged to, and, if possible, how they obtained the informa- ~ ” tion. ‘‘Roats nearly surprised !—you don’t say so,” replied Cornbury, with affected astonish- ment. ‘‘This must indeed be locked to. Have you no idea 9 “None,” replied Nancy. “ There was no vessel to be seen the next morning—the fog was too thick. Haye you seen Wahop? ” “No; I thought he was on the Isle.” “‘ He ought to have been, but has not come; I have been at the oak-tree for three mights -46 running. It’s very strange, Do you think that he can have played false ?” “‘T never much liked the man,”’ Cornbury. ““Nor I either,” replied Nancy; “but I must go now, for I must be back at the crags before daylight.’ Find out what youcan, and let us know as soon as possible. I shall be Over again as soon as the cargo is run; if you find out anything, you had better come to- morrow night.” “*T will,” replied Cornbury; and the parties separated. ‘Traitor !”’ muttered Nancy, when. she was once more alone. ‘‘Ifhe comes, it shall be to his death; ”” and Nancy stooped down, picked up the pieces of paper which Cornbury had torn up, and put them in the basket she carried on her arm. It will be observed, that Nancy had. pur- posely thrown out hints against Wahop, to induce Cornbury to believe that he was not Suspected. Her assertion that Wahop was not on the island was false. He had been three days at Ryde, according to the arrange- ment. The bait took. Cornbury, perceiving that ‘the suspicion was against Wahop, thought that he could not do better than to boldly make his appearance at the cave, which would remove any doubts as to his own fidelity. Nancy hastened’ down to the Point, and re- turned that night to Ryde, from whence she walked over to the cave, and was there before daylight. Shé communicated to Alice the intelligence which she had received from Moggy Salisbury, and the arrangements she had proposed to her, by which the motions of the cutter could be known. “‘Ts that woman to be trusted, think Hy Nancy ?”” inquired Alice. ““Yes, I believe sincerely she may be. TI have known her long; and’ she wishes her husband to join us.” “We must reflect upon it. She may be most useful. What is the character of the officer who commands the vessel?” | “A miser and a coward. He is well known —neither honour nor conscience in hin.” : ‘“The first is well, as we may act upon it, i ers him doubtful. You replied you, but the second rend iit are tired, Nancy, and had better lie downa little.” Nancy Corbett delivered the pens to Lilly, and then took the advice of her superior. : / The day was remarkably fine, and the water ai) smooth, so that the boats were expected that : night. At dusk two small lights, at even bali distances, were suspended from the cliff, to i ) point out to the boats that the coast was free, ie! and that they might land. Alice, however took the precaution to have a watcl beath, in case of any second surpri attempted; ‘but of this there was 1 on the se being hittle fear, ready to assist. must soon be out of sight, Innis here ? lads, Ramsay led to tl ceding, He-'was. met by Alice, embraced “him; but he appearec releas€ himself from her endearments, that he might at once enter upon matters to him of LHE DOG FIEND; OR, as she knew from Nancy that all the cutter’s boats were on board harbour. ‘Lilly, who when she entered the thought it a delight to be one moment sooner in her father's arms, had taken the watch on the beach, and there the little girl remained perched upon at the foot of which tl 2 a rock, 1€ Waves now only sul- lenly washed, for the night’ was beautifully calm and clear. To a passer on the ocean she might have been mistaken for a mermaid who had the world above. left her watery bower to look upon What were the thoughts of the little maiden as She remained there fixed asastatue? Did she revert to the period at which her infant memory could retrace silken hangings and marble halls, visions of splendour, dreamings of courtly state, or was she thinking of her father, as her quick ear caught the least swell of the increasing breeze? eye was fixed as if a Was she, as her ttempting to pierce the depths of the ocean, wondering at what might be its hidden secréts, or as they were turned towards the heavens, bespangled with ten thousand ‘stars, was she meditating on the God who placed them there?’ Who can say? but that that intellectual’ face bespoke the mind at work is certain, and from one so pure and lovely could emanate nothing but what was innocent and good. But a distant sound falls on her ear; she listens, and by its measured cadence knows that it is the rowers in a boat: nearer it comes and more distinct, and now her ‘keen eve detects the black mass approaching in the gloom of night. ready to fly up to’ the She starts from the rock cave to give notice of an enemy, or, if their anticipated friends; to fly into the arms of her is Over, she perceives tl lands strains her to his father. But her alarm dat it is the lugger, the boat dashes into the cove, and the first who bosom. “My dearest Lilly, is all well?” “Yes, all is well, father ; comes” but you are well “Run up, dearest, and’ let the women be We have that here which Is the Father “Since Thursday last. ” “Tis well, dear * and beach the you may go. Quick, my cargo: -—see tO “it: ; 1 must at’ once unto the cave.” Having given these directions, the father of Lilly commenced his ascent over the and steep rocks which led u anxious to obtain what information could be imparted relative to the treachery which had leir Harrow escape two nights pre- rough p to the cavern, who cordially anxious to i seinmore serious importance. ‘Where is the Father Innis, my dear?" said he, disengaging himself from her arms. ‘He sleeps, Robert, or, at least, he did just now, but probably he will rise now that you are come. Put in the meantime, I have dis- covered who the traitor is.” ““ By all the saints, he shall not escape my vengéance !'” Alice then entered into the particulars re- lated by Nancy Corbett, and already known to the reader. She had just concluded when Father Innis made his appearance from the cave. ‘“ Welcome, thrice welcome, holy father.” Welcome, too, my son. Say, do we start to-night?” “‘Not till to-morrow night,” replied the husband of Alice, who having ascertained that, in all probability, Cornbury would come that night, determined, at all risks, to get possession of him; ‘‘we could well be over before daylight, and with your precious per- son I must not risk too much. You are anxiously expected.” ‘“And I have important news,” replied the priest; ‘‘but I will not detain you now; I perceive that your presence is wanted by your men. During this colloquy the women had de- scended the ladder, and had been assisting the men to carry up the various packages of which the boat's cargo consisted, and they now awaited directions as to the stowing away. ‘“Ramsay,” said the leader, ‘‘we do not return to-night: take the men, and contrive to lift the boat up on the rocks, so that she may not be injured.” An hour elapsed before this was effected, and then the leader, as well as the rest of the smugglers, retired to the cave to refresh them- selves with sleep after their night of fatigue. As usual, one woman kept watch, and that woman was Nancy Corbett. The ladder had been hauled up, and she was walking up and down, with her arms under a shawl, to a sort of stamping trot, for the weather was frosty, when she heard a low whistle at the west side of the flat. ‘*Oh, oh! have I lured you, you traitorous villain ?” muttered Nancy; ‘‘you come in good time;’’ and Nancy walked to the spot where the ladder was usually lowered down, and looked over. Although the moon had risen, it was too dark on that side of the platform to distinguish more than that there was a human form, who repeated the whistle. ‘What's o'clock?” said Nancy, in a low tone, ‘Do you want the right time toa minute?” replied a voice, which was recognised as Corn- bury’s. Nancy lowered down the ladder, and Cornbury ascended the platform. SNARLEYYVOW. 47 ‘Tam glad youarecome, Cornbury. Have you heard anything of Wahop?”’ ‘“No one has seen or heard of him,” re- plied the man, ‘but I have found out what boats they were, Did the lugger come over to-night ?” ‘Yes,’ replied Nancy, ‘ but I must goin and let Mistress Alice know that you arehere.”” Nancy’s abrupt departure was to prevent Cornbury from asking if the boat had re- mained, or returned to the French coast; for she thought it not impossible that the unusual circumstance of the boat remaining might induce him to suppose that his treachery had been discovered, and to make his immediate escape, which he, of course, could have done, and given full information of the cave, and the parties who frequented it. Nancy soon reappeared, and familiarly taking the arm of Cornbury, led him -to the eastern side of the platform, asking him many questions. As soon as he was there, the leader of the gang, followed by half-a-dozen of his men, rushed out and secured him. ‘Cornbury now felt assured that all was discovered, and that his life-was forfeited.. ‘* Bind him fast,” said the leader, “‘and keep watch over him; his case shall soon be disposed of, Nancy, you will call me at daylight.” When Cornbury had been secured, the men returned into the cave, leaving: one: with a loaded pistol 'to guard him. . Nancy: still re- mained on the watch. ‘“Nancy Corbett,’”’ said Cernbury, ‘‘ why am I treated thus?” ‘! Why?” replied Naricy, with scorn; '' ask yourself why. Do you think that I did not know when I sought you at the beach that you had sailed-in the cutter, had brought ‘the boats here, and that if it had not been for the lieutenant taking his dog in the boat, and its barking, you would have delivered us all into the hands of ‘the Philistines?:—-wretched traitor.” ‘*D—n !” muttered Cornbury; ‘‘ then it is to you, you devil, that I am indebted for being entrapped this way.” ‘*Yes, to me,” replied Nancy, with scorn. ‘‘ And, depend upon it, you will have your deserts before the sun is one hour-in the heavens.” ‘* Mistress Nancy, I must beg you to: walk your watch like a lady, and not to be corre- sponding with my prisoner any how, whether you talk raison or traison, as may happen to suit your convanience,” observed the man who was guard over Cornbury. ‘“Be aisy, my jewel,” replied Nancy, mimicking the Irishman, ‘‘and I'll be as silent as a magpie, any how. And, Mr. Fitzpatrick, you'll just be plased to keep your two'eyes upon your prisoner, and not be staring at mie, following me up and down, as you do, swith those twinklers of yours,’’ Ri aap, ama rae oc ammt AEST III tee te aint48 THE DOG FIEND; OR, ‘A cat may look ata king, Mistress Nancy, and no harm done either.”’ “Vou forget, Mr. Fitzpatrick,’’ replied Nancy, ‘‘that Iam now a modest woman.” ‘‘ More’s the pity, Mistress Nancy: I wish you'd forget it too, and I dying of love for you.” Nancy walked away to the end of the platform to avoid further conversation. The day was now dawning, and as, by degrees, the light was thrown upon the face of Cornbury, it was strange to witness how his agitation and his fear had changed all the ruby car- buncles on his face toa deadly white. He called to Nancy Corbett in an humble tone once or twice as she passed by in her walk, but received no reply further than a look of scorn. As soon as it was broad daylight, Nancy went into the cave to call up the leader. In a few minutes he appeared, with the rest of the smugglers. ‘Philip Cornbury,” said he, with a stern and unrelenting countenance, “you would have betrayed us for the sake of money.” ‘Tt is false,’’ replied Cornbury. “False, is it? you shall have a fair trial. Nancy Corbett, give your evidence before us all.” Nancy recapitulated all that had passed. “Tsay again, that it is false,”’ replied Cornbury. ‘‘ Where is the woman whom she states to have told her this? This is nothing more than assertion, and I say again it is false. Am I to becondemned without proofs ? Is my life to be sacrificed to the animosity of this woman, who wishes to get rid of me, because A ‘Because what ?”’ interrupted Nancy. ‘‘Because I was too well acquainted with you before your marriage, and can tell too much.” ‘* Now, curses on you, for a liar as well as a traitor!” exclaimed Nancy. ‘‘ What I was before I was married is well known; but it is well known, also, that I pleased my fancy, and could always choose. I must, indeed, have had asorry taste to be intimate with a blotched wretch like you. Sir,’ continued Nancy, turning to the leader, ‘‘it is false; and what- ever may be said against me on other points, Nancy Dawson, or Nancy Corbett, was never yet so vile as to assert a lie. .I put it to you, sir, and to all of you, isnot my word sufficient in this case?”’ The smugglers nodded their heads in assent. ‘‘And now that is admitted, I will prove his villanv and falsehood. Philip Cornbury, do you know this paper?” cried Nancy, taking out of her bosom the agreement signed by Vanslyperken, which she bad picked up on the night when Cornbury had torn it up and thrown it away. ‘‘Do you know this a paper, I ask you? Read it, sir,” continued Nancy, handing it over to the leader of the smugglers. The paper was read, and the inflexible countenance of the leader turned towards Cornbury—who saw his doom. ‘‘Go in, Nancy Corbett, and let no woman appear till all is over.” “Tiar!” said Nancy, spitting on the ground as she passed by Cornbury. ‘‘ Bind his eyes, and lead him to the western edge,’ said the leader. ‘Philip Cornbury, you have but a few minutes to live. In mercy, you may see the holy father, if you wish it.” ‘‘T’m nod d papist,” replied Cornbury, in a sulky tone. ‘‘Tead him on then.” Cornbury was led to the western edge of the flat, where the cliff was most high and precipitous, and then made to kneel down. ‘« Fitzpatrick,’ said the leader, pointing to the condemned. Fitzpatrick walked up to the kneeling man with his loaded pistol, and then the others, who had led Cornbury to the edge of the cliff, retired. Fitzpatrick cocked the lock, ‘‘ Would you like to say, ‘God have mercy on my treacherous sinful sowl,’ or anything short and sweet like that?” said Fitzpatrick; ‘(if so, I'll wait a couple of seconds. more for your convanience, Philip Cornbury.” Cornbury made no reply. Fitzpatrick put the pistol to his ear, the ball whizzed through his brain, the body half raised itself from: its knees with a strong muscular action, and then toppled over, and disappeared down. the side of the precipice. ‘“Tt’s to be hoped that the next time you lave this world, Master Cornbury, it will be in a purliter sort of manner. A civil question demands a civil answer, anyhow,” said Fitz- patrick, coolly rejoining the other men, CHAPTER AVIEE The whole of which has been fudged out of the his- tory of England, and will therefore be quite new to the majority of our readers. WERE we in want of materials for this event- ful history, we have now.a good opportunity for spinning out our volumes ; but so far from this being the case, we hardly know how to find space for what it is now absolutely necessary that the reader should be ‘ac- quainted with. Our friends may probably recollect; when we remind them of the fact, that there was a certain king, James II., who sat upon our throne, and who was a \very good Catholic—that he married his daughter, Mary, to one William of Orange, who, in return for James's kindness in giving him hisdaughter, took away from him his kingdom, on the plea, that if he was a bad son-in-law, at all events, he was a sound Protestant. ‘They may also recollect, that the exiled king was received most hospitably by the grand monarque, Louis XIV.,who gave him palaces, money, and all that he required, and, more- over, gave him a fine army and fleet to go to Ireland and recover his kingdom, bidding him farewell with this equivocal sentence, ‘' That the best thing he, Louis, could wish to him was, never to see his face again.”’ ‘They may further recollect, that King James and King William met at the battle of the Boyne, in which the former was defeated, and then went back to St. Germains, and spent the rest of his life in acts of devotion, and plotting against the life of King William. Now, among other plots real and pretended, there was one laid, in 1695, to assassinate King William on his way to Richmond. This plot was revealed, many of the conspirators were tried and executed, but the person who was at the head of it, a Scotchman, of the name of Sir George Barclay, escaped. In the year 1696, a bill was passed, by which Sir George Barclay, and nine others who had escaped from justice, were attainted of high treason, if they did not choose to surrender themselves on or before the 25th day of March ensuing. Strange to say, these parties did not think it advisable to surrender themselves; perhaps it was because they knew that they were certain to be hung; but it is impossible to account for the actions of men: we can only lay the facts before our readers. Sir George Barclay was by birth a Scotch- man, of high family, and well connected. He had been an officer in the army of King James, to whom he was strongly attached. Moreover, he was a very bigoted Catholic. Whether he ever received a commission from King James, authorising him to assassinate King William, has never been proved; but, as King James is well known to have been admitted into the order of the Jesuits, it is not at all unlikely. Certain it is, that the baronet went over to St. Germains, landed again in England, and would have made the attempt, had not the plot been discovered through some of the inferior accomplices ; and it is equally sure that he escaped, although many others were hung: and few people knew what had become of him. The fact was, that when Barclay had fled to the sea-side, he was assisted over the water by a band of smug- glers, who first concealed him in the cave we have described, which was their retreat. This led to a communication and arrange- ment with them. Sir George Barclay, who, although foiled in his attempt at assassination, never abandoned the cause, immediately per- ceived what advantages might be derived in keeping up a communication by means of SVARLEVYOW. 4¢ these outlaws. For some time the smugglers were employed in carrying secret despatches to the friends of James in England and Scot- land; and, as the importance of the corre- spondence increased, and it became necessary to have personal interviews instead of written communications, Sir George frequently passed over to the cave as a rendezvous, at which he might meet the adherents of the exiled king. In the course of time he saw the prudence of having the entire control of the -band, and found little difficulty in being appointed their leader. From the means he obtained from St. Germains, the smuggling was now carried on to a great and very profitable extent; and, by the regulations which he enacted, the chance of discovery was diminished. Only one point more was requisite for safety and secresy, which was, a person to whom he could confide the charge of the cave. Lady Barclay, who was equally warm in the cause, offered her services, and they were accepted; and at the latter end of the year 1696, about one year after the plot had failed, Lady Bar- clay, with her only child, took up her abode in this isolated domicile: Sir George then first making the arrangements that the men should always remain on the other side of the water, which would be an additional cause of security. For upwards of four years, Lady Barclay had remained an inmate, attending to the instruction of her little Lilly, and carrying on all the correspondence, and mak- ing all the necessary arrangements with vigour and address, satisfied with serving the good cause, and proving her devoted allegiance to her sovereign. Unfortunate and unwise as were the Stuart family,.there must have been some charm about them, for they had in- stances of attachment and fidelity shown to them, of which no other line of kings could boast. Shortly after the tragical event recorded in the last chapter, the Jesuit came out of the cave and went up to Sir George, who coolly observed, ‘‘ We have just been sending a traitor to his account, good father.” ‘“So may theyall perish,” replied the priest, ‘We start this evening ?”’ ‘Certainly, What news have you for St. Germains?”’ “Much that is important. Discontent prevails throughout the country, The affair of Bishop Watson hath brought much odium on the usurper. He himself writhes under the tyrannical commands of the Commons, and is at issue with them.” ‘And in Scotland, father?” “ All is there ripe and ready—and an army once landed, would be joined by thousands. The injustice of the usurper in wishing to sacrifice the Scotch Settlement, has worked deep upon the minds of those who advanced their money upon that speculation; 1n the D| a 76 THE DOG FIEND; OR, pistol at the lad’s head, and fired. Small- bones uttered a yell, fell down on his face, and then rolled on his back without life or motion. Vanslyperken looked at him for one second, then turned back, and fled with the wings of the wind. Conscience now appeared to pursue him, and he ran on until he wasso exhausted, that he fell: the pistol was still in his hand ; and as he put out his arm mechanically to save himself, the lock of the pistol came in violent contact with his temple. After a time he rose again, faint and bleed- ing, and continued his course at a more moderate pace; but as the wind blew and whistled among the boughs of the trees, he thought every moment that he beheld the form of the murdered lad. He quickened his pace, arrived at last within the fortifica- tions, and putting the pistol in his coat- pocket, he somewhat recovered himself. He bound his silk handkerchief round his head, and proceeded to the boat, which he had ordered to wait till Smallbones’ return. He had then a part to act, and told the men that he had been assailed by robbers; and ordered them to pull on board immediately. As soon as he came on board he desired the men to assist him down into his cabin, and then he ent for Corporal Van Spitter to dress his wounds. He communicated to the corporal, that as he was going out in the country as he had proposed, he had been attacked by robbers, that he had been severely wounded, and had, he thought, killed one of them, as the others ran away; what had become of Smallbones he knew not, but hehad heard him crying out in the hands of the robbers. The corporal, who had felt certain that.the pistol had been intended for Smallbones, hardly knew what to make of the matter; the wound of Mr. Vanslyperken was-severe, and it was hardly to be supposed that it had been self-inflicted. The corporal therefore held his tongue, heard all that Mr. Vanslyperken had to say, and was very considerably puzzled. ‘“It was a fortunate thing that I thought of taking a pistol with me, corporal; I might have been murdered outright. ' ‘Yes, mynheer,’’ replied the corporal ; and binding the handkerchief round Vanslyper- ken’s head, he then assisted him into bed. ‘“Mein Gott! I make no head or tail of de business,’ said the corporal, as he walked forward ; ‘‘but I must know de truth soon; Inot go to bed for two or three hours, and den I hear others.” It is needless to say that Mr. Vanslyperken passed a resiless night, not only from the pain of his wound, but from the torments of con- science; for it is but by degrees that the greatest villain can drive away its stings, and then it is but fora short time, and when it does force itself back upon him, it is with re-_ the pistol were doubled power. His occasional slumbers were broken by fitful starts, in which he again and again heard the yell of the poor lad, and saw the corpse rolling at his feet. It was about an hour before daylight that Mr. Vanslyperken again woke and found that the light had burnt out. He could not remain in the dark, it was too dreadful; he raised himself, and pulled the bell over his head. Some one entered. ‘‘ Bring a light immediately,” cried Vanslyperken. In a minute or two the gleams of a light were seen burning at a distance by the lieutenant. He watched its progress aft, and its entrance, and he felt relieved; but he had now a devouring thirst upon him, and his lips were glued together, and he turned over on his bed to ask the corporal, whom he supposed it was, for water. He fixed his eyes upon the party with the candle, and by the feeble light of the dip, he beheld the pale, haggard face of Smallbones, who stared at him, but uttered not a word. “Mercy, O God! mercy!" exclaimed Vanslyperken, falling back, and covering his face with the bedclothes. Smallbones did not reply; he blew out the candle, and quitted the cabin. CHAPTER XXVII. In which Mr. Vanslyperken is taught a@ secret. WE are anxious to proceed with our narrative, but we must first explain the unexpected appearance of Smallbones. When Corporal Van Spitter was requested by Vanslyperken to bring a pistol and cartridge, the corporal, who had not.forgotten the hints thrown out by Vanslyperken during their last consulta- tion, immediately imagined that it was for Smallbones’ benefit. And he was strengthened in bis opinion, when he earnt that Small- bones was to go on snore with his master after it was dusk. Now, Corporal Van Spitter had no notion of the poor lad's brains being blown out; and when Mr. Vanslyperken went on deck and left the pistol, he went into the cabin, searched for it, and drew the bullet, which Vanslyperken, of course, was not aware of. It then occurred to the corporal, that if aimed at Smallbones, and he was uninjured, it would greatly add to the idea, already half entertained by the super- stitious lieutenant, of there being some- thing supernatural about Smallbones, if he were left to suppose that he had been killed, and hadreappeared. He, therefore, commu- nicated his suspicions to the lad, told him what he had done, and advised him, if the pistol were fired, to pretend to be killed, and, when left by his master, to come on board quietly in the night. Smallbones, who per- ceived the drift of all this, promised to act accordingly, and in the last chapter it will be SNARLEVYOW,. 77 observed how he contrived to deceive his master. As soon as the lieutenant was out of hearing, Smallbones rose, and leaving the bag where it lay, hastened back to Portsmouth, and came on board about two hours before Vanslyperken rang his bell. He narrated what had passed, but, of course, could not exactly swear that it was Vanslyperken who fired the pistol, as it was fired from behind, but even if he could have so sworn, at that time he would have obtained but little re- dress. It was considered much more advisable that Smallbones should pretend to believe that he had been attacked by robbers, and that the ball had missed him, after he had frightened his master by his unexpected appearance, for Vanslyperken would still be of opinion that the lad possessed a charmed life: The state of Mr. Vanslyperken during the remainder of that night was pitiable, but we must leave the reader to suppose rather than attempt to describe it. In the morning the corporal came in, and after asking after his superior’s health, in- formed him that Smallbones had come on board; that the lad said that the robbers had fired a pistol at him, and then knocked him down with the butt end of it, and that he had escaped, but with the loss of the bag. This was a great relief to the mind of Mr. Vanslyperken, who had imagined that he had been visited by the ghost of Smallbones during the night: he expressed himself glad at his return, and a wish to be left alone, upon which the corporal retired. As soon as Van- slyperken found out that Smallbones was still alive, his desire to kill him returned; although when he supposed him dead, he would, to escape from his own feelings, have resusci- tated him. One chief idea now whirled in his brain, which was that the lad must have a charmed life; he had floated out to the Nab buoy and back again, and now he had had a pistol-bullet passed through his scull without injury. He felt too much fear to attempt anything against him for the future, but his desire to do so was stronger than ever. Excitement and vexation brought on a slow fever, and Mr. Vanslyperken lay for three or four days in bed; at the end of which period he received a message from the admiral, directing him to come or send on shore (for his state had been made known) for his de- spatches, and to sail as soon as possible. Upon receiving the message, Mr, Van- slyperken recollected his engagement at the house of the Jew Lazarus, and weak as he was, felt too much afraid of the results, should he fail, not to get out of bed and go on shore. It was with difficulty he could walk so far, When he arrived he found Ramsay ready to receive him."8 THE DOG ‘“'To sail as soon as possible :—’tis well, sir. Have you your despatches ?”’ “‘T sent to the admiral’s for them,” replied Vanslyperken. “Well then, be all ready to start at midnight. I shall come on board a quarter of an hour before ; you may go, sir.” Vanslyperken quailed under the keen eye and stern look of Ramsay, and obeyed the uncourteous order in silence ; still he thought of revenge as he walked back to the boat and re-embarked in the cutter. ‘‘What's this, Short?” observed Coble. ““Here is a new freak; we start at midnight, i ‘Hears’ “*¥es, ° replied Short: *“‘Something quite new, anyhow :—don’t understand it, do you?” ‘No,’ replied Dick. ** Well, now Jemmy’s gone, I don’t care how soon I follow, Dick.” ©’ Nor I; replied‘Short. ‘‘T've a notion there's some mystery in all this. For,’ continued Coble, ‘‘the admiral would never have ordered us out till to-morrow morning, if he did not make us sail this evening. It’s not a man-of-war fashion, is it Dick?” ‘* No,” replied Short. ‘* Well, we shall see,’”’ replied Coble. ‘I shall turn in now. You've heard all about Smallbones, heh! Dick ?”’ short nodded his head. ‘Well, we shall see: but I’ll back the boy ‘gainst master and dog too, in the long tun. D—n his Dutch carcass—he seems to make but small count of English subjects, heh!” Short leant over the gunwale and whistled. Coble, finding it impossible to extract one monosyllable more from him, walked foward, and went down below. A little before twelve o'clock a boat came alongside, and Ramsay stepped out of it into the cutter. Vanslyperken had been walking the deck to receive him, and immediately showed him down into the cabin, where he left him to g@ on deck and get the cutter under way. There was a small stove in the cabin, for the weather was still cold: they were advanced into the month of March. Ramsay threw off his coat, laid two pair of loaded pistols on the table, locked the door of the cabin, and then proceeded to warm him- self, while Vanslyperken was employed on deck. In an hour the cutter was outside and clear of all danger, and Vanslyperken had to knock to gain admittance into his own cabin. Ram- say opened the door, and Vanslyperken, who thought he must say something, observed gloomily, ‘*We are all cléar, sir,” ‘Very good,” replied Ramsay ; ‘and now, FIEND; OR, sir, I believe that you have despatches on board? ” ‘Yes,” replied Vanslyperken. ‘“You will oblige me by letting me look at them.”’ ‘‘ My despatches!” said Vanslyperken, with surprise. ‘Yes, sir, your despatches ; immediately, if you please—no trifling.” ‘““You forget, sir,” replied Vanslyperken angrily, ‘‘that I am not any longer in your power, but on board of my own vessel.” ‘You appear not to know, sir, that you are in my power even on board of your own vessel,”’ replied Ramsay, starting up, and laying his hand over the pistols, which he drew towards him, and replaced in his. belt. ‘“‘If you trust to your ship’s company you are mistaken, as you will soon discover. I de- mand the despatches. ”’ ‘But, sir, you will ruin me and ruin your- self,’ replied Vanslyperken, alarmed. ‘Fear not,” replied Ramsay; ‘‘for my own sake, and that of the good cause, I shall not hurt you. No one will know that the despatches have been ever examined and H ‘And what?’ replied Vanslyperken, gloomily. “‘ For the passage, and this service, you will receive one hundred guineas,” Vanslyperken no longer hesitated: he opened the drawer in which he had deposited the letters, and produced them. ‘* Now lock the door,” said Ramsay, taking his seat. He then examined the seals, pulled some out of his pocket, and compared them ; sorted the letters according to the seals, and laid one corresponding at the heading of each file, for there were three different Government seals upon the despatches. He then took a long Dutch earthen pipe, which was hanging above, broke off the bowl, and put one end of the stem into the fire. When it was of a red heat he took it out, and applying his lips to the cool end, and the hot one close to the sealing- wax, he blew through it, and the heated blast soon dissolved the wax, and the despatches were opened one after another, without the slightest difficulty or injury to the paper. He then commenced reading, taking memoran- dums on his tablets as he proceeded. When he had finished, he again heated the pipe, melted the wax, which had become cold and hard again, and resealed all the letters with his counterfeit seals. During this occupation, which lasted up- wards of an hour, Vanslyperken looked on with surprise, leaning against the bulkhead of the cabin. ‘“There, sir, are your despatches,” - said Ramsay, rising from his chair: ‘““you may now put them away ; and, as you may observe, you are not compromised,”‘*No, indeed,” replied Vanslyperken, who was struck with the ingenuity of the method; ‘‘but you have given me an idea.” ‘JT will teil you what that is,” replied Ramsay. ‘‘ You are thinking, if I left you these false seals, you could give me the con- tents of the despatches, provided you were well paid. Is it not so?” “It was,” replied Vanslyperken, who had immediately been struck with such a new source of wealth ; for he cared little what he did—all he cared for was discovery. “‘Had you not proposed it yourself, I intended that you should have done it, sir,” replied Ramsay ; ‘‘and that you should also be paid for it. I will arrange all that before I leave the vessel. But now I shall retire to my bed. Have you one ready.” ‘‘T have none but what you see,’ repliec Vanslyperken. ‘‘ It is my own, but at your service,” ‘“‘T shall accept it,’’ replied Ramsay, put- ting his pistois under his pillow, after having thrown himself on the outside of the bed- clothes, pulling his roquelaure over him. ‘“And now you will oblige me by turning that cur out of the cabin, for his smell is any- thing but pleasant.” Vanslyperken had no idea of his passenger so coolly taking possession of his bed, but to turn out Snarleyyow as well as» himself appeared an unwarrantable liberty. But he felt that he had but to submit, for Ramsay was despotic, and he was afraid of him. After much resistance, Snarleyyow was kicked out by his master, who then went on deck not in the very best of humours, at find- ing that he had so completely sold himself to those who might betray and hang him the very next day. ‘‘ At all events,” thought Vansly- perken, ‘‘ I’m well paid for it.” It was now daylight, and the cutter was run- ning witha favourable breeze ; the hands were turned up, and Corporal Van Spitter came on deck. Vanslyperken, who had been running over in his mind all the events which had latterly taken place, had considered that, as he had lost the Portsmouth widow, he might as well pursue his suit with the widow Vandersloosh, especially as she had sent such a conciliating message by the corporal; and perceiving the corporal on deck, he beckoned to him to approach. Vanslyperken then observed that he was angry the other day, and that the corporal need not give that message to the Frau Vandersloosh, as he intended to call upon her himself upon his arrival. Van Spitter, who did not know any- thing about the Portsmouth widow, and could not imagine why the angry message had been given, of course assented, although he was fully determined that the widow should be in- formed of the insult. The question was now, how to be able to go on shore himself ; and SNARLE VVOW. 79 to compass that without suspicion he remarked that the maid Babette was a very fine maid, and he should like to see her again. This little piece of confidence was not thrown away. Vanslyperken was too anxious to secure the corporal, and he replied that the corporal should go ashore and see her, if he pleased ; upon which Corporal Van Spitter made his best military salute, turned round on his heel, and walked away, laughing in his sleeve at having so easily gulled his superior. On the third morning the cutter had arrived at her destined port. During the passage Ramsay had taken possession of the cabin, ordering everything as he pleased, much to the surprise of the crew. Mr, Vanslyperken spoke of him as a_ king’s messenger: but still Smallbones, who took care to hear what was going on, reported the abject submission shown to Ramsay by the lieutenant, and this was the occasion of great marvel ; moreover, they doubted his being a king’s messenger, for, as Smallbones very shrewdly observec, ‘‘ Why, if he was a king's messenger, did he not come with the despatches?” However, they could only surmise, and no more. But the dog being turned out of the cabin in compliance with Ramsay's wish was the most important point of all. ‘They could have got over all the rest, but that was quite incomprehensible; and they all agreed with Coble, when he observed, hitching up his trousers, ‘‘ Depend upon it, there’s a screw loose somewhere.” As soon as the cutter was at anchor, Ram- say ordered his portmanteau into the boat, and Vanslyperken having accompanied him on shore, they separated, Ramsay informing Vanslyperken that he would wish to see him the next day, and giving him his address. Vanslyperken delivered his despatches, and then hastened to the widow Vandersloosh, who received him with a_ well-assumed appearance of mingled pleasure and reserve. Vanslyperken led her to the sofa, poured forth a multitudinous compound composed of regret, devotion, and apologies, which at last appeared to have melted the heart of the widow, who once more gave him her hand to salute. Vanslyperken was all rapture at so un- expected a reconciliation; the name of the cur was not mentioned ; and Vanslyperken thought to himself, ‘‘ This will do—let me only once get you, my Frau, and I'll teach you to wish my dog dead at your porch.” On the other hand the widow thought, ‘And so this atomy really believes that I would look upon him! Well, well, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see how it ends. Your cur under my bed, indeed, so sure do you never Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken.”’ There is a great deal of humbug in this world, that is certain$0 CHAPTER XXVIII. fn which we have at last introduced a decent sort of heroine, who, however, only plays a second in our history, Snarleyyow being first fiddle. BuT we must leave Mr. Vanslyperken, and the widow, and the Yungfrau, and all con- nected with her, for the present, and follow the steps of Ramsay, in doing which we shall have to introduce new personages in our little drama. As soon as Ramsay had taken leave of Van- slyperken, being a Stranger at Amsterdam, he inquired his way to the Golden Street, in which resided Mynheer Van Krause, syndic of the town, and to whom he had obtained his principal letters of introduction. The syndic’s house was too well known not to be immediately pointed out to him, and in ten ininutes he found himself, with the sailors at his heels who had been ordered to carry up his baggage, at a handsomely carved door painted in bright green, and with knockers of massive brass which glittered in the sun. Ramsay, as he waited a few seconds, looked up at the house, which was large, and with a noble front to the wide street in face of it, not, as usual with most of the others, divided in the centre by a canal running the whole length of it. ‘The door Was opened, and led into a large paved yard, the sides of which were lined with evergreens in large tubs, painted of the same bright-green colour; adjoining to the yard was a small garden, enclosed with high walls, which was laid out with great precision, and in small beds full of tulips, ranunculuses, and other bulbs now just appearing above the ground, ‘The sailors waited outside while the old grey-headed servitor who had opened the gate ushered Ramsay through the court to a second door which led into the house. The hall into which he entered was paved with marble, and the staircase bold and handsome which led to the first floor, but on each side of the hall there were wooden partitions and half-glass doors, through which Ramsay could see that the rest of the basement was appro- priated to warehouses, and that in the ware- house at the back of the building there were people busily employed hoisting out merchan- dise from the vessels in the canal, the water of which adjoimed the very walls. Ramsay followed the man upstairs, who showed him into a very splendidly furnished apartment, and then went to summon his master, who, he said, was below in the warehouse. Ramsay had but a minute or two to examine the various objects which decorated the room, particularly some very fine pictures, when Mynheer Van Krause made his appearance, with some open tablets in his hand and his pen across his mouth. He was avery short man, withare- spectablepaunch, a very small head, quite bald, «keen blue eye, reddish but straightnose, anda THE DOG FIEND; OR, very florid complexion. There was nothing vulgar about his appearance, although his figure was against him. Hiscountenance was one of extreme frankness, mixed with considerable — intelligence, and his whole manner gave you the idea of precision and calculation. ‘‘ You would—tyfel—I forgot my pen,”’ said the syndic, catching it as it fell out of his mouth. ‘‘ You would speak with me, mynheer? To whom haye I the pleasure of addressing myself?” ‘« These letters, sir,’ replied Ramsay, ‘‘ will inform you.” Mynheer Van Krause laid his tablets on the table, putting his pen across to mark a leaf where he had them open, and, taking the letters, begged Ramsay to beseated. He then took a chair, pulled a pair of hand-glasses out of his pocket, laid them on his knees, broke the seals, and falling back so as to recline, commenced reading. As soon as he had finished the first letter, he put his glasses down from his eyes, and made a bow to Ramsay, folded the open letter the length of the sheet, took out his pencil, and on the outside wrote the date of the letter, the day of the month, name, and the name of the writer. Having done this, he laid the first letter down on the table, took up the second, raised up his glasses, and performed the same duty towards it, and thus he continued until he had read the whole six: always, as he concluded each letter, making the same low bow to Ramsay which he had after the perusal of the first. Ramsay, who was not a little tired of all this precision, at last fixed his eyes upon a Wouvermann which hung near him, and only took them off when he guessed the time of bowing to be at hand. The last having been duly marked and numbered, Mynheer Van Krause turned to™ Ramsay, and said, ‘‘I am most happy, mynheer, to find under my roof a young gentleman so much recommended by many valuable friends; moreover, as these letters give me to understand, so warm a friend to our joint sovereign, and so inimical to the Jacobite party. Iam informed by these letters that you intend to remain at Amsterdam. If so, I trust that you will take up your quarters in this house.” To this proposal Ramsay, who fully ex- pected it, gave a willing consent, saying, at the same time, that he had proposed going to an hotel; but Mynheer Van Krause insisted on sending for Ramsay's luggage. He had not far to send, as it was at the door. ‘‘How did you come over?” inquired the host. ‘‘In a king’s cutter,” replied Ramsay, ‘‘ which waited for me at Portsmouth.” This intimation produced another very low bow from. Mynheer Van Krause, as it warranted the importance of his guest; butSNARLEVYOW. or he then rose, and apologising for his presence being necessary below, as they were unloading a cargo of considerable value, he ordered his old porter to show Mr. Ramsay into his rooms, and to take up his luggage, informing his guest that, it being now twelve o'clock, dinner would be on the table at half-past one, during which interval he begged Ramsay to amuse himself, by examining the pictures, books, &c., with which the room was well furnished. Then, resuming his tablets and pen, and taking the letters with him, Mynheer Van Krause made a very low bow, and left Ramsay to himself, little imagining that he had admitted an attainted traitor under his roof. Ramsay could speak Dutch fluently, for he had been quartered two years at Middleburg, when he was serving in the army. As soon as the sailors had taken up his portmanteau, and he had dismissed them with a gratuity, the extent of which made the old porter open his eyes with astonishment, and gave him a favourable opinion of his master’s new guest, he entered into conversation with the old man, who, like Eve upon another occasion, was tempted, nothing loth, for the old man loved to talk ; and in a house so busy as the syndic’s there were few who had time to chatter, and those who had, preferred other conversation to what, it must be confessed, was rather prosy. “Mein Gott, mynheer, you must not ex- pect to have company here all day. My mas- ter has the town business and his own busi- ness to attend to: he can’t well get through it all: besides, now is a busy time, the schuyts are bringing up the cargo of a vessel from a far voyage, and Mynheer Krause always goes to the warehouse from breakfast till dinner, and then again from three or four o'clock till six. After that he will stay above, and then sees company, and hears our young lady sing.” ‘Young lady ! has he a daughter then Br? ‘He has a daughter, mynheer—only one —only one child—no son, it is a pity ; and so much money too, they say. I don’t know how many stivers and guilders she will have by- and-by.’’ ‘Ts not Madame Krauss still alive?” ‘“No, mynheer, she died when this maiden was born. She was a good lady, cured me once of the yeliow jaundice.” Ramsay, like all young men, wondered what sort of a person this lady might be; but he was too discreet to put the question. He was, however, pleased to hear that there was a young female in the house, as it would make the time pass away more agreeably ; not that he expected much. Judging from the father, he made up his mind, as he took his clothes out of his valise, that she was very short, very prim, and had a hooked nose. The old man now left the room to allow Ramsay to dress, and telling him that if he wanted anything, he had only to call for Koops, which was his name; but going out, he returned to say that Ramsay must call rather loud, as he was a little hard of hearing. ‘‘ Well,” thought Ramsay, as he was busy with his toilet, ‘‘here I am safe lodged at last, and everything appears as if it would prosper. There is something in my position which my mind revolts at, but stratagem is necessary in war. . I am in the enemy's camp to save my own life, and to serve the just cause. It is no more than what they attempt to do with us. It is my duty to my lawful sovereign, but still—I do not like it. Then the more merit in performing a duty so foreign to my inclinations.” Such were the thoughts of Ramsay, who, like other manly and daring dispositions, was dissatisfied with playing the part of a deceiver, although he had been selected for the service, and his selection had been approved of at the court of St Germains. Open warfare would have suited him bet- ter; but he would not repine at what he considered he was bound in fealty to perform, if required, although he instinctively shrank from it. His toilet was complete, and Ram- say descended into the reception-room: he had been longer than usual, but probably that was because he wished to commune with him- self ; or it might be because he had been in- formed that there was a young lady in the house. The room was empty when Ramsay entered it, and he took the advice of his host, and amused himself by examining the pictures, and other articles of vertu, with which the room was filled. Atlast, having looked at everything, Ram- say examined a splendid clock on the mantel- piece, before a fine glass, which mounted to the very top of the lofty room, when, acci- dentally casting his eyes to the looking-glass, he perceived in it that the door of the room, to which his back was turned, was open, and that a female was standing there, apparently surprised to find a stranger, and not exactly knowing whether to advance or retreat. Ram- say remained in the same position, as if he did not perceive her, that he might look at her without her being aware of it. It was, as he presumed, the syndic’s daughter ; but how different from the person he had conjured up in his mind's eye, when at his toilet ! Appa- rently about seventeen OF eighteen years of age, she was rather above the height of woman, delicately formed, although not. by any means thin in her person: her figure possessing all that feminine luxurilance which can only be obtained when the bones are small but well covered. Her face was oval, and prilliantly fair. Her hair of a dark chestnut, and her eyes of a deep blue, Her dress was EF ee ee ee ee ae ETE oe Sc Bae§2 simple in the extreme. She wore nothing but the white woollen petticoats of the time, so short as to show above her ankles, and a sort of little jacket of fine green cloth, with lap- pets, which descended from the waist, and opened in front. Altogether, Ramsay thought that he had never iin his life seen a young female so peculiarly attractive at first sight : there was a freshness in her air and appear- ance sO uncommon, so unlike the general crowd. As she stood in a state of uncer- tainty, her mouth opened, and displayed small and beautifully white teeth. Gradually she receded, supposing that she had not been discovered, and closed the door quietly after her, leaving Ramsay for a few seconds at the glass, with his eyes fixed upon the point at which she had disappeared. Ramsay of course fell into a reverie, as most men do in a case of this kind ; but he had not proceeded very far into it before he was interrupted by the appearance of the syndic, who entered by another door. “Tam sorry to have been obliged to leave you to your own company, Mynheer Ram- Say, sO.soon after your arrival; but my arrangement of time is regular, and I cannot make any alteration. Before you have been with us long, I trust that you will find means of amusement.’ “I shall have great pleasure in introducing you to many friends whose time is not so occupied as mine. Once again let me say how happy Iam to receive so distinguished a young gentleman under my roof. Did the cutter bring despatches for the States General, may I inquire?” “Yes,” replied Ramsay, ‘she did; and they are of some importance.” ‘‘ Indeed !’ rejoined mynheer, inquisitively. “My dear sir,” said Ramsay, blushing at his own falsehood, ‘‘we are, I believe, both earnest in one point, which is to strengthen the good cause. Under such an impression, and having accepted your hospitality, I have no right to withhold what I know, but with which others are not acquainted.” “‘ My dear sir,” interrupted Krause, who was now fully convinced of the importance of his guest, ‘‘you do me justice; I am firm and steadfast in the goodcause. I amknown to be so, and I am: also, I trust, discreet ; confiding to my tried friends, indeed, but it will be generally acknowledged that Mynheer Krause has possessed, and safely guarded, the secrets of the State.” Now, in the latter part of this speech, Mynheer Krause committed a small mistake, He was known to be a babbler, one to whom a secret could not be imparted, without every risk of its being known ; and it was from the knowledge of this failing in Mynheer Krause that Ramsay had received such particular recommendations to him. As syndic of the town, it was impossible to prevent his THE DOG FIEND; OR, knowledge of Government secrets, and when these occasionally escaped, they were always traced to his not being able to hold his tongue. Nothing pleased Mynheer Krause so much aS a secret, because nothing gave him sa much pleasure as whispering it confidentially into the ears of a dozen confidential friends, The consequence was, the Government was particularly careful that he should not know what was going on, and did all'they could to prevent it ; but there were many others who, although they could keep a secret, had-no objection to part with it for a consideration, and in the enormous commercial transactions of Mynheer Krause, it was notiunfrequent for a good bargain to be struck with him by one or more of the public functionaries, the difference between the sum proposed and accepted being settled against the interest of Mynheer Krause, by the party putting him in possession of some Government movement which had hitherto been kept zz ge/to. Every man has his hobby, and usually pays dear for it ; so did Mynheer Krause. Now, when it is remembered that Ramsay had opened and read the whole of the de- spatches, it may at once be supposed whata valuable acquaintance he would appear to Mynheer Krause; but we must not anticipate. Ramsay's reply was, ‘‘I feel it my bounden duty to impart all I am possessed of to my very wortby host, but allow me to observe, mynheer, that prudence is necessary—we may be overheard,” ‘“Iam pleased’ to find one of your age so circumspect,’’ replied Krause; ‘perhaps it would be better to defer our conyersation till after supper ; but in the meantime, could you not just give me a little inkling of what is going on?” Ramsay had difficulty in stifling a smile at this specimen of Mynheer Krause’s eagerness for-intelligence. He very gravely walked up to him, looked all round the room as if he was afraid that the walls would hear him, and then whispered for.a few seconds into the ear of his host. “Indeed !”” exclaimed Krause, looking up into Ramsay’s face. Ramsay nodded his head authoritatively. ‘Gott in himmel !” exclaimed the syndic ; but here the bell for dinner rang a loud peal. ‘“ Dinner is on the table, mynheer,'’ continued the syndic; ‘‘ allow me to show you the way. We will talk this over to-night. Gott in himmel! Is it possible?” Mynheer Krause led the way to another saloon, where Ramsay found not only the table prepared, but, as he had anticipated, the daughter of his host, to whom he was introduced. ‘‘ Wilhelmina,” said Mynheer Krause, ‘‘our young friend will stay with us, I trust some time, and you must do all youSNVARLEVYOW, can to make him comfortable. You know, my dear, that business must be attended to. With me, time is money ; so much so, that I can scarcely do justice to the affairs of the State devolving upon me in virtue of my office. You must, therefore, join with me, and do your best to amuse our guest.” To this speech Wilhelmina made no reply but by a gracious inclination of her head towards Ramsay, which was returned with all humility. The dinner was excellent, and Ramsay amused himself very well indeed until it was over. Mynheer Krause then led the way to the saloon, called for coffee, and, as soon as he had finished it, made an apology to his guest, and left him alone with his beautiful daughter. Wilhelmina Krause was a young person of a strong mind irregularly cultivated ; she had never known the advantage of a mother’s care, and was, indeed, self-educated. She had a strong tinge of romance in her character, and, left so much alone, she loved to indulge in it. In other points she was clever, well read, and accomplished ; graceful in her manners, open in her disposition, to a fault ; for, like her father, she could not keep a secret, not even the secrets of her own heart ; for what- ever she thought she gave utterance to, which is not exactly the custom in this world, and often attended with unpleasant consequences. The seclusion in which she had been kept added to the natural timidity of her disposi- tion—but when once intimate, it also added to her confiding character. It was impossible to see without admiring her, to know her without loving her ; for she was Nature her- self, and, at the same time, in her person one of Nature’s masterpieces, As we observed, when they retired to the saloon, Mynheer Krause very shortly quitted them; to attend to his affairs below, desiring his daughter to exert herself for the amuse- ment of his guest ; the contrary, however, was the case, for Ramsay exerted himself to amuse her, and very soon was successful, for hecould talk of courts and kings, of courtiers and of people, and ofa thousand things, all interest- ing to a young girl who had lived secluded; and as his full-toned voice, in measured and low. pitch, fell upon Wilhelmina’s ear, she never perhaps was so much interested. She seldom ventured.a remark, except it was to request him to proceed, and the eloquent lan- guage with which Ramsay clothed his ideas added a charm to the novelty of his conversa- tion. In the course of two hours Ramsay had already acquired a moral influence over Wil- helmina, who looked up to him with respect, and another feeling which we can only define by saying that it was certainly anything but ill-will. The time passed so rapidly that the two te upon 1 oR 83 young people could hardly believe it possible that it was past six o’clock, when they were interrupted by the appearance of Mynheer Krause, who came from his counting-house, the labours of the day being over. In the summer-time it was his custom to take his daughter out in the carriage at this hour, but the weather was too cold, and, moreover, it was nearly dark. A conversation ensued on general topics, which lasted till supper-time ; after this repast was over Wilhelmina retired, leaving Ramsay and the syndic alone. It was then that Ramsay made known to his host the contents of the despatches, much to Mynheer Krause’s surprise and delight, who felt assured that his guest must be strong in the confidence of the English Government to be able to communicate such intelligence. Ramsay, who was aware that the syndic would sooner or later know what had been written, of course was faithfulin his detail : not so, however, when they canvassed the attempts of the Jacobite party; then Mr. Krause was completely mystified. It was not till alate hour that they retired to bed. The next morning, the syndic, big with his intelligence, called upon _ his friends in person, and much to their surprise told them the contents of the despatches which had been received—and, much to his delight, discovered that he had been correctly informed. He also communicated what Ramsay had told him relative to the movements of the court of St. Germains, and thus, unintention- ally, false intelligence was forwarded to Eng- land as from good authority. It hardly need beobserved, that, ina very shorttime, Ramsay had gained the entire confidence of his host, and we may add also, of his host’s daughter; but we must leave him for the present to follow up his plans, whatever they may be, and re- turn to the personages more immediately connected with this narrative. CHAPTER XSLs, ln which SYemury Ducks proves the truth of Moggy’s assertion, that there was no one like him before or since.—Nancy and F$emmy sere- nade the stars. As soon as Moggy landed at the Point with her dear darling duck of a husband, as she called him, she put his chest and hammock on a barrow, and had them wheeled up to her own lodgings, and then they went out to call upon Nancy Corbett to make their future arrangements ; Moggy proceeding in rapid strides, and Jemmy trotting with his diminu- itive legs behind her, something like a stout pony by the side of a large horse. It was in pedestrianism that Jemmy most felt his in- feriority, and theprotecting, fond way in which Moggy would turn round every minute and say, ‘‘Come along, my duck,” would have84. THE DOG FIEND; OR, been irritating to any other but one of Jemmy’s excellent temper. Many looked at Jemmy, as he waddled along, smiled and passed on; one unfortunate nymph, however, ventured to stop, and putting her arms a-kimbo, looked down upon him, and exclaimed. ‘‘ Vell? you are a nice little man,’’and then commenced singing the old refrain— “T had a little husband no bigger than my thumb, I put him in a pint pot, and there I bid him drum ;” when Moggy, who had turned back, saluted her with such a box on the ear that she made the drum of it ring again. The young lady vas not one of those who would offer the other cheek to be smitten, and she immediately fiew at Moggy and returned ‘the blow; but Jemmy, who liked quiet, caught her round the legs, and, as if she had been a feather, threw her over his head, so that she fell down in the gutter behind him with a violence which was anything but agreeable. She gained her legs again, looked at her soiled garments, scraped the mud off her cheek—we are sorry to add, made use of some very improper language —and, finding herself in the minority, walked off, turning round and shaking her fist at every twenty paces. Moggy and her husband continued their course as if nothing had happened, and arrived at the house of Nancy Corbett, who had, aS may be supposed, changed her lodgings and kept out of sight of Vansly- perken. Nancy was no stranger to Jemmy Ducks; so far as his person went, he was too remarkable a character not to be known by her who knew almost everybody ; and, more- over, she had made sufficient inquiries about his character. ‘The trio at once proceeded to business; Jemmy had promised his wife to join the smugglers; and it was now arranged that both he and his wife should be regularly enlisted in the gang—she to remain at the cave with the women, unless her services were required elsewhere, he to belong to the boat. There was, however, one necessary pre- liminary still to be taken, that of Jemmy and his wife both taking the oath of fidelity at the house of the Jew Lazarus; but it was not advisable to go there before dusk, so they remained with Nancy till that time, during which she was fully satisfied that, in both parties, the band would have an acquisition, for Nancy was very keen and penetrating, and had a great insight into human nature. At dusk, to the house of Lazarus they accordingly repaired, and were admitted by the cautious Jew. Nancy stated why they had come, and there being, at the time, several of the confederates, as usual, in the house, they were summoned by the Jew to be witnesses to the oath being administered. Half a dozen dark-looking, bold men soon made their appearance, and recognized Nancy by nods of their heads. ‘Who have we here, old Father Abraham?” exclaimed a stout man, who was dressed in a buff jerkin, anda pair of boots which rose above his knees. ‘‘A good man and true,” replied Nancy, taking up the answer. ‘‘Why, you don’t call that thiag a man!” exclaimed the fierce-looking confederate with contempt. ‘‘As good a man as ever stood in your boots,” replied Moggy, in wrath. ‘‘Indeed! well, perhaps so, if he could only see his way when once into them, ’ replied the man, with a loud laugh, in which he was joined by his companions. ‘‘What can you do, my little man?” said another, of a slighter build than the first, coming forward and putting his hand upon Jemmy’s head. Now, Jemmy was the best-tempered fellow in the world, but, at the same time, the very best-tempered people have limits to their for- bearance, and do not like to be taken liberties with by strangers: so felt Jemmy, who, seizing the young man firmly by the waistband of his trousers just below the hips, lifted him from the ground, and with a strength which astonished all present, threw him clean over the table, his body sweeping away both the candles, so they were all left in darkness. ‘I can douse a glim, anyhow,” cried Jemmy. ‘That's my darling duck,” cried Moggy, delighted with this proof of her husband's vigour. Some confusion was created by this man- ceuvre on the part of Jemmy, but candles were reproduced, and the first man who spoke, feeling as if this victory on the part of Jemmy was a rebuke to himself, again commenced his interrogations. ‘“Well, my little man, you are strong in the arms, but what will you do without legs?” ‘*Not run away, as you have done a hune dred times,” replied Jemmy, scornfully. ‘* Now by the God of war you shall answer for this,” replied the man, catching hold of Jemmy by the collar; but in'a moment he was tripped up by Jemmy, and fell down with great violence on his back. ‘Bravo, bravo!’ exclaimed the rest, who took part with Jemmy. ‘“That’s my own little duck,” © cried Moggy ; ‘‘you've shown him what you can do, anyhow.” The man rose, and was apparently feeling for some arms secreted about his person, when Nancy Corbett stepped forward. ‘Do you dare?” cried she; ‘‘take what you have received, and be thankful, or ——" and Nancy held up her little fore-finger. The man slunk back among the others in ingsilence. The old Jew, who had not interfered, being in presence of Nancy, who had superior commands, now read the oath, which was of a nature not to be communicated to the reader without creating disgust. It was, however, such an oath as was taken in those times, and has since been frequently taken in Ireland. It was subscribed to by Jemmy and his wife without hesitation, and they were immediately enrolled among the members of the associa- tion. As soon as this ceremony had been gone through, Nancy and her protégés quitted the house and returned to her lodgings, when it was agreed that the next night they should go over to the island, as Jemmy’s services were required in the boat in lieu of Ramsay, whose place as steersman he was admirably qualified to occupy; much better, indeed, than that of a rower, as his legs were too short to reach the stretcher where it was usually fixed. The next evening the weather was calm and clear, and when they embarked in the boat of the old fisherman, with but a small portion of their effects, the surface of the water was unruffled, and the stars twinkled brightly in the heavens; one article which Jemmy never parted with was in his hand-— his fiddle. ‘They all took their seats, and the old fisherman shoved off his boat, and they were soon swept out of the harbour by the strong ebb-tide. « Nn’t this better than being on board with Vanslyperken, and your leave stopped ?”’ observed Moggy. ‘© Yes,” replied the husband. “And I not permitted to go on board to see my duck of a husband—confound his snivelling carcass?’ continued Moggy. ““Ves,”’ replied Jemmy, thoughtfully. ‘And in company with that supernatural cur of his?’ Jemmy nodded his head, and then in his abstraction touched the strings of his violin. ‘‘They say that you are clever with your instrument, Mr. Salisbury,” observed Nancy Corbett. “That he is,” replied Moggy; ‘‘and he sings like a darling duck, Don't you, Jemmy, my dear?” “ Quack, quack,” replied Jemmy. ‘“Well, Mr. Salisbury, there’s no boat that I can see near us, or even in sight ; and if there was, it were little matter. I suppose you will let me hear you, for I shall have little opportunity after this?” ‘* With all my heart,’’ replied Jemmy ; who taking up his fiddle, and playing upon the strings like a guitar, after a little reflection, sang as follows :— Bless my eyes, how young Bill threw his shiners a way, As he drank and he danced, when he first came on shore ! SVARLEYVYOW. 85 It was clear that he fancied that with his year’s pay, Like the Bank of Old England, he’d never be poor, So when the next day, with a southerly wind in e His pockets, he came up, my rhino to borrow ; You’re welcome,” says I, ‘‘ Bill,” as I fork’d out the tin, ** But when larking to-day—don’t forget there's to-morrow.” When our frigate came to from a cruise in the west, And her yards were all squared, her sails neatly furld, Young Tom clasped his Nancy, so loved, to his breast, As if but themselves there was none in the world. Between two of the guns they were fondly at play, All billing and kissing, forgetting all sorrow. ‘Love, like cash,” says I, ‘‘ Nan, may all go ina day ; While you hug him so close—don’ t forget there's 4n_7 4>47 9 10-71107 VOW. When a hurricane swept us smack smooth fore and aft, When we dash’d on the rock, and we flounder’d on shore, As we sighed for the loss of our beautiful craft, Convinced that the like we should never see more, Says I, ‘‘ My good fellows,” as huddled together. They shiver’d and shook, each phiz black with sorrow, “Remember, it’s not to be always foul weather, So with ill-luck to-day—don’t forget there’s to- morrow.” ‘And not a bad hint, neither, Mr. Salis- bury,” said Nancy, when Jemmy ceased, “You sailors never think of to-morrow, more’s the pity. You're no better than overgrown babies.” “J’m not much better, at ‘all events,” replied Jemmy, laughing: ‘however, I’m as God made me, and so all's right.” “That’s my own darling Jemmy,” said Moggy; ‘‘and if you're content, and I’m con- tent, who is to say a word, I should like to know? You may be a rum one to look at, but I think them fellows found you but arum customer the other night.” ‘Don’t put so much rum in your discourse. Moggy; you make me long for a glass of grog.” ‘Then your mouth will find the water,” rejoined Nancy ; ‘‘ but, however, singing is dry work, and I am provided. Pass my basket aft, old gentleman, and we will find Mr. Salisbury something with which to whet his whistle.’ The boatman handed the basket to Nancy, who pulled out a bottle and glass, which she filled and handed to Jemmy. ‘“Now, Mr. Salisbury, I expect some more songs,” said Nancy. «“And you shall have them, mistress ; but I've heard say that you've a good pipe of your own; suppose that you give me one in return, that will be but fair play.” “Not exactly, for you'll have the grog in the bargain,” replied Nancy,36 “* Put my fiddle against the grog, and then _ all’s square.” ‘‘Thave not sung for many a day,” replied Nancy, musing, and looking up at the bright twinkling stars. ‘‘I once sang, when I was young—and happy—I then sang all the day Jong; that was really Singing, for it came from the merriness of my heart ;’ and Nancy paused. ‘‘ Yes, I have sung since, and often, for they made me sing; but ’twas when my heart was heavy—or when its load had been for a time forgotten and drowned in wine. That was not singing, at least not the singing of bygone days, ‘‘ But those times are bygone too, Mistress Nancy,” said Moggy; ‘‘ you have now your matriage lines, and are made an_ honest woman.” ‘Yes, and God keep me so, amen,” replied Nancy, mournfully. Had not the night concealed it, a tear might have been seen by the others in the boat to trickle down the cheek of Nancy Corbett, as she was reminded of her former life *and as she again fixed her eyes upon the brilliant heavens, each particular star appeared to twinkle brighter, as if they rejoiced to witness tears like those, ‘“‘You must be light o’ heart now, Mistress Nancy,” observed Jemmy, soothingly, ‘“I am not unhappy,” replied she, resting her cheek upon her hand. “‘ Mistress Nancy,” said Moggy, ‘‘I should think a little of that stuff would do neither of us any harm ; the night is rather bleak.” Moggy poured out a glass and handed it to Nancy ; she drank it, and it saved her from a flood of tears, which otherwise she would have béen unable to repress. In a minute or two, during which Moggy helped herself and the boatman, Nancy's spirits re- turned, “Do you know this air?” said Nancy to Jemmy, humming it. ‘Yes, yes, I know it well, Mistress Nancy. Will you sing to it?” Nancy Corbett, who had been celebrated once for her sweet singing, as well as her beauty, immediately commenced in a soft and melodious tone, while Jemmy touched his fiddle. Lost, stolen, or stray’d, The heart of a young maid ; Whoever the same shall find, And prove so very kind, To yield it on desire, They shall rewarded be, And that most handsomely, With kisses one, two, three, Cupid is the crier, \ing-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier, O yes! O yes! O yes! Here is a pretty mess ! A maiden’s heart is gone And she is left forlorn, THE DOG FIEND; OR, And panting with desire ; Whoever shall bring it me, They shall rewarded be, With kisses one, two, three. Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier, *Twas lost on Sunday eve, Or taken without leave, A virgin’s heart so pure, She can’t the loss endure, And surely will expire ; Pity her misery. Rewarded you shall be, With kisses one, two, three, Cupid is the crier, Ring-a-ding, a-ding, Cupid is the crier. The maiden sought around, It was not to be found, She search’d each nook and dell, The haunts she loved so well, All anxious with desire ; ‘The wind blew ope his vest, When, lo! the toy in quest, She found within the breast Of Cupid, the false crier, Ring-a ding, a-ding-a-ding, Cupid the false crier. ‘* Many thanks, Mistress Corbett, for a good song sung in good tune, with a sweet voice,” said Jemmy. ‘I owe you one for that, and am ready to pay youon demand. You'vea pipe like a missel thrush.” ‘“Well, I do believe that I shall begin to sing again,” replied Nancy. ‘‘I’m sure if Corbett was only once settled on shore ina nice little cottage, witha garden, anda black- bird in a wicker cage, I should try who could sing most, the bird or me.”’ “He will be by-and-by, when his work is done.” “Yes, when it is ; but open boats, stormy seas, and the halter, are heavy odds, Mr, Salisbury.” ‘* Don't mention the halter, Mistress Nancy, youll make me melancholy,” replied Jemmy, “‘and I sha’n’t be able to sing any moré. Weil, if they want to hang me, they need not rig the yard-arm, three handspikes as sheers, and I shouldn't find soundings, eh ! Moggy ?” Nancy laughed at the ludicrous idea : but Moggy exclaimed with vehemence, ‘ Hang my Jemmy ! my darling duck! I should like to see them.” ‘At all events, we'll have another song , from him, Moggy, before they spoil his wind- pipe, which, I must say, would be a great pity ; but, Moggy, there have been better men hung than your husband.” ‘* Better men than my Jemmy, Mrs. Corbett !_ There never was one like him afore or since,’’ replied Moggy with indignation. ‘I only meant of longer pedigree, Moggy,” replied Nancy, soothingly. ‘‘ [don’t know what that is,” replied Moggy, still angry.‘‘ Longer legs, to be sure,” replied Jemmy. ‘‘ Never mind that, Moggy. Here goes asong in two parts. It’s a pity, Mistress Nancy, that you couldn't take one.” ‘* When will you give up this life of wild roving ? When shall we be quietand happy on shore? When will you to church lead your Susan, so loving, And sail on the treacherous billows no more?” ‘¢ My ship is my wife, Sue, no other I covet, Till I draw the firm splice that’s betwixt her and me; T’ll roam on the ocean, for much do I love it,— To wed with another were rank bigamy.” ‘OQ William, what nonsense you talk, you are raving ; Pray how can a man and a ship become one? You say so because you no longer are craving, As once you were truly—and I am undone.” “You wrong me, my dearest, as sure as I stand here, As sure as I'll sail again on the wide sea ; Some day I will:settle, and marry with you, ear, But now ’twould be nothing but rank bigamy.” ‘‘ Then tell me the time, dear William, whenever Your Sue may expect this divorce to be made; When you'll surely be mine, when no object shall sever, ; But lock’d in your arms, I’m no longer afraid.” “¢ The time it will be when my pockets are lined ; I’ll then draw the splice ‘tween my vessel and me, And lead you to. church if you're still so in- clined, — But before, my dear Sue, ’twere rank bigamy.” “Thank you, Mr. Salisbury. I like the moral of that song; a sailor never should marry till he can settle on shore.’’ : ‘« What's the meaning of big-a-me?”’ said Moggy. “Marrying two husbands or two wives, Mrs. Salisbury. Perhaps you might get off on the plea that you had only one and a half,”’ continued Nancy, laughing. ‘Well, perhaps she might,” replied, Jemmy, “if he were a judge of understanding.” ‘““T should think, Mistress Nancy, you night as well leave my husband's legs alone, , observed Moggy, affronted. “Lord bless you, Mogg, if he’s not angry, you surely need not be; I give a joke, and I can take one. You surely are not jealous?” ‘‘ Indeed I am though, and always shall be of any one who plays with my Jemmy.”’ “ Or if he plays with anything else?” “(Ves indeed.”’ ‘Yes, indeed | then you must be downright jealous of his fiddle, Moggy,” replied Nancy ; ‘«but never mind, you sha'n’t be jealous now about nothing. I'llsing you asong, and then you'll forget all this.” Nancy Corbett. then sang as follows :— Fond Mary sat on Henry’s knee ; ‘J must be home exact,” said he, ‘And see, the hour is come.” SVARLEVYOW. ‘*No, Henry, you shall never go, Until me how to count you show ; That task must first be done.” Then Harry said, “‘ As time is short, Addition you must first be taught ;— Sum up these kisses sweet ; Now prove your sum by kissing me :— Yes, that is right, ’twas three times three ;== Arithmetic’s a treat. ** And now there is another term, Subtraction you have yet to learn: Take four away from these.” “Ves, that is right; you’ve made it out,”’— Says Mary, with a pretty pout, ** Subtraction don’t me please.” Division’s next upon the list ; Young Henry taught while Mary kiss’d, And much admired the rule ; « Now, Henry, don’t you think me quick?” “‘ Why, yes, indeed, you’ve learn’d the trick, At kissing you’re no fool.” To multiply was next the game, Which Henry, by the method same, To Mary fain would show ; But here his patience was worn out, She multiplied too fast, I doubt He could no farther go. “¢ And now we must leave off, my dear; The other rules are not so clear, We'll try at them to-night.” ‘‘T’ll come at eve, my Henry sweet ; Behind the hawthorn hedge we’ll meet, For learning’s my delight.” ‘That’s a very pretty song, Mistress Corbett, and you've a nice collection, I've no doubt. If you’ve no objection, I'll exchange another with you.” ‘«T should be most willing, Mr. Salisbury ; ut we are now getting well over, and we may as well be quiet, as I do not wish people to ask where we are going.” ‘“You're right, ma'am,” observed the old fisherman who pulled the boat. ‘* Put up your fiddle, master ; there be plenty on the look out, without our giving them notice.” ‘Very true,” replied Jemmy, ‘‘so we break up our concert.” The whole=party were now silent. Ina quarter of an hour the boat was run into a cut, which concealed it from view ; and, as soon as the fisherman had looked round to see the coast clear, they landed and made haste topass by the cottages ; after that Nancy slackened her pace, and they walked during the night over to the other side of the island, and arrived at the cottages above the cave. Here they left a portion of their burdens, and then proceeded to the path down the cliff which led to the cave. On Nancy giving the signal, the ladder was lowered, and they were admitted: As soon as they were upon the flat, Moggy embraced her husband, crying, ‘‘ Here I have you, my own dear Jemmy, all to myself, and safe for ever.” er88 CHAPTER XXX. In which Mr. ON the second day after his arrival, Vansly- perken, as agreed, went up to the syndic’s house to call upon Ramsay. ‘The latter paid him down one hundred pounds for his pas- Sage and services; and Vanslyperken was so pleased, that he thought seriously, as soon as he had amassed sufficient money, to with- draw himself from the service, and retire with his ill-gotten gains; but when would a miser like Vanslyperken have amassed sufficient money? Alas! never, even if the halter were half round his neck. Ramsay then gave his instructions to Vanslyperken, advising him to call for letters previously to his sailing, and telling him that he must open the Government despatches in the way to which he had been witness, take full memorandums of the contents, and_ bring them to him, for which service he would each time receive fifty pounds as a remuneration. Vanslyperken bowed to his haughty new acquaintance, and quitted the house. ‘* Yes,” thought Ramsay, ‘‘ that fellow is a low, contemptible traitor, and how infamous does treason appear in that wretch! but—lI —I am no traitor—I have forfeited my pro- perty and risked my life in fidelity to my king, and in attempting to rid the world of an usurper and a tyrant. Here, indeed, I am playing a traitor’s part to my host, but still I am doing my duty. An army without spies would be incomplete, and one may descend to that office for the good of one’s country with- out tarnish or disgrace. Am I not a traitor to her already? Have not I formed visions in my imagination already of obtaining her hand, and her heart, and her fortune? Is not this treachery ? Shall I not attempt to win her affections under disguise as her father’s friend and partisan? But what have women to do with politics? Orif they have, do not they set so light a value upon them, that they will exchange them for a feather? Yes, surely ; when they love, their politics are the politics of those they cling to. At present, she is on her father’s side; but if she leave her father and cleave to me, her politics will be transferred with her affections. But then her religion, She thinks me a Protestant. Well, love is all in all with women ; not only politics, but religion must yield to it: ‘thy people shall be my people, and thy God shall be my God,’ as Ruth says in the Scriptures. She is wrong in politics, I will put her right. She is wrong in religion, I will restore her to the bosom of the church. Her wealth would be sacrificed to some heretic; it were far better that it belonged to one who supports the true religion and the good cause. In what way, therefore, shall I injure her? On the contrary.” And Ramsay walked downstairs Vanslyperken treats the ladies. THE DOG FIEND; OR, to find Wilhelmina. Such were the argu- ments used by the young cavalier, and with which he fully satisfied himself that he was doing rightly ; had he argued the other side of the question, he would have been equally convinced, as most people are, when they argue without any opponent ; but we must leave him, to follow Vanslyperken, Mr. Vanslyperken walked away from the syndic’s house with the comfortable idea that one side of him was heavier than the other by one hundred guineas, He also ruminated ; he had already obtained three hundred | pounds—no small sum, in those days, fora lieutenant. Jt is true that he had lost the chance of thousands by the barking of 5Snar- leyyow, and he had lost the fair Portsmouth widow : but then he was again on good terms with the Frau Vandersloosh, and was in a fair way of making his fortune, and, as he con- sidered, with small risk. His mother, too, attracted a share of. his reminiscences ; the old woman would soon die, and then he would have all that she had saved. Small. bones occasionally intruded himself, but that was butforamoment. And Mr. Vanslyperken walked away very well satisfied, upon the whole, with his esse and posse. He wound up by flattering himself that he should wind up with the savings of his mother, his half-pay, the widow's guilders, and his own property— altogether it would be pretty comfortable. But we leave him and return to Corporal Van Spitter. Corporal Van Spitter had had wisdom enough to dupe Vanslyperken, and persuade him that he was very much in love with Ba- bette ; and»Vanslyperken, who was not at all averse to this amour, permitted the corporal to go on shore and make love. As Vansly- perken did not like the cutter and Snarleyyow to be left without the corporal or himself, he always remained on board when the corporal went, so that the widow had enougk on hand —pretending love all the morning with the lieutenant, and indemnifying herself by real love with the corporal after dusk. Her fat hand was kissed and slobbered from morning to night, but it was half for love and half for revenge. But we must leave the corporal and return to Jemmy Ducks. Jemmy was two days in the cave before the arrival of the boat, during which he made himself a great favourite, par- ticularly with Lilly, who sat down and listened to his fiddle and his singing. It was a novelty in the cave, anything like amusement. On the third night, however, Sir R. Barclay came back from Cherbourg, andas he only remained one hour, Jemmy was hastened on board, tak- ing leave of his wife, but not parting with his fiddle. He took his berth as steersman, in lieu of Ramsay, and gave perfect satisfaction. The intelligence brought over by Sir Robert ren-dered an inimediate nressenger to Portsmouth necessary; and, as it would create less sus- picion, Moggy was the party now entrusted in heu of Nancy, who had been lately seen too often, and, it was supposed, had been watched. Moggy was not sorry to receive her instructions, which were, to remain at Portsmouth until Lazarus the Jew should give her further orders; for there was one point which Moggy was most anxious to accom- plish, now that she could do it without risking a retaliation upon her husband, which was, to use her own expression, to pay off that snivel- ling oid rascal, Vanslyperken. But we must leave Moggy and the move- ments of individuals, and return to our general history. The Yungfrau was detained a fort- night at Amsterdam, and then received the despatches of the States-General and those of Ramsay, with which Vanslyperken returned to Portsmouth. On his arrival, he went through his usual routine at the admiral’s and the Jew’s, received his douceur, and hastened to his mother’s house, when he found the old woman, as she constantly prophesied, not dead yet. “Well, child, what haveyou brought—more gold?” ‘‘Yes,” replied Vanslyperken, laying down the one hundred and fifty guineas which he had received. ‘Bless thee, my son—bless thee !” said the old woman, laying her palsied hand upon Van- slyperken’s head. ‘‘It is not often I bless —J never did bless, as I can recollect—I like cursing better. My blessing must be worth something, if it’s only for its scarcity ; anddo you know why I bless thee, my Cornelius? Because—ha, ha, ha! because you are a mur- derer and a traitor, and you love gold.” Even Vanslyperken shuddered at the hag’s address. «‘ What do you ever gain by doing good in this world? Nothing but laughter and con- tempt. I began the world likea fool, but I shall go out of it likea wise woman, hating, despising everything but gold. And I have had my revenge in my time—yes—yes. The world, my son, is divided into only two parts, those who cheat, and those who are cheated— those who master, and those who are mastered —those who are shackled by superstitions and priests, and those who, like me, fear neither God nor devil. We must all die; yes, but I shan't die yet, no, no.” And Vanslyperken almost wished that he could gain the unbelief of the decrepit woman whom he called mother, and who, on the verge of eternity, held fast to such a creed. ‘Well, mother, perhaps it may be you are right—I never gained anything by a good action yet.” Query. Had he ever done a good action ? You're my own child, I see, after all ; you SVARLEYVYOW, 89 have my blessing, Cornelius, my son—go and prosper. Get gold—get gold,” replied the old hag, taking up the money, and locking it up in the oak chest. Vanslyperken then narrated to his mother the unexpected interview with Smallbones, and his surmise that thelad was supernaturally gifted. ‘‘Ah, well,’ replied she, ‘‘ those who are born to be hung will die by no other death; but still it does not follow that they will not die. You shall have your revenge, my child. The lad shall die. Try again ; water, you say, rejects him? Fire will not harm him. There is that which is of the earth and of the air left. Try again, my son; revenge is sweet—next to gold.” After two hours’ conversation, it grew dark, and Vanslyperken departed, revolving in his mind, as he walked away, the sublime prin- ciples of religion and piety in the excellent advice given by his aged mother. ‘‘I wish I could only think as she does,”” muttered Van- slyperken at last ; and as he concluded this devout wish, his arm was touched by a neatly- dressed little girl, who courtesied, and asked if he was not Lieutenant Vanslyperken, be- longing to the cutter? Vanslyperken replied in the affirmative, and the little girl then said that a lady, her mistress, wished to speak to him. ‘‘Your mistress, my little gir] ?”’ said Van- slyperken, suspiciously; ‘“‘and pray whois your mistress ?”” ‘‘She is a lady, sir,” replied the latter; “she was married to Major Williams, but he is dead. ‘Hah! a widow; well, what does she want? I don’t know her.” ‘No, sir, andshe don’t know you; but she told me, if you did not come at once, to give you this paper to read.” Vanslyperken took the paper, and walking to the window of a shop in which there was a light, contrived to decipher as follows :— ‘«Srr,—The lady who lived in Castle Street has sent me a letter and a parcel, to deliver up into your own hands, as the parcel is of value. The bearer of this will bring you to my house. ‘« Your very obedient, ‘‘JANE WILLIAMS. “‘ Two o’clock.” ‘Where does your mistress live, little girl?” inquired Vanslyperken, who imme- diately anticipated the portrait of the fair widow set in diamonds. ‘(She lives in one of the publics on the Hard, sir, on the first floor, while she is fur- nishing her lodgings.” “One of the publics on the Hard! Well, my little girl, I will go with you.” “« T have been looking for you everywhere, sir,” said the little girl, walking, or rather trotting, by the side of Vanslyperken, who strode along.es 90 THE DOG FIEND; OR, “Did your mistress know. the lady who lived in Castle Street?” ‘“O yes, sir; my mistress then lived next door to her in Castle Street; but her lease was out, and now she has a much larger house in William Street, but she is painting and fur- nishing all so handsome, Sir, and so now she has taken the first floor of the Wheatsheaf till she can get in again.” And Mr. Vanslyperken thought it would be worth his while to reconnoitre this widow before he closed with the Frau Vandersloosh. Flow selfish men are ! In a quarter of an hour Mr. Vanslyperken and the little girl had arrived at the public- house in question. Mr. Vanslyperken did not much admire the exterior of the building, but it was too dark to enable him to take an accurate survey. It was, however, evident that it was a pot-house, and nothing more; and Mr. Vanslyperken thought that lodgings must be very scarce in Portsmouth. He en- tered the first and inner door, and the little girl said she would go upstairs and let her mistress know that he was come. She ran up, leaving Mr. Vanslyperken alone in the dark passage. He waited for some time, when his naturally suspicious temper made him think he had been deceived, and he determined to wait outside of the house, which appeared very disreputable. He therefore retreated to the inner door to open it, but found it fast. He tried it again and again, but in vain, and he became alarmed and indignant. Per- ceiving a light through another keyhole, he tried the door, and it was open; a screen was close to the door as he entered, and he could not see its occupants. Mr. Vanslyperken walked round, and as he did so, he heard the door closed and locked. He looked on the other side of the screen, and, to his horror, found himself in company with Moggy Salis- bury, and about twenty other females, Van- Slyperken made a precipitate retreat to the door, but he was met by three or four women, who held him fast by the arms. Vanslyper- ken would have disgraced himself by drawing his cutlass ; but they were prepared for this : and while two of them pinioned his arms, one of them drew his cutlass from its sheath, and walked away with it. Two of the wo- men contrived to hold his arms, while another pushed him in the rear, until he was brought from behind the screen into the middle of the room, facing his incarnate enemy, Moggy Salisbury. ‘‘Good evening to you, Mr. Vanslyper- ken,’ cried Moggy, not rising from her chair. “It's very kind of you to come and see me in this friendly way—come, take a chair, and give us all the news,” ‘Mistress Salisbury, you had better mind what you are about with a king’s officer,” cried Vanslyperken, turning more pale at this mockery than if he had met with abuse. ‘““There are constables, and stocks, and gaols, and whipping-posts on shore, as well as the cat on board.” ‘‘T know all that, Mr. Vanslyperken,”’ re- plied Moggy, calmly ; “but that has nothing to do with the present affair: you have come of your own accord to this house to see some- body, that is plain, and you have found me. So now do as you're bid, like a polite man : sit down, and treat the ladies. Ladies, Mr. Vanslyperken stands treat, and, please the pigs, we'll make a night of it. What shall it be? I mean to take my share of a bottle of Oporto. What will you have, Mrs. Slam- koe?” ‘“T'll take a bowl of burnt brandy, with your leave, Mrs. Salisbury, not being very well in my inside.” ‘‘And you, my dear?”’ “‘O, punch for me—punch to the mast,” cried another. ‘‘ I'll drink enough to float a jolly-boat. It's very kind of Mr, Vanslyper- ken. -; All the ladies expressed their several wishes, and Vanslyperken knew not what to do; he thought he might as well make an effort, for the demand on his purse he per- ceived would be excessive, and he loved his money. ‘‘ You may all call for what you please,” said Vanslyperken, ‘‘ but you'll pay for what you call for. If you think that Iam to be swindled in this way out of my money, you're mistaken. Every soul of you shall be whipped at the cart’s tail to-morrow.” ‘‘Do you mean to insinuate that Iam not a respectable person, sir?” said a fierce-look- ing virago, rubbing her fist against Vanslyper- ken's nose. ‘‘Smell that!’ It was not a nosegay at all to the fancy of Mr. Vanslyperken; he threw himself back, and his chair fell with him. The ladies laughed, and Mr. Vanslyperken rose in great wrath, ‘ By all the devils in hell,” he exclaimed, whirling the chair round his head, ‘‘ but I'll do you a mischief !” But he was soon pinioned from behind. ‘This is very unpolite conduct,” said one; “you call yourself a gentleman ?” ‘“* What shall we do, ladies?” “Do!” replied another > ‘‘let's strip him, and pawn his clothes, and then turn him adrift.” “Well, that’s not-a bad notion,” replied the others; and they forthwith proceeded to take off Mr. Vanslyperken’s coat and waist- coat. How much further they would haye gone it is impossible to say, for Mr, Vansly- perken had made up his mind to buy himself off as cheap as he could, Be it observed, that Moggy never interfered, nor took any part in this violence ; on the con-trary, she continued sitting in her chair, and said, ‘‘ Indeed, ladies, I request you will not be so violent. Mr. Vanslyperken is my friend. Tam ‘sorry that he wiil not treat you; but if he will not, I beg you will allow him to go away.” ““There,- you hear,” cried Mr. Vansly- perken; ‘‘ Mrs. Salisbury, am I at liberty to depart ?” *““Most certainly, Mr. Vanslyperken; you have my full permission. Ladies, | beg that you will let him go.” ‘No, by the living jingo! not till he treats us,’’ cried one of the women; ‘‘why did he come into this shop, but for nothing else? I'll have my punch afore he starts.” ““And I my burnt brandy.” So cried they all, and Mr. Vanslyperken, whose coat and waistcoat were already off, and finding many fingers very busy about the rest of his person, perceived that Moggy’s neutrality was all a sham, so he begged to be heard. “* Ladies, I'll do anything in reason. As far as five shillings ——” ‘Five shillings!’’ exclaimed the woman; ““no, no—why, a foremast man would come down with more than that. And you a lieu- tenant ! Five guineas, now, would be saying something.” ‘* Five guineas! why I have not so much money. Upon my soul I havn't.” ‘ Let us see,’’ said one of the party, diving like an adept into Vanslyperken’s trousers- pocket, and pulling out his purse. The money was pouredout on the table, and twelve guineas counted out. ‘Then whose money is this?’’ cried the woman; ‘‘not yours, on your soul; have you been taking a purse to-night ? I vote we sends for a constable.” ‘‘T quite forgot that I had put more money in my purse,’ muttered Vanslyperken, who never expected tosee itagain. “ I'll treat you, ladies—treat you all to whatever you please.” ‘‘ Bravo ! that’s spoken like a man,” cried the virago, giving Vanslyperken a slap on the back which knocked. the breath out of his body. ‘‘ Bravo!” exclaimed another, ‘ that’s what I call handsome; let’s all kiss him, ladies.” Vanslyperken was forced to go through this ordeal, and then the door was unlocked, but carefully guarded, while the several orders were given. ‘Who is to pay for all this?’”’ exclaimed the landlady. ‘This gentleman treats us all,”’ replied the woman. ‘‘Oh! yery well—is it all right, sir?” Vanslyperken dared not say no: he was in their power, and every eye watched him as he gave his answer; so he stammered out ‘‘ Yes,”’ and, in a fit of despair at the loss of his money, he threw himself into his chair, and meditated revenge, SNVARLEYVVOW. gi ‘‘ Give Mr. Vanslyperken his purse, Susan,” said the prudent Moggy to the young woman who had taken it out of his pocket. The purse was returned, and, in a few minutes. the various liquors and mixtures de- manded made their appearance, and the jollification commenced, Every one wassoon quite happy, with the exception of Mr. Van- slyperken, who, like Pistol, ate his jeek, swearing in his own mind he would be horribly revenged, ‘‘Mr. Vanslyperken, you must drink my health in some of this punch.” Vanslyperken compressed his lips, and shook hishead. ‘‘I say yes, Mr. Vanslyperken,’’ cried the virago, looking daggers ; ‘‘if you don’t, we quarrel —that’s all.” But Vanslyperken argued in his mind that his grounds of complaint would be weakened if he partook of the refreshment which he had been forced to pay for, so he resolutely denied. ‘“Von't you listen to my harguments, Mr. Vanslyperken?”’ continued the woman. ‘* Vell, then, I must resort to the last, which I never knew fail yet.’”” The woman went to the fire and pulled out the poker, which was red hot, from between the bars. ‘‘ Now then, my beauty, you must kiss this, or drink some punch;’’ and she advanced it towards his nose, while three or four others held him fast on his chair behind ; the poker, throwing out a glow of heat, was within an inch of the poor lieutenant’s nose: he could stand it no more, his face and eyes were scorched. woes, yes, “cried *he at, last,” “ii Jy tmuse drink, then, I will. We will settle this matter by and by,” cried Vanslyperken, pouring down with indignation the proffered glass of liquor. ‘‘Now, Susan, don’t ill-treat Mr. Vansly- perken: I purtest against all ill-treatment.” ‘Tll-treat, Mrs. Salisbury! I am only giving him a lesson in purliteness.” ‘‘Now, Mr. What-the-devil’s-your-name, you must drink off a glass of my burnt brandy, or I shall be jealous,” cried another ; ‘‘ and when J am jealous I always takes to red-hot pokers.” Resistance was in vain, the poker was again taken from between the bars, and the burnt brandy went down. Again and again was Mr. Vanslyperken forced to pour down his throat all that was offered to him, or take the chance of having his nose burnt off. “Ts it not wrong to mix your liquors in this way, Mr. Vanslyperken ?” said Moggy, in bitter mockery. The first allowance brought in was now despatched, and the bell rung, and double as much more ordered, to Vanslyperken’s great annoyance ; but he was in the hands of the Philistines. What made the matter worse, was, that the company grew every moment92 THE DOG FIEND; OR, more uproarious, and there was no saying when they would stop. “A song—a song—a song from Mr. Van- slyperken,” cried one of the party. “* Hurrah ! yes, asong from the jolly lieu- tenant.” ‘IT can’t sing,” replied Vanslyperken. ‘“You shall sing, by the piper who played before Moses,” said the virago ; ‘‘if not, you shall sing out to some purpose ;” and the red- hot poker was again brandished in her mas- culine fist, and she advanced to him, saying, ‘“‘ Suppose we hargue that point ?” ““ Would you murder me, woman?” *' No ; singing is no murder, but we ax a song, and a song we must have.” ‘‘I-don't know one—upon my honour I don’t,” cried Vanslyperken. “Then, we'll larn you. And now you repeat after me.”’ ** Poll put her arms a-kimbo.’ Sing—come, out with it." And the poker was again ad- vanced. ‘*O God!” cried Vanslyperken. “Sing, or by heavens I'll shorten your nose! Sing, I say,” repeated the woman, advancing the poker so as actually to singe the skin. “Take it away, and I will,” cried Vansly- perken, breathless. “Well then, ‘ Poll put herarms a-kimbo,’ ” “* Poll put her arms a-kimbo,’”’ repeated Vanslyperken. “That's saying, not singing," cried the woman. ‘' Now again. ‘At the admiral’s house looked she.’”’ “* At the admiral's house looked she,’ replied Vanslyperken in a whining tone. Thus, with the poker staring him in the face, was Vanslyperken made to repeat the very song for singing which he would have flogg-d Jemmy Ducks. There was, however, a desperate attempt to avoid the last stanza. Port Admiral, you be d “Tl give you a bit of my mind, old boy; dis Nothing but the tip of his nose actually burnt would have produced these last words ; but fear overcame him, and at last they were repeated. Upon which all the women shouted and shrieked with laughter, except Moggy, who continued sipping her port wine. “Your good health, Mr. Vanslyperken,” said Mogzy, drinking to him. Vanslyperken wiped the perspiration off his forehead, and made no reply. “You call yourself a gentleman, and not drink the health of the lady of the house!” cried virago Mrs. Slamkoe. ‘‘I’ll argue this point with you again.” The same never-failing argument was used, and Mr. Vanslyperken drank Mrs. Salisbury’s health in a glass of the port wine which he was to have the pleasure of paying for, ‘‘T must say, Mr. Vanslyperken,’’ said Moggy, ‘‘it was very hard for to wish to flog my poor Jemmy for singing a song which you have just now been singing yourself.” “Did he want to flog your Jemmy for that?” ‘“ Yes, he did indeed, ladies.” ‘“Then as sure as I stand here, and may this punch be my poison, if he sha’n’t beg your pardon on his knees. Sha’n’t he, girls?” cried Mrs. Slamkoe. ‘Yes, yes, that he shall, or we'll poke him with the poker.” ‘This was a dreadful threat, but the indignity was So great, that Vanslyperken attempted to resist. It was, however, in vain; he was forced to go on his knees, and ask Mrs. Salis- bury’s pardon. ‘‘ Indeed, ladies, I do not wish it,” said Moggy; ‘‘now, pray don’t. Well, Mr. Van- slyperken, pardon granted ; so now kiss and make friends.”’ Mr. Vanslyperken, surrounded now by furies rather than Bacchanalians, kissed Mrs. Salis- bury. “What in the world would you have me do, you she devils?” cried he at last, driven to desperation. ‘This is language for a gentleman!” said Mrs. Slamkoe. ‘They shall make you do nothing more,” replied Moggy. ‘‘I mustretire, ladies—your freak’s up. You know I never keep late hours. Ladies, I wish you all a very good night.” “Perhaps, Mr. Vanslyperken, you would wish to go. I'll send for the woman of the house that you may settle the bill; I think you offered to treat the company?” Vanslyperken grinned ghastly. The bell was rung, and while Mr. Vanslyperken was pulling out the sum demanded by the land- lady, the ladies all disappeared. Vanslyperken put up his diminished purse. ‘There is your sword, Mr. Vanslyperken,”’ said Moggy; who, during the whole of the scene, had kept up a retenue very different to her usual manners. Vanslyperken took his sword, and appeared to feelhis courage return—why not? he was armed, and in company with only one woman, and he sought revenge. He rang the bell, and the landlady appared. ‘‘ Landlady,’’ cried Vanslyperken, “ you'll send fora constable directly. Obey me, or I'll put you down as a party to the robbery which has been committed. I say, a constable immediately. Refuse on your peril, woman; a king’s officer has been robbed and ill- treated,”’ ‘‘ Lauk-a-mercy ! aconstable, sir? I’m sure you've had a very pleasant jollification.”’ ‘Silence, woman; send for a constable immediately.” ‘Do you hear, Mrs, Wilcox?" saidMoggy,very quietly. ‘‘ Mr. Vanslyperken wants a constable. Send for one by all means.” ‘‘Oh! certainly, ma'am if you wish it,” said the landlady, quitting the room. ‘* Yes, you infamous woman, I'll teach you to rob and ill-treat people in this way.” ‘Mercy on me! Mr. Vanslyperken, why, I never interfered.”’ ‘‘ Ay, ay, that’s all very well ; but you'll tell another story when you're all before the authorities,”’ ‘* Perhaps I shall,” replied Moggy, care- lessly. ‘‘ But I shall now wish youa good even- ing, Mr. Vanslyperken.”’ Thereupon Mr. Vanslyperken very valor- ously drew his sword, and flourished it over his head. ‘‘ You don’t pass here, Mrs, Salis- bury. No—no—it’s my turn now.” ‘‘Your turn now, you beast!’’ retorted Moggy. ‘‘ Why, if I wished to pass, this poker would soon clear the way; but I can pass without that, and I will give you the countersign. Hark! a word in your ear, you wretch. Youarein my power. You have sent for a constable, and I swear by my own Jemmy’s little finger, which is worth your old shrivelled carcass, that I shall give you in charge of the constable.” ‘*Me !”’ exclaimed Vanslyperken. ‘‘ Yes, you,—you wretch—you scum. Now Iam going, stop me if you dare. Walls have ears, so I'll whisper. If you wish to send a constable after me, you'll find me at the house ofthe Jew Lazarus. Do you understand ?”’ Vanslyperken started back as if an adder had come before hit, his sword dropped out of his hand, he stood transfixed. ‘‘May I go now, Mr. Vanslyperken, or am I to wait for the constable? Silence gives consent,” continued Moggy, making a mock courtesy, and-walking out of the room. For a minute, Vanslyperken remained in the same position. At last, bursting with his feelings, he snatched up his sword, put it into the sheath, and was about to quit the room, when in came the landlady with the constable. ‘(You vants me, sir?’’ said the man. “JT did,” stammered Vanslyperken ‘‘ but she is gone.” “I must be paid for my trouble, sir, if you please.’ Vanslyperken had again to pull out his purse; but this time he hardly felt the annoyance, for in his mind’s eye his neck was already in the halter. He put the money into the man’s hand without speaking, and then left the room, the landlady courtesying very low, and hoping that she soon should again have the pleasure of his company at the Wheatsheaf, SNARLEVVYOW 93 CHAPTER XXXI. In which Snarleyyow again trinmphs over his €71€7711eS. BuT we must return to the cabin, and state what took place during this long absence of the commander, who had gone on shore about three o'clock, and had given directions for his boat to beat the Point at sunset. ‘Phere had been a council of war held on the forecastle, in which Corporal Van Spitter and Smallbones were the most prominent ; and the meeting was held to debate whether they should or should not make one more attempt to destroy the dog; singular that the arguments and observations very nearly coincided with those made use of by Vanslyperken and his mother, when they debated how to get rid of Small- bones. “Water won’t touch him, I sees that,” observed Smallbones. ‘‘No. Mein Gott, das was to trow time and de trouble away,” replied the Corporal. ‘ Hanging’s just as natural a death for a cur,” observed Spurey. ‘“* Yes,’’ observed Short. ‘‘1’m afeared that the rope’s not laid that’s to hang that animal,” observed Coble, shaking his head. ‘‘ If water won't do, I’m persuaded nothing will, for did not they use, in former days, to lay all spirits in the Red Sea?” ‘« Yes,’’ quoth Short. ‘But he ban’t a spirit yet,’’ replied Small- bones; ‘‘ he be flesh and blood o' some sort. If I gets fairly rid of his body, d—n his soul, I say ; he may keep that and welcome.” ‘But then, you know, he'll haunt us just as much as ever—we shall see him here just the same.” ‘‘ A spirit is only a spirit,’ observed Small- bones ; ‘‘ he may live in the cabin all day and night afore I care: but, d'ye see, there's a great difference between the ghost of a dog and the dog himself.” ‘““ Why, if the beast ar'n't natural, I can't see much odds,” observed Spurey. ‘But I can’t feel em,” replied Smallbones. ‘This here dog has a-bitten me all to bits, but a ghost of a dog can’t bite, anyhow.” ‘“No,” replied Short. “And now, d'ye see, as Obadiah Coble has said as how spirits must be laid, I think if we were to come for to go for to lay this here hanimal in the cold hearth, he may perhaps not be able to get up again.’ ‘« That's only a perhaps,” observed Coble. ‘Well, a perhaps is better than nothing at all,” said the lad. ‘‘Yes,”’ observed Short. ‘“That depends upon — sarcumstances,” observed Spurey, ‘‘ What sort of a break- fast would you make upon a perhaps?” “A good one, perhaps,” replied Small- bones, grinning at the jingling of the words. afr aaa04 THE DOG “Twenty dozen tyfels! Smallbones is in de right,” observed Jansen, who had taken no part ‘in the previous conversation. ‘Suppose you bury de dog, de dog body not get up again. Suppose he will come, his soul come, leave him body behind him.” “That's exactly my notion of the thing,” observed Smallbones. ““Do you mean for to bury him alive ?” inquired Spurey. “Alive! Gott in himmel—no. I knock de brains out first, perry afterwards.” ¢ ‘* There’s some sense in that, corporal.” ' “And the dog can’t have much left any- how, dog or devil, when his brains are all out.” ‘* No,” quoth Short. ** But who is to do it?" ‘Corporal and I,” replied Smiallbones ; ““we be agreed, ban’t we, corporal ?”’ “Mein Gott, yes !”’ ““And now I votes that we tries it off- hand; what’s the use of shilly-shally ? I made a mortal vow that that ’ere dog and [I won't live together—there ban’t room enough for us two.” ‘“‘ It's a wide world, nevertheless,’ observed Coble, hitching up his trousers ; ‘“howsom- ever, I have nothing to say, but I wish you luck ; but if you kill that dog, I’ma bishop— that’s all.” “* And if I don't try for to do so, I am an harchbishop, that’s all,” replied the gallant Smallbones. ‘‘Come along, corporal,” And here was to be beheld a novel scene. Smallbones followed in obedience by his former persecutor and _ his superior officer; a bag of bones—a reed—a lath—a scarecrow ; like a pilot cutter ahead of an Indiaman, followed in his wake by Corporal Van Spitter, weighing twenty stone. How could this be ? It was human nature. Smallbones took the lead, because he was the more courageous of the two, and the corporal following, proved he tacitly admitted it. ‘‘He be-a real bit of stuff, that ’ere Phil Smallbones,”’ said one of the men. “‘I thinks he be a supernatural himself, for my part,” rejoined Spurey. “At all events, he: ar'n't afeard of an. said another. ‘"We shall see,’’ replied Coble, squirting out his tobacco-juice under the gun, *“Come, men, we must go to work now, Shall we, Mr. Short ?” *f Yes,” replied the commanding officer ; and the conference broke up. In the meantime the consultation was continued between Smallboneés and the cor- poral, The latter had received instructions to take on shore Mr. Vanslyperken’s dirty linen to the washerwoman, and of course, aS a cor- poral, he was not obliged to carry it, and would take Smallbones for that purpose, FIEND; OR, Then he could easily excuse taking the dog on shore upon the plea of taking care of it. It was therefore so arranged; the dog would follow the corporal in the absence of his master, but no one else. In a few minutes the corporal, Smallbones, Snarleyyow, and a very small bundle of linen were in the boat, and shoved off with as many good wishes and as much anxiety for their success as probably Jason and his followers received when they departed in search of the Golden Fleece. The three parties kept in company, and passed through the town of Portsmouth. The washerwoman lived outside the Lines, and there they proceeded. Snarleyyow very much in spirits at being able to eat the grass, which his health very much required. They walked on until they arrived at a large elm-tree, on the side of the road, which lay between two hedges and ditches. “This will do,’ observed the corporal solemnly, ‘‘ Mein Got! I wish it was over,” continued he, wiping the perspiration from his bull-forehead. ‘““How shall we kill him, corporal?” inquired Smallbones. ““Mein Gott! knock him head against de tree, I suppose.”’ ‘Yes, and bury him in the ditch. Here, dog—Snarleyyow-—here, dog,” said Small. bones ; *‘come, a poor doggy—come here.” But Snarleyyow was not to be coaxed by Smallbones ; he suspected treachery. “He won't a-come to me, corporal, or I'd soon settle his hash,” observed Smallbones. The corporal had now got over a little panic which had seized him. He called Snarleyyow, who came immediately. Oh! had he imagined what the corporal was about to do, he might have died like Caesar, ex- claiming ‘‘Et tu, Brute?” which in plain English means, ‘‘ and you—you brute ?”’ The corporal, with a sort of desperation, laid hold of the dog by the tail, drawing him back till he could swing him round. In a second or two, Snarleyyow was whirling round the corporal, who turned with him, gradually approaching the trunk of the elm-tree, till at last his head came in contact with it with a resounding blow, and the dog fell senseless, ** Try it again, corporal, let's finish him:” The corporal again swung round the inanimate body of the dog; again, and again, and again did the head come in contact with the hard wood ; and then the corporal, quite out of breath with the exertion, dropped the body on the grass. Neither of them:spoke a word for some time, but watched the body, as it lay motionless, doubled up, with the fore and hind feet meeting each other, and the one eye closed. ‘Well, I’ve a notion that he is done for, anyhow,” said Smallbones, ‘‘at last,’ ‘Mein Gott, yes!” replied the corporal,““He never get on his legs again, be he tog or be he tyfel.”’ “Now for to come for to go for to bury him,” said Smallbones, swinging the dog by the tail, and dragging him towards the ditch. ‘““I wonder if we could get aspade anywhere, corporal.” ““Mein Gott! if we ask for a spade they wiil ask what for, and Vanslyperken may find it all out.” “Then I'll bury him and cover him up, any how ; he'll not come to life again ; if he does, may TI be knocked om the head like him, that’s all.” Smallbones dragged the body into the ditch, and collecting out of the other parts of the ditch a great quantity of wet leaves, covered the body a foot deep. ‘‘ There, they won't find him now, because they won’t know where to look for him. I say, corporal, I’ve a notion we had better not be seen here too long.” ““No,’’ said the corporal wiping his fore- head, putting his handkerchief in his cap, and his cap on his head; ‘‘we must go now.” They went to the washerwoman’s, delivered the bundle, and then returned on board, when the whole crew were informed of the success of the expedition, and appeared quite satisfied that there was an end of the detested cur; all but Coble, who shook his head. ‘“We shall see,” says he; ‘‘ but I’m blessed if I don’t expect the cur back to-morrow morn- ing. We must now return to Vanslyperken, who left the public house in a state of consternation. “‘How could she possibly know anything about it?’ exclaimed he. ‘‘ My life in the power of that she-devil!’’ And Vanslyperken walked on, turning over the affair in his mind. ‘‘ T have gone too far to retreat now. I must either go on, or fly the country. Fly—where? What a fool have I been!” but then Vansly- perken thought of the money. ‘‘ No, no, not a fool, but 1 am very unfortunate.” Vansly- perken continued his route, until it at last occurred to him that he would go to the Jew Lazarus, and speak with him; for, thought Vanslyperken, if all is discovered, they may think that I have informed, and then my life will be sought by both parties. Vanslyperken arrived at the Jew’s abode, knocked softly, but received no answer ; he knocked again, louder; a bustle and confusion was heard inside, and at last the door, with the chain fixed, was opened a couple of inches, and the Jew stam- mered out, ‘‘ Wot vash there at this late hour of the night?” ‘‘It is me, the lieutenant of the cutter,’ replied Vanslyperken. ‘’I must speak with you directly.” The door was opened, several figures, and the clatter of arms, were heard in the dark passage, and as soon as Vanslyperken had entered it was relocked, and he was left in the dark, SNARLEVYOW. 95 In a minute the Jew, in a woollen wrapper, made his appearance with a light, and led Vanslyperken into the room where he had been shown before. ‘‘ Now then, Mishter Leeftenant, vat vash de matter?” ‘‘We arediscovered, I’m afraid !”’ exclaimed Vanslyperken. ‘“Holy father Abraham!” exclaimed the Jew, starting back. ‘‘ But tell me vy you sha sho.” ‘‘A woman told me this night that she knew why I came to your house—that I was in her power. ‘“Vat woman?” ‘‘ A hell-cat, who hates me as she does the devil.” “A hell-cat vould not hate de divil,” slowly observed the Jew. ‘‘ Well, perhaps not; but she will ruin me if she can.” ‘Vat vash her name?” said Lazarus. ‘* Moggy Salisbury.” ‘*Paah! is dat all? vy, my good friend, she is one of us. Dere, you may go vay— you may go tobed, Mr. Vanslyperken,”’ ‘* What do you mean ?” ‘‘T mean dat she laughed at you, and frighten you—dat she is one of us, and so is her husband, who was in your chip. Ven you hang, she and I vill all hang together ; now you comprehend ?” ‘‘Yes,”” replied Vanslyperken, ‘' I do now: but how could you trust such people?” ‘‘Trust such people, Mr. Vanslyperken ! If you prove as true as those people, vy all de bitter; now go avay—go to bed—you have vaked up all the peoples here, Good-night, Mr. Leeftenant ;” and the Jew led the way to the door, and let Vanslyperken out. ‘*So-then,” thought Vanslyperken, as he pursued his way down to the Point, ‘‘ that woman and her husband are—damnation. but I've a great mind to discover all, if it’s only to hang them.” But on second thoughts, Van- slyperken thought that it was not worth while to be hanged himself, just for the pleasure of hanging others. It was a great relief to his mind to know that there was no fear of dis- covery. The tip of his nose itched, and he rubbed it mechanically ; the rubbing brought away all the skin. He remembered the hot poker—the money he had been forced to pay —his being made to sing and to beg pardon on his knées; and he cursed Moggy in his heart, the more so, as he felt that he dared not take any steps against her. When he came to the Point, he stood on the shingle, looking for his boat, but the men had waited. till twelve o'clock, and then, presuming that their commander did. not intend to come at all that night, had pulled on board again. He was looking round for a waterman to pull him off, when something cold touched hishand. Vanslyperken started, CNS ish ic Ss ee ae dy anes96 and almost screamed with fear. He looked, and it was the cold nose of Snarleyyow, who now leaped upon his master. “Snarleyyow, my poor dog! how came you on shore?” But the dog not being able to speak, made no answer. While Vanslyperken was wondering how the dog could possibly haye come on shore, and what Corporal Van Spitter could be about to have allowed it, the small casement of a garret window near him was opened, and a head was thrust out. ‘*Do you want to go on board, sir?’ said a tremulous voice. ‘**Yes,’’ replied Vanslyperken. ‘JT will be down directly, sir,’’ replied the old boatman, who in a minute or two appeared with his sculls on his shoulder. ‘Not easy to find a boat at this time in the morning, sir,’ said the man; ‘‘but I heard you speaking, for I've had such a toothache these two nights that I can't shut my eyes. ’ The old man unlocked the chain which fastened his wherry, and in a few minutes Vanslyperken was on the deck of the cutter, but he found there was no one to receive him —no watch kept. ‘Very well,” thought he, ‘‘well talk about this to-morrow morning. Short or Coble, I wonder which of the two—pretty neglect of duty, indeed—report to the admiral, by heavens!” So saying, Mr, Vanslyperken, with Snarley- yow at his heels, went down into the cabin— undressed in the dark, for he would not let any one know that he was on board. It being about three o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Vanslyperken being well tired with the events of the day, he was soon in a sound sleep. There will be no difficulty in ac- counting for the return of the dog, which had a skull much thicker than even the corporal’s. He had been stunned with the heavy blows, but not killed. After a certain time he came to himself in his bed of leaves, first scratched with one paw, and then with another, till his senses returned: he rose, worked his way out, and lay downto sleep. After he had taken a long nap, he rose recovered, shook himself, and trotted down to the beach, but the boat had shoved off, and the cur had remained there, waiting for an opportunity to get on board, when his master came down with the same object in view. But as every soul is fast asleep, we shall now finish the chapter. CHAPTER XXXII. Listeners never hear any good of themselves. VANSLYPERKEN was awakened three hours after he had fallen asleep by the noise of the buckets washing the decks. He heard the THE DOG FIEND ; OR, men talking on deck, and aware that no one knew that he was on board, he rose from his bed, and opened one of the sliding sashes of the skylight, that he might overhear the con- versation. The first words he heard were from Bill Spurey. ‘‘T say, Coble, I wonder what the skipper will say when he comes on board, and finds that the dog is gone?” ‘‘Hoh! hoh!” thought Vanslyperken. ‘‘T ar'n't convinced that. he is gone yet,” replied Coble. ‘«Smallbones swears that he’s settled this time,’’ replied Spurey. ‘‘So he did before,” replied Coble. ‘‘Smallbones again,’ thought Vansly- perken. ‘‘I’ll Smallbones him, if I hang fon ity + ‘‘Why, he says he buried him two feet deep.’ ‘‘ Ay, ay; but what's the use of burying an animal who's not a human creature? Formy part, I say this, that the imp belongs to his master, and is bound to serve him as long as his naster lives. When he dies, the dog may be killed, and then ‘ ‘«Then what ?.” ‘‘Why, with the blessing of God, they'll both go to hell together, and I don’t care how soon. ‘Kall me, you old villain!” muttered Van- slyperken, grinding his teeth. ‘‘ Well, any how, if the dog be not made away with, nomore be Smallbones. He arn't afeard of the devil himself.”’ ‘“No, not he; I'm of opinion Smallbones wa'n't sent here for nothing.”’ ‘‘ He's escaped him twice, at all events.” “Then they know it,’ thought Vanslyper- ken, turning pale. ‘‘ Ay, andI will take you any bet you please that the skipper never takes that boy’s life. He's charmed, or Iam a gudgeon. Vanslyperken felt that it was his own sus- picion, and he trembled at the idea of the lad being supernatural. ‘‘Out of the way, Coble, or I'll fill your shoes,” cried out one of the men, slashing a bucket of water. ‘That's not quite so easy, ‘cause I’ve got boots on,’ replied Coble. ‘‘ However, I'll take up another berth.” The men walked away, and Vanslyperken could hear no more; but he had heard, quite enough. The life of the dog had been attempted by Smallbones, it was. evident. Mr. Vanslypérken, after a little agitation rang the bell. ‘‘By all that’s blue,. the skipper’s on board !”” exclaimed the men on deck. ‘‘When the devil did he come?” ‘* Not in my watch, at all events,’’ replied Coble. ‘‘ Did he come in yours, Short?’” ‘“ No," replied Short, ,SNARLEYYOW. ‘Then it must have been in the cor- poral’s.”’ ‘‘The corporal never called me, nor was he on deck,” replied Coble. ‘‘I’ve a notion he never kept his watch.” The ring at the bell particularly concerned two people, the two culprits, Smallbones and Corporal Van Spitter. The latter made his apearance; but pre- vious to his answering the bell, Mr. Vansly- perken had time to reflect. “So they think my dog is supernatural,” said he; ‘‘so much the better. I'll make them believe it still more.” Mr. Vanslyperken called the dog, and pointed to his bed. The dog, who was fond of a warm berth, and but seldom allowed to get on the bed, immediately jumped up into it when invited, and Mr. Vanslyperken patted him, and covered him up with the bed- clothes. He then drew the curtains of the bed, and waited to see who would answer the bell. Corporal Van Spitter made his appear- ance. ‘Corporal, I came on board very late; where have you put the dog? Bring him into the cabin.” Here the corporal, who was prepared, shook his head, smoothed down the hair of his forehead, and made a very melancholy face. “Tt was all my fault, Mynheer Vanslyper- ken ; yet I do for de best, but de tog be lost.” ‘« How is that, corporal?” The corporal then stated that he had taken the precaution to take the dog on shore, as he was afraid to leave it on board when he went to the washerwoman’s, and that he was not long there, but while he was the dog dis- appeared. He had looked everywhere, but could not find it. ‘You took Smallbones with you?” said Vanslyperken. “Yes, mynheer, to carry de linen.” “And where was he when you were at the washerwoman’s. ‘‘ He was here and dere.” “J know that it was he who killed and buried the dog, corporal.” Corporal Van Spitter started: he thought he was discovered. «Kilt and perryed! mein Gott!” said the corporal, obliged to say something. “Yes, I overheard the men say so on deck, corporal. He must have taken the oppor- tunity when you were in the house counting the linen.”’ Now the corporal had time to recover him- self, and he argued that anything was better than that he should be suspected. Small- bones was already known to have attempted the life of the dog, so he would leave the lieu- tenant in his error. “Mein Gott! he is von d——d kill-dog feller,” observed the corporal. ‘‘I look every- 97 where; I no find de tog. Den de tog is dead?” ‘‘Yes,”’ replied Vanslyperken, ‘‘but Ill punish the scoundrel, depend upon it, That will do, corporal ; you may go.” As Snarleyyow remained perfectly quiet during this conversation, we must give Van- slyperken great credit for his manceuvre. The corporal went to Smallbones, and repeated what had passed. Smallbones snapped his fingers. “He may keel-haul, or hang me, for all I care. The dog is dead. Never fear, corporal. I won't peach upon you. I’m game, and I'll die so—if so be I must.”’ Vanslyperken sent for Smallbones. Small- bones, who was worked up to the highest state of excitement, came in boldly. ‘‘So, you villain, you've killed my dog and buried it.”’ ‘‘No, I ar'n't,” replied Smallbones. knows nothing about your dog, sir.” ‘Why, the men on deck said so, you scoundrel—I heard them.” ‘‘T don’t care what the men say; I never killed your dog, sir.” ‘You rascal, I'll have your life!’ exclaimed Vanslyperken. Smallbones grinned diabolically, and Van- slyperken, who remembered all that the men had said in confirmation of his own opinion relative to Smallbones, turned pale, Small- bones, on his part, aware from Corporal Van Spitter, that the lieutenant had such an idea, immediately took advantage of the signs in the lieutenant’s countenance, and drawled out, ‘ That’s—not—so—easy !” Vanslyperken turned away. ‘‘ You may go now, sir, but depend upon it you shall feel my vengeance !”” and Smallbones quitted the cabin. Vanslyperken finished his toilet, and then turned the dog out of the bed. He went on the deck, and after he had walked a little while, sent for Corporal Van Spitter to consult as to the best method of as- certaining what had become of Snarleyyow. Having entered apparently very earnestly into the corporal’s arrangements, who was to go on shore immediately, he desired the corporal to see his breakfast got ready in the cabin. It so happened that the corporal went into the cabin, followed by Smallbones : the first object that met his view, was Snarleyyow, sitting upon his chest, scratching his ragged ear as if nothing had happened. ‘Gott in himmel!” roared the corporal, turning back, and running out of the cabin, upsetting Smallbones, whom he met in the passage, and trotting, like an elephant, right over him. Nor was Smallbones the only one who suffered ; two marines and three seamen were successively floored by the corporal, who, blinded with fear, never stopped till he ran his .F Chey,i 98 head butt against the lining in the fore peak of the cutter, which, with the timbers of the vessel, brought him up, not all standing, in one sense of the word, for in his mad career his head was dashed so violently against them that the poor corporal fell down, stunned to insensibility. In the meantime Smallbones had gained his feet, and was rubbing his ribs, to ascer- tain if they were all whole. ‘‘ Well, I'm sure,” said he, ‘‘if I arn’t flattened for all the world like a pancake, with that ‘ere corporal’s weight. One may as well have a broad-wheel waggon at once go over one’s body; but what could make him come for to go to run away bellowing in that ‘ere manner? He must have seen the devil; or, perhaps,” thought Smallbones, ‘‘ that imp of the devil, Snarley- yow. I'll go and see what it was, anyhow.” Smallbones, rubbing his abdomen, where the corporal had trod hardest, walked into the cabin, where he beheld the dog. He stood with his mouth wide open. ‘*T defy the devil and all his works,’’ ex- claimed he, at last, ‘‘and you be one of his, that’s sartin. I fear God, and I honour the king, and the parish taught me to read the Bible. There you be resurrectioned up again. Well, it’s no use, I suppose. Satan, I defy you, anyhow; but it’s very hard that a good Christian should have to get the breakfast ready of which you'll eat one half: I don't see why I’m to wait upon the devil or his imps.” Then Smallbones stopped, and thought a little. ‘ I wonder whether he bee’d dead, as I thought. Master came on board last night without no one knowing nothing about it, and he might have brought the dog with him, if so be he came to again. I won't believe that he’s haltogether not to be madeaway with, for how come his eye out? Well, I don't care; I’m a good Christian, and may I be swamped if I don’t try what he’s made of yet ! First time we cut’s up beef, I'll try and chop your tail, anyhow, that I will, if I am hung for it. Smallbones regained his determination. He set about laying the things for breakfast, and when they were ready he went up to the ae Jara reporting the same to Mr. Van- slyperken, who had expected to see him frightened out of his wits, and concluded his speech by saying, ‘‘ If you please, sir, the dog be in the cabin, all right; I said as how I never kilt your dog, nor buried him neither.” ‘““The dog in the cabin!” exclaimed Mr. Vanslyperken, with apparent astonishment. ‘Why, how the devil could he have come theres: ‘‘ He cummed off, I suppose, sir, same way as you did, without nobody knowing nothing about it,’’ drawled out Smallbones, who then walked away. THE DOG FIEND; OR, In the meantime the corporal had been picked up, and the men were attempting to recover him. Smallbones went forward to see what had become of him, and learnt how it. was that he was insensible. ‘Well, then,’ thought Smallbones, ‘it may have been all the same with the dog, and I believe there's humbug in it ; for if the dog © had made his appearance, as master pretends ~ he did, all of a sudden, he’d have been more frightened than me.” So reasoned Smallbones, and he reasoned well. Inthe meantime the corporal opened his eyes, and gradually returned to his senses, and then, for the first time, the ship's com- pany, who were all down at: their breakfast, demanded of Smallbones the reason of the corporal’s conduct. ‘‘ Why,” replied Smallbones, ‘‘ because that ‘ere beast, Snarleyyow, be come back again, all alive, a'ter being dead and buried—he’s in the cabin now—that’s all.” ‘*That’s all!’ exclaimed one. ‘' All!” cried another. ‘‘ The devil!’’ said a third. ‘«T said as how it would be,” said Obadiah Coble—“ that dog is no dog, as sure as I sit here.” The return of the dog certainly had a strong 7 effect upon the whole of the ship’s company. The corporal swore that he was not in the | the cabin, and that Mr. Vanslyperken had J arranged for his going on shore to look forhim, when all of a sudden the. dog made his ap- pearance, no oneknew how. Smallbonesfound $ himself so much in the minority that he said 7 nothing. It was perfect heresy not to believe | that the dog was sent from the lower regions | and for any further attempts to destroy it, it § was considered as perfect insanity. But this renewed attempt on the part of F Smallbones, for Vanslyperken was convinced 7 that an attempt had been made, although it § had not been successful, again excited the} a feelings of Mr. Vanslyperken against the lad, 7 and he resolved somehow or another to re- taliate. was reckless in his desire of vengeance. There was not the least suspicion of treachery on His anger overcame his awe, and he = the part of Corporal Van Spitter in the heart] of Mr. Vanslyperken, and the corporal played his double part so well that, if possible, he7 was now higher in favour than ever. After a day or two, during which Mr. Van-= slyperken remained on board, he sent for the corporal, determining to sound him as to whether he would make any attempts upon | Smallbones; for to such a height had Van- slyperken’s enmity arrived that he now re- solved to part with some of his darling money, to tempt the corporal, rather than not get rid of the lad. After many hints thrown out, but not taken by the wily corporal, who was re- solved that Vanslyperken should speak plainly, the deed and the reward of ten guineas wereopenly proclaimed, and Vanslyperken waited for the corporal’s reply. “Mein Gott, Mynheer Vanslyperken ! sup- pose it was possible, I not take your money; I do it wid pleasure ; but, sir, it not possible.” ** Not possible!” exclaimed Vanslyperken. ** No, mynheer,”’ replied the corporal; “I not tell you all, tousand tyfils, I not tell you . all;”’ and here the corporal put his hand to his forehead and was silent, much to Vansly- perken’s amazement. But the fact was, that Corporal Van Spitter was thinking what he possibly could say. At last, abrilliant thought struck him—he narrated to the lieutenant how he had seen the ghost of Smallbones, as he thought, when he was floating about, adrift on the Zuyder Zée—described with great force his horror at the time of the appearance of the supernatural object, and tailed on to what he believed to be true, that which he knew to be false, to wit, that the apparition had cried out to him, that ‘‘ke was not to be hurt by mortal man.” ‘Gott in himmel,”’ finished the corporal, ‘‘I never was so frightened in my life. I see him now, as plain as I see you, mynheer. Twenty tousand tyfils, but the voice was like de tunder—and his eye like de lightning—I fell back in one swoon. Ah, mein Gott, mein Gott!” So well did the corporal play his part, that Vanslyperken became quite terrified ; the can- dle appeared to burn dim, and he dared not move to snuff it. He could not but credit the corporal, for there was an earnestness of de- scription, and a vividness of colouring, which could not have been invented ; besides, was not the corporal his earnest and only -friend ? “‘ Corporal,” said Vanslyperken, ‘‘ perhaps you'll like a glass of scheedam ; there’s some in the cupboard.” This was very kind of Mr. Vanslyperken, but he wanted one himself, much more than the corporal. The corporal produced the bottle and the glass, poured it out, made his military salute, and tossed it off. ‘*Give me another glass, corporal,’ said Vanslyperken, in a tremulous tone. The lieutenant took one, two, three glasses, one after another, to recover himself. The corporal had really frightened him. He was convinced that Smallbones had a charmed life. Did he not float to the Nab buoy and back again?—did not a pistol ball pass. through him without injury? Vansly- perken shuddered ; he took a fresh glass, and then handed the bottle to the corporal, who helped himself, saluted, and the liquor again disappeared in a moment. Dutch courage is proverbial, although a libel upon one of the bravest of nations. Van- slyperken now felt it, and again he commenced with the corporal, ‘‘ What were the words?” inquired he. ‘‘Dat he was not to be hurt by mortal man, SVARLEYYOW, 99 mynheer, I can take my piple oath of it,” replied the corporal. ‘Damnation !’ cried Vanslyperken ; ‘‘ but stop—mortal man—perhaps he may be hurt by woman,” “Dat is quite anoder ting, mynheer.’ ‘‘He sha’n’t escape if I can help it,” re- torted Vanslyperken. ‘‘I must think about it.’’ Vanslyperken poured out another glass of scheedam, and pushed the stone bottle to the corporal, who helped himself withdut ceremony. Mr. Vanslyperken was now about two-thirds drunk, for he was not used to such a quantity of spirits. ‘Now, if I had only been friends with that — that — hell-fire Moggy Salisbury,” thought Vanslyperken, speaking aloud to him- self. ‘‘Mein Gott, yes, mynheer,’ corporal. Vanslyperken took another glass—spilling a great deal on the table as he poured it out ; he then covered his eyes with his hand, as if in thought. Thereupon the corporal filled without being asked; and, as he perceived that his superiorremained in the same position, and did not observe him, he helped himself to a second glass, and then waited till Vansly- perken should speak again; but the liquor had overpowered him, and he spoke no more The corporal, after a few minutes, went up to his superior; he touched him on the shoulder, saying, ‘‘Mynheer,”’ but he obtained noreply. On the contrary, the slight touch made Mr. Vanslyperken fall forward on the table. He was quite insensible. So the corporal took him up in his arms laid him in his bed, then taking possession of the lieutenant’s chair, for he was tired of standing so long, he set to work to empty the bottle, which, being large and full at the time that it was produced from the cupboard, took sometime, and beforeit wasaccomplished, the Corporal Van Spitter had fallen fast asleep in the chair. Shortly afterwards the candle burnt out, and the cabin was in dark- ness. It was about three o’ciock in the morning when Mr. Vanslyperken began to recover his senses, and as his recollection returned, so were his ears met with a stupendous roaring and unusual noise. It was, to his imagination, unearthly, for he had been troubled with wild dreams about Smallbones, and his appearance to the corporal: It sounded like thunder, and Mr. Vanslyperken thought that he could plainly make out, ‘‘Mortal man! Mortal man?” and, at times, the other words of the supernatural intimation to the corporal. The mortal man was drawn out in lengthened cadence, and in a manner truly horrible. Vanslyperken called out: ‘' Mor—tal—man, ” was the reply. Again Vanslyperken almost shrieked in a y , replied the SR SF gg SR ae eco RE ec100 THE DOG FIEND; OR, p spiration of fear. The sound now ceased ; but it was followed up by a noise like the rattling of glasses, tumbling about of the chairs and table, and Vanslyperken buried his face under theclothes. Then the door, which had been shut, was heard by him to slam like thunder ; and then Snarleyyow barked loud and deep. ‘‘ Oh God, forgive me,” cried the terrified lieutenant. ‘‘Our Father—which art in heaven—save me—save me!”’ Shortly afterwards the corporal made his appearance with a light, and inquired if Mr. Vanslyperken had called. He found him reeking with perspiration, and half dead with fear. In broken words he stated how he had been visited, and how the same intimation that no mortal man could hurt Smallbones had been rung into his ears. ‘‘Tt was only one dream, Mynheer Vansly- perken,”’ observed the corporal. ‘‘No—it was no dream,” replied Vansly- perken. ‘‘Stay in the cabin, good corporal.” *‘Yes, Mynheer,” replied the corporal, drawing the curtains of the bed; and then quietly picking up the various articles on the floor, the table and chairs which had been overturned. Alas! fear is the mate of guilt. All this horrible visitation was simply that Mr. Vansly- perken had heard the corporal’s tremendous snoring, as he slept in the chair, and which his imagination had turned into the words, ‘‘Mortal man.” ‘The first exclamation of Mr. Vanslyperken had awoke the corporal, who, aware of theimpropriety of his situation, had attempted to retreat ; in so doing he had overturned the table and chairs with the bottles and glasses upon them. Fearful of discovery upon this unexpected noise, he had hastened out of the cabin, slammed the door, and waked up Snarleyyow; but he knew, from the exclamations of Vansly- perken, that the lieutenant was frightened out of his wits: so he very boldly returned witha candle to ascertain theresult ofthe disturbance, and was delighted to find that the lieutenant was still under the delusion. So soon as he had replaced everything, the corporal took a chair, and finding that he had fortunately put the cork into the stone bottle before he fell asleep, and that there was still one or two glasses in it, he drank them off, and waited patiently for daylight. By this time Vanslyperken was again asleep and snoring ; so the corporal took away all the broken fragments, put the things inorder, and left the cabin. When Vanslyperken awoke and rang his bell, Smallbones entered. - Vanslyperken got up, and finding the cabin-as it was left the night before, was more than ever persuaded that he had been supernaturally visited. Fear made him quite civil to the lad, whose life he mow considered, as the ship's company did that of the dog’s, it was quite useless for him, at least, to attempt, and thus ends this chapter of horrors. CHAPTER XXXIII- In which there ts nothing very particular or very wnteresting. WE must now change the scene for a short time, and introduce to our readers a company assembled in the best inn which, at that time, was to be found in the town of Cherbourg, The room in which they were assembled was large in dimensions, but with a low ceiling— the windows were diminutive, and gave but a subdued light, on account of the vicinity of the houses opposite. The window-frames were small, and cut diamond-wise ; andin the centre of each of the panes was a round of coarsely-painted glass. A narrow table ran nearly the length of the room, and, at each end of it, there was a large chimney, in both of which logs of wood were burning cheer- fully. What are now termed chazses longue were drawn to the sides of the table, or lean- ing against the walls of the room, which were without ornament, and neatly coloured with yellow ochre. The company assembled might have been about thirty in number, of which half a dozen, perhaps, were in the ecclesiastical dress of the time ; while the others wore the habiliments then: appropriated to cavaliers or gentlemen, with very little difference from those as worn in the times of the Charleses in England, except that the cloak had been discarded, and the more substantial roquelaure substituted in its place. Most of the party were men who had not yet arrived to middle age, if we except the clericals, who were much more advanced in life ; and any one, who had ever fallen in with the smuggling lugger and its crew, would have had no difficulty in recognizing many of them in the well-attired and evidently high- born and well-educated young men who were seated or standing in the room. Among them Sir Robert Barclay was eminently con- spicuous ; he was standing by the fire convers- ing with two of the ecclesiastics. ‘‘Gentlemen,’’ said he at last, ‘‘our worthy Father Lovell has just arrived from St. Ger- main; and, as the most rapid communication is now necessary, he is empowered to open here and before us every despatch which we bring over, before it is transmitted to head- quarters, with permission to act as may seem best to the friends of his majesty here assem- bled,” The fact was that King James had lately completely given himself up to religious exer- cises and mortification, and any communica- tion to him was attended with so much delay, that it had been considered advisable to act without consulting him; and to avoid thedelay consequent on the transmission of com- munications to Paris, the most active parties had determined that they would, for the pre- sent, take up their residence at Cherbourg, and merely transmit to their friends at St. Germain an account of their proceedings, gaining, at least, a week by this arrangement. The party assembled had many names of some note. Among the ecclesiastics were Lovell, Collier, Snatt, and Cooke ; among the cava- liers were those of Musgrave, Friend, and Perkins, whose relatives had suffered in the cause; Smith, Clancey, Herbert, Cunning- ham, Leslie, and many others. When Sir Robert Barclay approached the table, the others took their seats in silence. ‘‘Gentlemen,”’ said Sir Robert, laying down the despatches, which had been opened, ‘‘you must be aware that our affairs now wear a very prosperous appearance. Sup- ported as we are by many in the Government of England, and by more in the House of Commons, with so many adherents here to our cause, we have every rational prospect of success. During the first three months of this year much has been done ; and, at the same time, it must be confessed that the usurper and the heretics have taken every step in their power to assail and crush us. By this de- spatch, now in my hand, it appears that a Bill has passed the Commons, by which it is enacted, ‘ That no person born after the 25th March next, being a Papist, shall be capable of inheriting any title of honour or estate, within the kingdom of England, dominion of Wales, or town of Berwick-on-the-Tweed.’”’ Here some of the ecclesiastics lifted up their eyes, others struck their clenched hands on the table, and the cavaliers, as if simul- taneously, made the room ring, by seizing hold of the handles of their swords. ‘And further, gentlemen, ‘ that no Papist shall be capable of purchasing any lands, tenements, or hereditaments, either in hisown name, or in the name of any other person in trust for him.’ ”’ The reader must be reminded, that in those days there was no ‘‘’limes” or “Morning Herald” laid upon the breakfast table, with the debates of the House—that communica- tion was anything but rapid, there being no regular post—so that what had taken place two months back was very often news. ‘It appears, then, gentlemen, that our only chance is to win our properties with our own good swords.” “We will!’”’ was the unanimous reply of the laity present. ‘In Scotland, our adherents increase daily ; the interests of so many have been betrayed by the usurper, that thousands of swords will start from their scabbards so soon as we Can support the cause with the promised assist- ance of the court of Versailles: and we have SNARLEYYOW. Iot here intelligence that the parliament are in 4 state of actual hostility to the usurper, and that the national ferment is so great as to be almost on the verge of rebellion. I have also gained from a private communication from our friend Ramsay, who is now at Amsterdam, and in a position to be most useful to us, that the usurper has intimated to his own countrymen, although it is not yet known in England, that he will return to the Hague in July. Such, gentlemen, is the intelligence [ have to impart as respects our own prospects in our own country—to which J have to add, that the secret partition treaty, which is inim- cal to the interests of the French king, has been signed both in London and the Hague, as well as by the French envoy there. A more favourable occurrence for us, perhaps, never occurred, as it will only increase the already well-known ill-will of his Catholic Majesty against the usurper of his own father-in-law s crown. Ihave now, gentlemen, laid before you our present position and future prospects ; and, as we are met to consult upon the pro- priety of further measures, I shall be most happy to hear the suggestions of others.” Sir Robert Barclay then sat down. Lovell, the Jesuit, first rose. ““T have,” said he, ‘‘no opinion to offer relative to war- like arrangements, those not being suitable to my profession. I leave them to men like Sit Robert, whose swords are always ready, anc. whose talents are so well able to direct their swords ; still, it is well known, that the sources of war must be obtained, if war is to be car- ried on; and I have great pleasure in an- nouncing to those assembled, that from our friends in England I have received advice of the two several sums of ninety-three thou- sand pounds, and _ twenty-nine thousand pounds, sterling money, having been actually collected, and now held in trust for the sup- port of the good cause; and, further, that the collections are still going on with rapidity and success. From his most Catholic Majesty we have received an order upon the minister for the sum of four thousand louis, which has been duly honoured, and from our blessed father, the Pope, an order for five hundred. thousand paolis, amounting to about thirteen thousand pounds in sterling money, together with entire absolution for all sins already com- mitted, and about to be committed, and a se- cure promise of paradise to those who fall ip the maintenance of the true faith and the legitimate king. 1 have, further, great ex- pectations from Ireland, and many promises from other quarters, in support of the cause which, with the blessing of God, I trust wil! yet triumph.” As soon as Lovell sat down, Collier, the ecclesiastic, rose. ‘That we shall find plenty of willing swords, and a sufficient supply of moncy for102 THE DOG FIEND; OR, our purposes, there can be no doubt; but I wish to propose one question to the company here assembled. It is an undoubted article of the true faith, that we are bound to uphold it by any and by every means. All human attempts are justifiable in the service of God. Many have already been made to get rid of the usurper, but they have not been crowned with success, as we too well know; and the blood of our friends, many of whom were not acoessories to the act, has been lavishly spilt by the insatiate heretic. ‘‘ But they have, before this, received im- mortal crowns, in suffering as martyrs in the cause of religion and justice. I still hold that our attempts to cut off the usurper should be centinued ; some hand more fortunate may succeed. But not only is his life to be taken, if possible, but the succession must be cut off root and branch. You all know that, of the many children born to the heretic William, all but one have been taken away from him, in judgment for his manifold crimes. One only remains, the present Duke of Gloucester ; and I do consider that this branch of heresy should be removed, even in preference to his parent, whose conduct is such as to assist our cause, and whose death may weaken the animosity of his. Catholic Majesty, whose’ hostility is well known to be personal. I have neither men nor money to offer’ you,’ but I have means, I trust, soon to accomplish this point, and I dedicate my useless life to the attempt.” It would occupy too much of our pages, if we were to narrate all that was said and done ‘at this conference, which we have been obliged to report, as intimately connected with our history. Many others addressed the meeting, proposals were made, rejected and acceded to. Lists of adherents were pro- duced, and of those who might be gained over. Resolutions were entered into and recorded, and questions debated. Before the breaking up, the accounts of the sums expended, and the moneys still on hand, were brought for- ward: and in the former items, the name of Vanslyperken appeared rather prominent. As soon as the accounts were audited, the con- fereuce broke up. We have said, that among those who were at the conference might be observed some persons who might be recognized as part of the crew of the lugger. Such was the case; Sir Robert Barclay and many others were men of good family, and stout Jacobites. These young men served in the boat with the other men, who were no more than common seamen; but this was considered necessary in those times of treachery. ‘The lugger pulled eighteen oars, was clinker built, and very swift, even with a full cargo. The after-oars were pulled by the adherents of Sir Robert, and the arm-chest was stowed in the stern- sheets: so that these young men being always armed, no attempt to betray them, or. to rise against them, on the part of the smugglers, had they been so inclined, could have suc- ceeded. Ramsay’s trust as steersman had been appropriated to Jemmy Salisbury, but no other alteration had taken place. We have entered into this detail to prove the activity of the Jacobite party. About an hour after the conference, Sir Robert and his cavaliers had resumed their seaman’s attire, for they were to go over that night; and two hours before dusk, those who had been at a conference in which the fate of kingdoms and crowned heads was at stake, were to be seen labouring at the oar, in company with common seamen, and urging the fast boat through the yielding waters, towards her haven at the cove, CHAPTER XXXIV. Besides other matter, containing an argument, WE left Ramsay domiciliated in the house of the syndic Van Krause, on excellent terms with his host, who looked upon him as the mirror of information, and not a little in the good graces of the syndic’s daughter, Wilhel- mina, There could not be a more favourable opportunity, perhaps, for a handsome and well-informed young man to prosecute his addresses and to gain the affections of the latter, were he so inclined. Wilhelmina had been brought up in every luxury, but isolated from the world. She was now just at the age at which it was her father’s intention to in- troduce her ; but, romantic in her disposition, she cared little for the formal introduction which it was intended should take place. Neither had she seen, in any of the young Dutch aristocracy, most of whom were well known to her by sight, as pointed out to her by her father when riding with him, that form and personal appearance which her mind's eye had embodied in her visions of her future lover. Her mind was naturally refined, and she looked for that elegance and grace of de- portment which she sought for in vainamong her countrymen, but which had suddenly been presented to her in the person of Edward Ramsay. In the few meetings of her father’s friends at their house, the conversation was un- interesting, if not disgusting ; for it was about goods and merchandise, money and specula- tion, occasionally interrupted by politics, which were to her of as little interest. How different was the demeanour, the address, and the conversation of the young Englishman, who had been bred in courts, and, at the same time, had travelled much! There was an interest in all he said, so much informa- tion blended with novelty and amusement, so much wit and pleasantry cxs@wning all,SNARLEYYOW. eS ape that Wilhelmina was fascinated without her being aware of it; and, before’ the terms of intimacy had warranted her receiving his hand on meeting, she had already uncon- sciously given her heart. The opportunities arising from her father’s close attention to his commercial affairs, and the mutual attraction which brought them together during the major part of the day, she anxious to be amused, and he attracted by her youth and beauty, were taken advantage of by them both, and the consequence was that, before ten days, they were inseparable. The syndic either did not perceive the danger to which his child was exposed, pro- vided that there was any objection to the intimacy, or else, equally pleased with Ram- gay, he had no objection to matters taking their course. As for Ramsay, that he had at first culti- vated the intimacy with Wilhelmina more perhaps from distraction than with any defi- nite purpose, is certain; but he soon found that her attractions were too great to permit him to continue it, if he had not serious in- tentions. When he had entered his own room, before he had been a week in the house, he had taxed himself severely as to the nature of his feelings, and he was then convinced that he must avoid her company, which was impossible if he remained in the house, or, aS a man of honour, make a timely retreat; for Ramsay was too honour- able to trifle with the feelings of an innocent girl. Having well weighed this point, he then calculated the probability of his being discovered, and the propriety of his continu- ing his attentions to the daughter of one whom he was deceiving, and whose political opinions were at such variance with his own —but this was a point on which he could come to no decision. His duty to the cause he supported would not allow him to quit the house — to remain in the house without falling in love was impossible. Why should his political opinions ever be known? and why should not Wilhelmina be of the same opinion as he was?—and why ——. Ramsay fell asleep, putting these questions to himself, and the next morning he resolved that things should take their chance. It was about a fortnight since the cutter had left for England. Ramsay was rather impatient for intelligence, but the cutter had not yet returned. Breakfast had been over some time, Mynheer Van Krause had de- scended to his warehouses, and Ramsay and Wilhelmina were sitting together upon one of the sofas in the saloon, both- reclining, and free from that restraint of which nothing but extreme intimacy will divest you. ‘And so, my Wilbelmina,” said Ramsay, taking up her hand, which lay listless at her side, and playing with her taper fingers, “you really think William of Nassau is a good man?” ‘‘And do not you, Ramsay?” replied Wilhelmina, surprised. ‘‘ However I may rejoice at his being on the throne of England, I doubt whether I can justify his conduct to the unfortunate King James, in leaguing against his own. father-in-law and dispossessing him of his kingdom. Suppose, now, Wilhelmina, that any fortunate man should become one day your husband: what a cruel—what a dia- bolical conduct it would be on his part--.at least, so it appears to me—if, in return for your father putting him in possession of per- haps his greatest treasure on earth, he were to seize upon all your father’s property, and leave him a beggar, because other people were to invite him so to do.” “T never heard it placed in that light be- fore, Ramsay ; that the alliance between King William and his father-in-law should have made him very scrupulous, I grant, but when the happiness of a nation depended on it, ought not a person in William’s situation to waive all minor considerations ?.”’ ‘The happiness of a nation, Wilhelmina ! In what way would you prove that so much was at stake?” ‘‘ Was not the Protestant religion at stake? Is not King James a bigoted Catholic?” ‘«T grant that, and therefore ought not to reign over a Protestant nation; but if you imagine that the happiness of any nation de- pends upon its religion, I am afraid you are deceived. Religion has been made the excuse for interfering with the happiness of a nation whenever no better excuse could be brought forward; but depend upon it, the mass of the people will never quarrel about religion if they are left alone, and their interests not interfered with. Had King James not com- mitted himself in other points, he might have worshipped his Creator in any form he thought proper. That a Protestant king was all that was necessary to quiet the nation is fully disproved by the present state of the country, now that the sceptre has been, for some years, swayed by King William, it being, at this moment, in a state very nearly : approaching to rebellion.” ‘ But is not that occasioned by the machina- tions of the Jacobites, who are promoting dis- sension in every quarter?”’ replied Wilhelmina. ‘‘T grant that they are not idle,” replied Ramsay; ‘‘but observe - the state of bitter variance between William and the House of Commons, which represents the people of Eng- land. What can religion have to do with that? No, Wilhelmina; although, in this country, there are few who do not rejoice at their king being called to the throne of Eng- land, there are many, and those the most wise, in that country, who lament it quite as much.” snide 7 eo Sp TRE‘But why so?”’ ‘‘ Because mankind are governed by interest, and patriotism is little more than a cloak. The benefits to this country, by the alliance with England, are very great, especially in a com- mercial point of view, and therefore you will find no want of patriots; but to England the case is different ; it is not her interest to be involved and mixed up in continental wars and dissensions, which must now inevitably be the case. Depend upon it, that posterity will find that England will have paid very dear for a Protestant king; religion is what every one is willing to admit the propriety and ne- cessity of, until they are taxed to pay for it, and then it is astonishing how very indifferent, if not disgusted, they become to it.” ‘‘Why, Ramsay, one would never imagine you to be such g warm partizan of the present Government, as I believe you really are, to hear you talk this morning,” replied Wilhel- mina. ‘‘My public conduct, as belonging to a party, does not prevent my having my private opinions, To my party Iam, and ever will be, steadfast; but knowing the world, and the secret springs of most people's actions, as I do, you must not be surprised at my being so candid with you, Wilhelmina. Ourconversation, I believe, commenced upon the character of King William ; and I will confess to you that, estimating the two characters in moral worth, I would infinitely prefer being the exiled and Catholic James than the unnaturaland crowned King William.” ‘* You will say next, that you would just as soon be a Catholic as a Protestant.” ‘And if I had been brought up in the tenets of the one instead of the other, what difference would it have made, except that I should have adhered to the creed of my forefathers, and have worshipped the Almighty after their fashion, form, and ceremonies? And are not all reli- gions good if they be sincere >—do not they all tend to the same object, and have the same goal in view—that of gaining heaven? Would you not prefer a good, honest, conscientious man, were he a Catholic, to a mean, intrigu- ing, and unworthy person, who professed him- self a Protestant ?”’ ‘Most certainly ; but I should prefer to the just Catholic a man who was a just Pro- testant.” ‘That is but natural; but recollect, Wil- helmina, you have seen and heard, as yet, but one side of the question; and if I speak freely to you, it is only to give you the advantage of my experience from having mixed with the world. I amtrueto my party, and, asa man, I must belong to a party, or I become a non- entity. But were I in a condition so un- shackled that I may take up or lay down my opinions as I pleased, without loss of character —as a woman may, for instance—so little do THE.DOG FIEND; OR, I care for party—so well balanced do I know the right and the wrong to be on both sides— that I would, to please one I loved, at once yield up my opinions, to agree with her, if she would not yield up hers to agree with mine.” ‘Then you think a wornan might do so!— that is no compliment to the sex, Ramsay ; for it is as much as to assert that we have not only no weight or influence in the world, but also that we have no character or stability.” ‘‘ Far from it; I only mean to say that wo- men do not generally enter sufficiently into politics to care much for them ; they generally imbibe the politics of those they live with, without further examination, and that -it is no disgrace to them if they change them. Besides, there is one feeling in women so powerful as to conquer all others, and when once that enters the breast the remainder are absorbed or become obedient to it.” ‘« And that feeling is 5 ‘‘Love, Wilhelmina ; and if awoman hap- pens to have been brought up in one way of thinking by her parents, when she transfers her affections to her husband, should his poli- tics be adverse, she will soon come round to his opinions, if she realy loves him.”’ ‘‘T am not quite so sure of that, Ramsay.” ‘I am quite sure she ought. Politics and party are ever a subject of dispute, and there- fore should be avoided by a wife; besides, if a wonian selects one as her husband, her guide and counsellor through life, one whom she swears to love, honour, cherish and obey, she gives but a poor proof of it if she does not yield up her judgment in all matters more peculiarly his province.” ‘You really put things in such a new light, Ramsay, that I hardly know how to answer you, even when I am not convinced.” ‘* Because you have not had sufficient time for reflection, Wilhelmina; but weigh well, and dwell upon what I have said, and then you will either acknowledge that I am right, or find arguments to prove that Iam wrong. But you promised me some singing. Let me lead you into the music-room.”’ We have introduced this conversation be- tween Wilhelmina and Ramsay, to show not only what influence he had already gained over the artless yet intelligent girl, but also the way by which he considerately prepared her for the acknowledgment which he resolved to make to her on some future opportunity ; for, although Ramsay cared little for deceiving the father, he would not have married the daughter without her being fully aware of who he was. These conversations were con- stantly renewed, as if accidentally, by Ram- say ; and long before he had talked in direct terms of love, he had fully prepared her for it, so that he felt she would not receive a very severe shock when he threw off the mask, even when she discovered that he was aCatholic, and opposed to her father in religion as well as in politics. The fact was that Ramsay, at first, was as much attracted by her wealth as by her personal charms ; but, like many other men, as his love increased, so did he gradually become indifferent to her wealth, and he was determined to win her for his wife in spite of all obstacles, and even if he were obliged to secure her hand by carry- ing her off without the paternal consent. Had it been requisite, it is not certain whether Ramsay might not have been per- suaded to have abandoned his party, so in- fatuated had he at last become with the really fascinating Wilhelmina. But Ramsay was interrupted in the middle of one of his most favourite songs, by old Koops, who informed him that the lieutenant of the cutter was waiting for him in his room. Apologising for the necessary absence, Ram- Say quitted the music-room, and hastened to meet Vanslyperken. Mr. Vanslyperken had received his orders to return to the Hague a few days after the fright he had received from the nasal organ of the corporal. In pursuance of his instruc- tions from Ramsay, he had not failed to open all the Government despatches, and extract their contents. He had also brought over letters from Ramsay's adherents. ‘“You are sure these extracts are quite correct ?"’ said Ramsay, after he had read them over. ‘‘ Quite so, sir,’’ replied Vanslyperken. ‘*And you have been careful to seal the letters again, so as to avoid suspicion?” ‘Does not my life depend upon it, Mr, Ramsay ?” ‘Very true, and also upon your fidelity to us. Here’syour money, Let me know when you sail, and come for orders.” Vanslyperken then took his bag of money, made his bow, and departed, and Ramsay commenced reading over the letters received from his friends. Mynheer Van Krause ob- served Vanslyperken as he was leaving the house, and immediately hastened to Ramsay's room to inquire the news, A portion of the contents of the despatches was made known to him, and the syndic was very soon after- wards seen to walk out, leaving his people to mark and tally the bales which were hoisting out from a vessel inthe canal. The fact was, that Mynheer Van Krause was so anxious to get rid of his secret, that he could not contain himself any longer, and had set off to com- municate to one of the authorities what he had obtained. ‘‘ But from whence did you receive this in- telligence, Mynheer Krause?” demanded the other. ‘‘ The despatches have not yet been opened; we are waiting for Mynheer Van Wejen. { suppose we shall learn something then. You knew all before we did when the SNARLEYYOW, cutter arrived last time. You must have some important friends at the English Court, Mynheer Van Krause.” Here Mynheer Van Krause nodded his head, and looked very knowing, and shortly afterwards took his leave. But this particular friend of Mynheer Krause was also his particular enemy. Krause had lately imparted secrets which were sup- posed to be known and entrusted to none but those in the entire confidence of the Govern- ment. How could he have obtained them unless by the treachery of some one at home ; and why should Mynheer Krause, who was not trusted by the Government there, not- withstanding his high civil office, because he was known to be unsafe, be trusted by some- one at home, unless it were for treacherous purposes? So argued Mr. Krause’s most particular friend, who thought it proper to make known his opinions on the subject, and to submit to the other authorities whether this was not a fair subject for representation in their next despatches to England ; and, in consequence of his suggestion, the represen- tation was duly made. Mynheer Krause was not the first person whose tongue had got him into difficulties. So soon as Vanslyperken had delivered his despatches to Ramsay, he proceeded to the widow Vandersloosh, when, as usual, he was received with every apparent mark of cordial welcome, was again installed on the little sofa, and again drank the beer of the widow's own brewing, and was permitted to take her fat hand. Babette inquired after the corporal, and, when rallied by the lieutenant, appeared to blush, and turned her head away. The widow also assisted in the play, and. declared that it should be a match, and that Babette and herself should be married on the same day. As theevening drew nigh, Vanslyperken took his leave, and went on board, giving per- mission to the corporal to go on shore, and very soon the corporal was installed in his place. This is a sad world of treachery and deceit, CHAPTER XXXV. In which the agency of a rea-herring 1s again introducea into our wonderful history. WE are somewhat inclined to moralise. We did not intend to write this day. On the con- trary, we had arranged for a party of pleasure and relaxation, in which the heels, and every other portion of the body upwards, except the brain, were to be employed, and that‘was to have a respite. The morning was fair, and we promised ourselves amusement, but we were deceived, and we returned to our task, as the rain poured down in torrents, washing the dirty face of mother earth. Yes, deceived ; and here we cannot help observing that thisaha alain 106 THE DOG FIEND; OR, history of ours is a very true picture of human life—for what a complication of treachery does it not inyolve ! Smallbones is deceiving his master, Mr. Vanslyperken—the corporal is deceiving Mr. Vanslyperken—the widow is deceiving Mr, Vanslyperken, so is Babette, and the whole crew of the Yungfrau. Ramsay is deceiving his host and his mistress. All the Jacobites, in a mass, are plotting against and deceiving the government, andas for Mr. Vanslyperken, as it will soon appear, he is deceiving every- body, and will ultimately deceive himself. The only honest party in the whole history is the one most hated, as generally is the case in this world—I mean Snarleyyow. There is no deceit about him, and therefore, par excellence, he is fairly entitled to be the hero of, and to give his name to, the work. The next most honest party in the book is Wilhel- mina; all the other women, except little Lilly, are cheats and impostors—and Lilly is too young; ourreaders may, therefore, be pleased to consider Snarleyyow and Wilhelmina as the hero and heroine of the tale, and then it will have one curious feature in it, the princi- pals will not only not be united, but the tale will wind up without their even seeing each other. » Suc > J oA eared SOW I p } +1 t th, or get eng intcrfei | for she was at thit very moment routing the tail about with her nose, and received Vanslyperken’s advance with a very irascible grunt, throwing her head up at him with a savage augh? and then again busied herself with the fragment of Snarleyyow. Vanslyperken, who had started back, perceived that the sow was engaged with the very article in question ; and finding it was a service of more danger than he had expected, picked up one or two large stones, and threw them at the animal to drive her away. ‘This mode of attack had the effect desired in one respect ; the sow made a retreat, but at the she would not retreat without t same time s he Hv4 LEE DOG TIENT, OR, bonne bouche, which she carried away in her mouth. Vanslyperken followed : but the sow proved that she could fight as well as run, every minute turning round to bay, and chumping and grumbling in a very formidable manner. At last, after Vanslyperken had chased for a quarter of a mile, he received unexpected assistance from a large dog, who bounded from the side of the road, where he lay in the sun, and seizing the sow by the ear, made her drop the tail to save her own bacon. Vansiyperken was delighted: he hastened up as fast as he could to regain his treasure, when, to his mortification, the great dog, who had left the sow, arrived at the spot before him, and after smelling at the not one bone, but many bones of contention, he took it in his mouth, and trotted off to his former berth in the sunshine, laid himself down, and the tail before him. ‘‘ Surely one dog won't eat another dog's tail,” thought Vanslyperken, as he walked up to the animal; but an eye like fire, a deep growl, and exposure of a range of teeth equal toa hyena’s, convinced Mr. Vansly- perken that it would be wise to retreat— which he did, to a respectable distance, and attempted to coax the dog. ‘‘ Poor doggy, there’s a dog,” cried Vanslyperken, snapping his fingers, and approaching gradually. To his horror, the dog did the same thing exactly : he rose and approached Mr. Vanslyperken gradually, and snapped his fingers: not con- tent with that, he flew at him, and tore the skirt of his great coat clean off, and also the hinder part of his trousers, for Mr. Vansly- perken immediately turned tail, and the dog appeared resolved to have his tail as well as that of his darling cur. Satisfied with about half a yard of broadcloth as a trophy, the dog returned to his former situation, and remained with the tail of the coat and the tail of the cur before him, with his fierce eyes fixed upon Mr. Vans!yperken, who had now retreated to a greater distance. But this transaction was not unobserved by several of the people who inhabited the street of cottages. Many eyes were directed to where Mr. Vanslyperken and the sow and dog had been at issue, and many were the con- jectures thereon. When the dog retreated with the skirt of the great coat, many came out to ascertain what was the cause of the dispute, and among others, the man to whom the dog belonged, and who lived at the cottage opposite to where the dog had lain down. He observed Van- slyperken, looking very much like a vessel whose sails have been split ina gale, and very rueful at the same time, standing at a certain distance, quite undecided how to act, and he called out to him. ‘‘ What is it you may want with my dog, man?” Man! Vanslyperken thought this designae tion an affront; whereas, in our opinion, Van- slyperken was an affront to the name of man, ‘‘Man,’’ exclaimed Vanslyperken; ‘*why your dog has taken my property !”’ ‘““Then take your property,’’ replied the other, tossing to him the skirt of his coat, which he had taken from the dog. By this time there was a crowd collected from out of the various surrounding tenements. ‘ That’s not all,”’ exclaimed Vanslyperken ; ‘(he has got my dog's tail there.” “Your dog’s tail!’ exclaimed the man; ‘‘what do you mean? Is it this ragged, mangy thing you would have?” and the man took the tail of Snarleyyow, and held it upto the view of the assembled crowd. ‘‘Yes,” replied Vanslyperken, coming towards the man with eagerness; ‘‘that is what I want,’”’ and he held out his hand to receive it. ‘‘ And pray, may I ask,” replied the other, looking very suspiciously at Vanslyperken, ‘‘what can you want with this piece of car- rion ?”’ ‘To make soup of,” replied another, laugh- ing; ‘‘ he can’t afford ox-tail.” Vanslyperken made an eager snatch at his treasure ; but the man lifted it up on the other side, out of his reach. ‘‘ Let us have a look at this chap,” said the first, examining Vanslyperken, whose peaked nose and chin, small ferret-eyes, and down- cast look were certainly not in his favour; neither were his old’and now tattered habili- ments. Certainly no one would have taken Vanslyperken for a king's officer—unfortu- nately they took him for something else. ‘* Now, tell me, fellow, what were you going to do with this?” inquired the man ina severe tone. ‘*T sha'n't tell you,”’ replied Vanslyperken. ‘‘Why that’s the chap that I sees go inand out of the room where that old hell-fire witch lives who curses all day long.” ‘“‘T thought as much,” observed the man who still held up the cur's tail. ‘‘ Now-1 appeal to you all, what can a fellow want with such a thing as this—ay, my good people, and wantit so much too, as to risk being torn to pieces for it—if he ar’n’t inclined to evil practices ?”’ ‘« That's sartin sure,” replied another. ‘‘A witch—a witch!” cried the whole crowd. ‘‘Let’s duck him—tie his thumbs—away with him—come along, my lads, away with him.” Although there were not, at the time wewrite about, regular witch-finders,as in the. time of James I., still the feeling against witches, and the belief that they practised, existed. They were no longer handed over to Summary and capital punishment, but, whenever sus~ >pected, they were sure to meet with very rough treatment. Such was t fate of Mr. Vanslyperken, d by th e crowd, buffete to the parish pump for | lum, no horse-pond near. After been well beaten: nelted-sith mid bic clnt} € 1 well b fen, peited with | ud, his clothes ann ft dis ick. his hat 1 M38 — Y orm oT 5 pack) (MS pat n away an stamper held... r the pump j 4 anda a! naw a Nour, unt LTE OL CK iniete ss ka yY 0D ul 1 1 » ee | C | 7 NILE al or! Keg i I Ceo... wW r ed ‘ ‘4 : } Vv i } ’ y Lio oo U { C s yc fo 1 no i n j a y under hi: +] re 1 4 27es ee IBOtNeLD Ss Cc rc a I) are S€ iill AE 2a) another suit, and then hastened away, much E ] : } ] ] + y mortified and confounded with the latte events of the day. Lene Test Nn arrange- -anith } moather wa ] ] ‘ ments with nj LiIOVICr Was, l rCve . i ri a : 1] : to | W 1 lrit, and he bit I : a 1 mmatlibon already dead. I 1 dow h mto nh CadDin, aS SO as Ne I on board, toascertain heconditionof& \ whom he found as well as c ana occasion Ly Li a I lo jick the Stump Ot ! tail ‘‘ My poor dog ( 1ed Vanslyperken, ‘ — ie ; " WH have you I ‘ 1 what have | ce 7» | ! . a+ ) suffered for you \las! if lam to suffer as I have to-day for only your tail, what shall I eae er eee fot } Naif 32 An go through for your whole body! And, as in Ly perry D TECauea pl misrortunes, so did I his love increase for the animal who w t] cause of them. Why so, we cannot tell, except that it has beenso from A en g,1s now, and always will be the case, for the best of all possible reasons—that it is human nature, SO AXXIX. 10st CHAPTER FCCOK: lea ad bloody In which ts barbarous and murder. WE observed, in a previous chapter, that Mr. Vanslyperken was observed by Moggy Salis- bury to go into a jeweller’s shop, and remain Ils tere some ume, and that Moggy was very Inquisitive to know what it was that could induce Mr. Vanslyperken to go into so un- usual a resort for him. The next day she went into the shop upon i a pretence of looking > at some mites dihiee and attempted to enter into conversation with the jeweller; but the jeweller, not perhaps admir- in s8y S appearance, and not thinking ] ] 1 Sgn c her like to be a customer, dismissed her answers. Failing in x her attempt, Moggy detern ined to wait till Nancy Co t should come over. she knew tha Nancy could di id assume the fine lady, and be n y to succeed than herself. But alth Mic y could not penetrate into th y it is'nec iry the reader should I i the proceedings of Mr. Van- V"\ vy had shown him how to open th ve td ches, and penser eve him 1e false seals for ther -impressions, he that he also w séidtene out to X ken the means of also opening his 1 discovering his secrets, as well as { Government; but Vanslyperken, who d Ran r, on account of his behaviour ls him, and would with pleasure have the whole of his party, as well as him- f, on the gibbet, t ight that it ab ht be uSt as we to have two str ngs to his bow and he argued, that if he could open the tters of the conspirators, and obtain their uable to him, and perhaps ‘save his neck, if he were betrayed to the Government. On his passage, t] e, to Amsterdam, he had carefully ( nined th il of Ramsay, and also that on the letters forwarded to him; and, having . drawing, and taken the impression in wax, i further security, he had applied to the jewe rin ¢ tion to get him seals cut out \ impressions, and of the exact form and size. ‘The jeweller, who cared little vhat he did, provided that he was well paid, asked no questions, but avery high price, and Vanslyperken, knowing that they would be cheap to him at any price, closed with him on his own terms, provided that they were im- diately forthcoming. In the week, accord- ing to the agreement, the seals were prepared. his money, and now was waiting for orders to sail. was much better. summons to the admiral’'s house \ and Vanslyperken . was ordere 10ld himself in readiness to sail next morning at daylight. He imme- diately rep ured to the Jew’s, to give intima: tion, and from thence to his mother’ s to pre- pare her oe the a of Smallbones that evening a little before dusk. Van ta ha atratared that, as soon as the murder had been committed, he would go The dog’s stump On the oth day, a cent SEH,to the Jew’s for letters, and then hasten on board, sailing the next morning at daylight; so that if there was any discovery, the whole onus might be on his mother, who, for all he cared, might be hung. It is a true saying, that a good mother makes a good son. When Vanslyperken intimated to Small- bones that he was going on shore in the even- ing, and should take him with him, the lad did not forget the last walk that he had in company with his master, and apprehensive that some mischief was intended, he said, ‘‘T hope it ar’n't for to fetch another walk in the country, sir?” ‘No, no,” replied Vanslyperken ; ‘‘it’s to take some biscuit up to a poor old woman close by. I don’t want to be robbed, any more than you do, Smallbones.”’ But the very quick reply of his master only increased the apprehension of Smallbones, who left the cabin, and hastened to Corporal Van Spiiter, to consult with him. Corporal Van Spitter was of the same opinion as Smallbones, that mischief was intended him, and offered to provide him with a pistol; but Smallbones, who knew little about fire-arms, requested that he might have a bayonet instead, which he could use better. He was supplied with this, which he con- cealed within his shirt, and when ordered, he went into the boat with Vanslyperken. They landed, and it was dark before they arrived at the half-way houses. Vanslyperken ascended the stairs, and ordered Smallbones to follow him. As soon as they were in the room, Mr. Vanslyperken said, ‘‘ Here is the biscuit, good woman, and much good may it do you.”’ “It's very kind of you, sir, and many thanks, It’s not often that people are chari- table nowadays, and this has been a hard winter for poor folk. Put the bag down there, my good little fellow,” continued the old hypocrite, addressing Smallbones. ‘And now, good woman, I shall leave my lad with you, till I come back. I have to cali at a friend's, and I neéd not take him. Smallbones, stay here till I return; get the biscuit out of the bag, as we must take that on board again.” Smallbones had noobjection to remain with a withered, palsied old woman. He could have no fear of her, and he really began to think that his master had been guilty of charity. Mr. Vanslyperken departed, leaving Small- bones in company with his mother. **Come now, my lad, come to the chair, and sit down by the fire,’ for a fire had been lighted by the old woman expressly, ‘‘sit Jlown, and I'll see if I can find you something in my cupboard ; I have, I know, a drop of cordial left somewhere. Sit down, child; you have had the kindness to bring the bread up for me, and I am grateful.” THE DOG FIEND; OR; The tones of the old beldame’s voice were very different from those she usually indulged in ; there was almost a sweetness about them, which proved what she might have effected at the period when she was fair and young. Smallbones felt not the least disquietude ; he sat down in the chair by the fire, while the old woman looked in the cupboard behind him for the cordial, of which she poured him a good allowance in a teacup. Smallbones sipped and sipped, he was not in a hurry to get rid of it, as it was good: the old woman went again to the cupboard, rattled the things about a little, and then, on a sudden, taking out a large hammer, as Smallbones unconsciously sipped, she raised it with both her hands, and down came the blow on his devoted head. The poor lad dropped the cup, sprang up convulsively, staggered, and then fell. Once he rolled over, his leg quivered, and he then moved no more. The beldame watched him with the hammer in her hand, ready to repeat the blow if necessary ; indeed, she would have repeated it had it not been that after he fell, in turning over, Smallbones’ head had rolled under the low bedstead where she slept. ‘‘My work is sure,” muttered she, ‘‘ and ald the gold is mine.” Again she watched, but there was no motion—a stream of blood appeared from under the bed, and ran in a little rivulet towards the fire-place. ‘‘T wish I could pull him out,” said the old woman, lugging at the lad’s legs; ‘‘another blow or two would make more sure.’’ But the effort was above her strength, and she abandonedit. ‘‘It's no matter,” muttered she; ‘‘he'll never tell tales again.” But there the old hag was mistaken; Smallbones had been stunned, but not killed ; the blow of the hammer had fortunately Started off, dividing the flesh of the skull for three inches, with a gash which descended to hisear. At the very time that she uttered her last expressions, Smallbones was recovering his senses, but he was still confused, as ifina dream, ‘Yes, yes,” said the old woman, after some minutes’ pause, ‘‘ all the gold is mine.” The lad heard this sentence, and he now remembered where he was, and what had taken place. He was about to rise, when there was a knocking at the door, and he lay still, It was Vanslyperken.. The door was opened by the old beldame. ‘‘Ts it done ?’’ said he, in a loud whisper. “Done!” cried the hag-; “yes, and well done. Don't tell me of charmed life. My blows are sure—see there.” ‘* Are you sure that he is dead?” ‘‘Quite sure, child—and all the gold is mine,Vanslyperken looked with horror at the stream of blood still flowing, and absorbed by the ashes in the grate. “It was you did it, mother ; recollect it was not I,”’ cried he. ‘* I did it—and you paid for it gold is mine.” ‘“‘ But are you quite sure that he is dead? ” ‘‘Sure—yes, and in judgment now, if there is any.” “* Vanslyperken surveyed the body of Small- bones, who, although he had heard every word, lay without motion, for he knew his life depended on it. After a minute or two the lieutenant was satisfied. ‘‘I must go on board now, mother ; but what will you do with the body?” ‘‘ Leave that to me; who ever comes in here? Leave that to me, craven, and, as you say, go on board.” Vanslyperken opened the door, and went out of the room ; the old hag made the door fast, and then sat down on the chair, which she replaced by the side of the fire, with her back to Smallbones. The lad felt very faint from loss of blood, and was sick at the stomach, but his senses were in their full vigour. He now was assured that Vanslyperken was gone, and that he had only the old woman oppposed to him. His courage was unsubdued, and he resolved to act in self-defence if required ; and he softly drew the bayonet out of his breast, and then watched the murderous old hag, who was rocking herself in the chair. ‘Yes, yes, the gold is mine,” muttered she —‘‘ I've won it, and I'll count it. I won it dearly ;—another murder—well, ‘tis but one more. Let me see, what shall I do with the body? I must burn it, by bits and bits—and I'll count the gold—it’s all mine, for he’s dead.”’ Here the old woman turned round to look at the body, and her keen eyes immediately perceived that there was a slight change of position. ‘‘Heh!” cried she, ‘‘not quite dead yet? we must have the hammer again,” and she rose from her chair, and walked with an un- steady pace to pick up the hammer, which was at the other side of the fire-place. Smallbones, who felt that now was his time, immediately rose, but before he could recover his feet, she had turned round to him: with a sort of low yell, she darted at him with an agility not to be imagined in one of her years and decrepit appearance, and struck at him. Smallbones raised his left arm, and received the blow, and with his right plunged the bayonet deep into the wrinkled throat of the old woman. She grappled with him, and the struggle was dreadful; she caught his throat in one of her bony hands, and the nails pierced into it like the talons of a bird of and all the SVARLEVYOW. 117 prey—the fingers of the other she inserted into the jagged and gaping wound on his head, and forced the flesh still more asunder, exerting all her strength to force him on his back; but the bayonet was still in her throat, and with the point descending towards the body, and Smallbones forced and forced it down, till it was buried to the hilt. Ina few seconds the old hag loosed her hold, quivered, and fell back dead; and the Jad was so ex- hausted with the struggle, and his previous loss of blood, that he fell into a swoon at the side of the corpse. When Smallbones recovered, the candle was flickering in the socket. He rose up in a sitting posture, and tried to recollect all that had passed. The alternating light of the candle flashed upon the body of the old woman, and he remembered all. After a few minutes he was able to rise, and he sat down upon the bed, giddy and faint. It occurred to him that he would soon be in the dark, and he would re- quire the light to follow up his intended movements; so he rose, and went to the cup- board to find one. He found a candle, and he also found the bottle of cordial, of which he drank all that was left, and felt himself revived, and capable of acting. Having put the other candle into the candlestick, he looked for water, washed himself, and bound up his head with his handkerchief. He then wiped up the blood from the floor, threw some sand over the part, and burnt the towel in the grate. His next task was one of more difficulty, to lift up the body of the old woman, put it into the bed, and cover it up with the clothes, previously drawing out the bayonet. No blood issued from the wound —the hzmorrhage was all internal. He covered up the face, took the key of the door, and tried it in the lock, put the candle under the grate to burn out safely, took possession of the hammer; then having examined the door, he went out, locked it from the outside, slid the key in beneath the door, and hastened away as fast as he could. He was not met by anybody, and was soon safe in the street, with the bayonet, which he again concealed in his vest. These precautions taken by Smallbones proved that the lad had conduct as well as courage. He argued that it was not advis- able that it should be known that this fatal affray had taken place between the old woman and himself. Satisfied with having preserved his life, he was unwilling to be embroiled in a case of murder, as he wished to prosecute his designs with his companions on board. He knew that Vanslyperken was capable of swearing anything against him, and that his best safety lay in the affair not being found out, which it could not be until the118 cutter had sailed, and no one had seen him either enter or go out. ‘There was another reason which induced Smallbones to act as he did—without appealing to the authorities —which was, that if he returned on ‘board, it would create such a shock to Mr. Vansly- perken, who had, as he supposed, seen him lying dead upon the floor. But there was one person to whom he determined to apply for advice before he decided how to pro- ceed, and that was Moggy Salisbury, who had given her address to him when she had gone on board the Yungfrau. ‘Yo her house he therefore repaired, and found her at home. It was then about nine o'clock in the even- ing. Moggy was much surprised to see Small- bones enter in such a condition; but Small- bones’ story was soon told, and Moggy sent for a surgeon, the services of whom the lad seriously required. While his wound was dressing, which was asserted by them to have been received in a fray, Moggy considered what would be the best method to proceed. The surgeon stated his intention of seeing Smallbones the next day, but he was re- quested to leave him su fficient dressing, ac’ ait was necessary that he should repair on board, as the vessel which he belonged to sailed on the following morning. The surgeon received his fee, recommended quiet and repose, and retired. A consultation then took place, Small- bones expressed his determination to go on board; he did not fear Mr. Vanslyperken, as the crew of the cutter would support bim— and, moreover, it would frig] ate n Mr. Vansly- perken out of his wits. To this Moggy agreed, but she proposed that, instead of making his appearance on the followit ng morning, he should not appear to Mr. Van- slyperken until the vessel was in the blue water; if-possible, not till she was over on the other side. And Moggy determined to go on board, see the corporal, and make the arrangements with him and the crew, who were now unanimous, for the six marines were at the beck of the corpor ral, so that Mr. Vanslyperken should be fri chtened out of his wits. Desiring Sm ulbones to lie down on her bed, and take the rest he so much needed, she put on her bonnet and cloak, and taking a boat, pulled gently alongside the cutter. Vanslyperken had been on board for two hours, and was in his cabin; the lights, how- ever, were still burning. The corporal was still up, anxiously waiting for the return of Smallbones, and he was very much alarmed whenheheard Moggycomealongside. Moggy soon detailed to the corporal, Dick Short, and Coble all that had taken piace, and what it was proposed should be done. They s assented willingly to the proposal, declaring that if Vanslyperken attempted to hurt the THE DOG FIEND ; OR, lad, they would rise, and throw Mr. Vanstiy- perken overboard; and everything being arranged, Moggy was about to depart, when Vanslyperken, who was in astate of miserable anxiety and torture, and who had been drown- ing his conscience in scheedam, came on deck not a little the worse for what he had been imbibing. ‘““Who. is that woman?” cried Vansly- perken. “That woman is Moggy Salisbury,” cried Moggy, walking up to Vanslyperken, while the corporal skulked forward without being detected. ‘““ Have I not given positive orders that this woman does not come on board?” cried Van- slyperken, holdir ngon by the skylight. ‘‘ Who is that—Mr. Short?” [es replied Short. ‘Why did you allow her to come on board ?” ‘*T came without leave,” said Moggy. ‘'I brought a message on board.” ““K message! what message—to whom ?” 7G you,” replied Moggy. ‘To me !—from whom, you cockatrice ?”’ dL, Tel yon,” replied Moggy, walking close up to him; ‘‘from Lazarus the Jew. Will you hear it, or shall I leave it with Dick Short 2?” “«Silence—silence—not a word; come down into the cabin, good Moggy. Come down—I'll hear it then.” ‘With all my heart, Mr. Vanslyperken, but none-of your attacks on my vartue; re- collect I am an honest woman.” ‘Dont be afraid, my good Moggy—I never hurt a child.” **T don't think you ever did,” retorted Moggy, following Vanslyperken, who could hardly keep his feet. Le ELL val ETE. S _»f\T: cadabra . mate any- ' observed Coble ti to Short, as they went — 10W,. down. “Why, she turns him round her finger. “Nes. .Guotb Snort. ‘*T can’t comprehend this, not nohow.” “No,” .quoth Short. As soon as they were in the cabin, Mogey observed the bottle of scheedam on the table. ‘“Come, Mr. Vanslyperken, you'll treat me to-nig ht, and drink my health again, won't you? ‘Yes, Moggy, yes—we're friends now, you know ;"’ for Vanslyy perken, like all others suftering under the stings of conscience, was glad to make friends with his bitterest enem ‘Come, then, help me, Mr. Vans] Hiperibetn and then I'll give you my message.” As soon as Moggy had taken her glass of sc coer she began to think what she should , for she had no message ready prepared : at ney a thought struck her. ‘“‘T.am desired to tell you, that when a GC:passenger, or a person disguised as a Sailor, either asks for a passage, or volunteers for the vessel, you are to take him on board im- mediately, even if you should know them in their disguise not to be what they pretend to be—do you understand ?” ‘*Yes,”’ replied Vanslyperken, quite muddled. ‘* Whether they apply from here, or from the other side of the Channel, no consequence, you must take them— if not e ‘‘TIfnot, what?" replied Vanslyperken. *€ You'll swing, that’s all, my buck. Good night to you,” replied Moggy, leaving the cabin. ‘*T’ll swing,” ing against the bul others shall swing the faggot !”’ Here Mr. Vanslyperken poured out another glass of scheedam, the contents of which overthrew the small remnant of his reasoning faculties. He then tumbled into his bed with who was nslyp roll- ansly] mers ‘* Well, ne 10 cares? mut ter red V khead. too. do, nn Ww! his clothes on, saying, as he turned on his side, ‘‘Smallbones is dead and gone, at all events.” Moggy took leave of her friends on deck, and pushed on shore, She permitted Small- bones, whom she found fast asleep, to remain undisturbed until nearly three o'clock in the morning, during which time she watched by the bed-side. She then roused him, and they sallied forth, took a boat, and dropped along- side of the cutter. Smallbones’ hammock | iad been prepared for him by the corporal. He was put into it, and Moggy then left the vessel. Mr. Vanslyperken was in a torpor during this proceeding, and with great difficulty, awoke by the : corporal, according to orders given, when it was daylight, and the cutter was to weigh anchor. ‘‘Smallbones has not come off, night,’’ reported the corporal. ‘I suppose the scoundrel has deserted,” replied Vanslyperken—‘‘ I fully expected that he would. However, he is no loss; he wasa useless, idle, lying rascal.’"’ And Mr. Vansly- perken turned out ; having all his olothes on, he had no occasion to dress. He wentondeck, followed by the tail-less Snarleyyow, and in half an hour the cutter was standing out to- wards St. Helen's. state of was, sir; “last CHAPTER : Xi. In which a most horrid spectre disturbs the equanimity of Mr. Vanslyperken. Two days was the cutter striving with the light winds for the Texel, during which Mr. Vanslyperken kept himself a altogether in his cabin. He was occasionally h aunted with the memory of the scene in his mother’s room— Smallbones dead, and the stream of blood SVARLEYYOW 11g running along the floor, and his mother's dia- bolical countenance, with the hammer raised in her palsied hands ; but he had an instiga- tor to his vengeance beside him, which ap- peared to relieve his mind whenever it was oppressed : it was the stump of Snarleyyow, and when he looked at that he was no longer regretted, but congratulated himself on the deed being done. His time was fully occu- pied during the day, for with locked doors he was transcribing the letters sent to Ramsay, and confided to him. He was not content with taking extracts, did of the Government despatches he copied every word, and he great dexterity. as for re~ At he Ramsay ; placed the seals with 1ight his mind was troubled, and he dare not lay himself down to rest until he had fortified himself with several glasses of scheedam ; even then his dreams frightened him ; but he was to be more frightened yet. Corporal Van Spitter came into the cabin on the third morning with a very anxi ious face. “Mein Gott! Mynheer Vanslyperken, de whole crew be in de mutinys, ’ ‘Mutiny!” exclaimed Vanslyperken ; ‘‘ what's the matter ?- ‘‘They say, sir, dat dey see ghost of Smallbones last night on de paeEEEE, with one great cut on his head, and de blood al! over de face.” ‘«Saw what? who s ‘* Mein Gott, mynheer ! think I see it myself at de saw him?” it all true, I really taffrail + he ‘sit there, and have great wound from here down to,’ said the corporal, pointing to his own the Ie LU head, and describing wound exactly. ‘* The people say that must have been murdered, and dey kick up de mutiny.” ‘‘T did not do it, corporal, at all events,’ replied Vanslyperken, pale and trembling. ‘“So Smallbones tell Dick Short, when he speak to him on bowsprit.”’ ‘‘ Did it speak to Short?”’ inquired Vans! perken, catching the corperal! S ore ‘* Yes, mynheer ; Mynheer Short speak first, and den th e ghost say dz t you not de » it, but dat you give rol i to old woman to do it, and sv knock him brain out vid de hammer.” To portray Vanslyperken’s dismay at this intelligence would be impossible. He could not but be certain that there had been a super- natural communication. His knees knocked and trembled, and he turned sick and faint. ‘‘O Lord, O Lord! corporal, I'm a great sinner,’ cried he at last, ¢ quite unaware of what he was saying. ‘Some water, cor- poral.’ Corporal Van Spitter handed some water, and Vanslyperken waved his hand to be left alone; and Mr. Vanslyperken at- tempted to pray, but it ended in blaspheming. ‘It's a lie, all alie,’’ exclaimed he, at last, pot ring out a tumbler of scheedam. “ They Nave frightened the corporal. But—no—he120 THE DOG. FIEND ; OR, must have seen him, or how could they know uow he was murdered? He must have told them; and him I saw dead and stiff with these Own eyes. Well, I did not do the deed,’ continued Vansly perken, attempting to pal- liate his crime to himself ; but it would not do, and Mr. Vanslyperken paced the little cabin, racked by fear and guilt, Remorse he felt none, for there was before his eyes the unbealed stump of Snarleyyow. In the evening Mr. Vanslyper ken went on deck; the w eather was now-very warm, for it was the beginning of July; and Ir. Vansly- perken, followe d by Snarleyyow, was in a deep reverie, and he turned and turned again. The sun had set, and Mr, Vanslyperken still continued his walk, but his steps were agitated and uneven, and his face was hag- gard. It was rather the rapid and angry pacing of a tiger in his den, who has just been captured, than that of a person in deep contemplation. Still Mr. Vanslyperken con- tinued to tread the deck, and it was quite light with a bright and pale moon. ‘The men were standing her and there about the forecastle and near the booms in silence, and speaking in low whispers, and Vanslyperken’s eye was often directed towards them, for he had not forgotten the report of the corporal, that they were in a state of mutiny. Of a sudden, Mr. Vanslyperken was a- roused by a loud cry from forward, anda rush of all the men aft. He thought that the crew had risen, and that they were about to seize him; but, on the contrary, they passed him and hastened to the taffrail with excla- mations of horror. ‘What! what is it?” exclaimed Vansly- perken, fully prepared for the reply by his own fears. ‘‘O Lord! have mercy upon us,”’ cried Bill Spurey. ‘“Good God, deliver us!’ other Ah, meinaGott'!”' sc ing against Vanslyperken down on the deck. us Well, well, murder will out ! — that’s sar- tain,’ ' said Coble, who stood by Vanslyperken t when he had recovered his legs. ‘‘ What, what !”’ exclaimed V anslyperken, breathless. ‘There, sir—look there’”’ breathless, pointing to the fisure of Small- bones, w ho now appeared from the shade in the broad moonshine. His head was not bound up, and his face appeared pale and streaked with blood. He was in the same clothes in which he had gone on shore, and in his hand he held the ham- mer which had done the deed. The figure slowly advanced to the quarter- ceck, “V. anslyperken attempted to retreat, but exclaimed an- reamed Jansen, rush- n, and knocking him his legs failed him, he dropped down on his knees, uttered a loud yell of despair, and then threw himself flat on the deck face down- wards. Certainly, the pantomime was inimitably got up, but it had all been arranged by Moggy, the corporal, and the others. There was not one man of the crew who had not been sworn to secresy, and whose life would have been endangered if, by undeceiving Van- slyperken, they ‘had been deprived of such just and legitimate revenges. Smallbones disappeared as soon as Vansly- perken had fallen down. He was allowed to remain there for some time to ascertain if he would say anything, but as he still continued silent, they raised him up, and found that he was insensible. He was conseque ently taken down into the cabin and put into his bed. ‘The effect pro- duced by this trial of Mr. Vanslyperken’s nerves was most serious. Already too much heated with the use of ardent spirits, it brought on convulsions, in which he con- tinued during the major part of the night. ‘Towards the morning, he sank into a per- turbed slumber. It was not till eleven o'clock in the forenoon that he awoke and perceived his fazthful corporal standing by the side of the bed. ‘‘ Have I not been ill, corporal?”’ said Mr. Vanslyperken, whose memory was impaired for the time. ‘‘Mein Gott ! yes, mynheer.” ‘“‘‘There was something, happened, was not there?" ‘‘Mein Gott! yes, mynheer. 3 "dye had afit:“have [ not?” ‘“Mein Gott ! yes, meinheer,” ‘“My head swims now; what was it, cor- poral 2” ‘It was de ghost of de poy, corporal. ‘‘Yes, yes,” replied Vanslyperken, falling back on his pillow. It had been intended by the conspirators, that Smatlbones should make his appearance in the cabin, as the bell struck one o'clock ; but the effect had already been so serious that it was thought advisable to defer any further attempts. As for Smallbones being concealed in the vessel for any Iength of time, there was no difficulty in that; for allowing that Vanslyperken should go forward on the lower deck of the vessel, which he never did, Smallbones had only to retreat into the eyes of her, and it was there so dark that he could not be seen. They therefore regulated their conduct much in the same way as the members of the inquisition used to do in former days ; they allowed their patient to recover, that he might be subjected to more torture It was not until the fourth day that the cutter arrived at the port of Amsterdam, and " replied theMr. Vanslyperken had kept his bed ever since he had been put into it; but this he could do no longer: he rose weak and emaciated, dressed himself, and went on shore with the despatches which he first delivered, and then bent his steps to the syndic’s house, where he delivered his letters to Ramsay. The arrival of the cutter had been duly notified to the widow Vandersloosh, before she had dropped her anchor, and in pur- suance with her resolution she immediately despatched Babette to track Mr. Vanslyperken, and watch his motions. Babette took care not to be seen by Mr. Vanslyperken, but shrouding herself close in her cotton print cloak, she followed him to the Stadt House, and from the Stadt House to the mansion of Mynheer Van Krause, at a short distance from the gates of which she remained till he came out. Wishing to ascertain whether he went to any other place, she did not discover herself until she perceived that he was pro- ceeding to the widow’s—she then quickened her pace so as to come up with him. ‘©Oh! Mynheer Vanslyperken, is this you? I heard you had come in and so did my mistress, and she has been expecting you this last half-hour.” ‘‘T have made all the haste I can, Babette. But I was obliged to deliver my despatches first,'’ replied Vanslyperken. ‘But I thought you always took your despatches to the Stadt House ?”’ ‘Well, so I do, Babette; I have just come from thence.” This was enough for Babette; it proved that his visit to the syndic’s was intended to be concealed! she was too prudent to let him know that she had traced him. ‘‘Why, Mr. Vanslyperken, you look very ill. What has been the matter with you? My mistress wiil be quite frightened.” ‘‘T have not been well, Babette, Vanslyperken. ‘*T really must run home as fast as I can. I will tell my mistress you have been unwell, for otherwise she will be in such a quandary :”’ and Babette hastened ahead of Mr. Vansly- perken, who was in too weak a state to walk fast. ‘‘ The syndic’s house—heh!” said the widow—'‘'‘ Mynheer Van Krause. Why he is thorough king’s man, by all report,’’ con- tinued she. ‘‘I don’t understand it. But there is no trusting any man nowadays. Babette, you must go there by-and-by, and see if you can find out whether that person he brought over, and he called a king’smessenger, is living at the syndic’s house. I think he must be, or why would Vanslyperken go there? and if he is, there’s treason going on —that’s all! and 1’'ll find it out, or my name is not Vandersloosh.’’ shortly after, Mr. Vanslyperken arrived at " replied SNARLEVYVOW. 120 the house, and was received with the usual treacherous cordiality; but he had not re- mained more than an hour when Coble came to him (having been despatched by Short), to inform Mr. Vanslyperken that a frigate was coming in with a royal standard at the main, indicating that King William was on board of her. This intelligence obliged Mr. Vanslyperken to hasten on board, as it was necessary to salute, and also to pay his respects on board of the frigate. The frigate was within a mile when Vanslyperken arrived on board of the cutie and when the batteries saluted, the cutter di the same. Shortly afterwards the frigate dropped her anchor and returned the salute. Mr. Vanslyperken, attired in his full uniform, ordered his boat to be manned and pulled on board. On his arrival on the quarter-deck Vansly- perken was received by the captain of the frigate, and then presented to King William Mr. d of Nassau, who was standing on the other side of the deck, attended by the Duke of Portland, Lord Albemarle, and several others of his courtiers, not all of them quite so faith- fulas the two whom we have named. When Mr. Vanslyperken was brought for- ward to the presence of his majesty, he trembled almost as much as when he had be- held the supposed spirit of Smallbones : and well he might, for his conscience told him, as he bowed his knee, that he wasa traitor. His agitation was, however, ascribed to his being daunted by the unusual presence of royalty. And Albemarle, as Vanslyperken retreated with a cold sweat on his forehead, observed to the king with a smile, — ‘That worthy lieutenant would show a ittle more courage. I doubt not, your majesty, f he were in the presence of your enemies.” “It isto be hoped so,” replied the king with asmile, ‘‘ I agree with you, Keppel.” But his majesty and Lord Albemarle did not know Mr. Vanslyperken, as the reader will acknowledge. } ] 1 CHAPTER. XLE In which is shown how dangerous tt ts to tell a secret. MR. VANSLYPERKEN received orders to at- tend with his boat upon his majesty’s landing, which took place in about a quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst another roar of cannon. King William was received by the authori- ties at the landing-stairs, and from thence he stepped into the carriage awaiting him, and drove off to his palace at the Hague ; much to the relief of Mr. Vanslyperken, who felt ill a — H+122 THe DOG FIEND ;OR; ease in the presence of his sovereign. When his majesty put his foot onshore, the foremost to receive him, in virtue of his office, was the syndic Mynheer Van Krause, who, in full costume of gown, chains, and perriwig, bowed low, as his majesty advanced, expect- ing, as usual, the gracious smile and friendly nod of his sovereign ; but to his mortification, his reverence was returned with a grave, if not stern air, and the king passed him without further notice. All the courtiers also, who had been accustomed to salute, and to exchange a few words with him, to his astonishment turned their heads another way. At first, Mynheer Van Krause could hardly believe his senses ; he who had always been so graciously received, who had been considered most truly as such a staunch supporter of his king, to be neglected, mortified in this way, and without cause. Instead of following his majesty to his carriage, with the rest of the authorities, he stood still and transfixed, the carriage drove off, and the syndic, hardly replying to some questions put to him, hurried back to his own house in astate of confusion and vexation almost indescribable. He hastened up-stairs and entered the room of Ramsay, who was very busy with the despatches which he had received. ‘Well, Mynheer Van Krause, how is his majesty looking?” inquired Ramsay, who knew that the syndic had been down to receive him on his landing. Mynheer Krause threw himself down in a chair, threw open his gown and uttered a deep sigh. ‘““What isthe matter, my dear sir? you appear ruffled,’ continued Ramsay, who, from the extracts made by Vanslyperken from the despatches, was aware that suspicions had been lodged against his host. ‘*Such treatment—to one of his most de- voted followers,’ exclaimed Krause, at last, who then entered into a detail of what had occurred. ‘*Such-is the sweet aspect, the smile we would aspire to of kings, Mynheer Krause.” ‘But there must be some occasion for all this,” observed the syndic. 4-28} ‘* No doubt of it,” replied Ramsay— reason—but not a just one.” * Theat ascertain,” “replied the’ syndic * ‘‘some one must have maligned me to his majesty.” “It may be,” replied Ramsay, ‘‘but there may be other causes; kings are suspicious, and subjects may be too rich and too power- ful. There are many paupers among the favourites of his majesty, who would be very glad to see your property confiscated, and you cast into prison.” ‘*But, my dear sir ‘You forget also that the Jacobites are plot- ting, and have been plotting for years; that DS? ‘*some , conspiracy is formed upon conspiracy, that when so surrounded and opposed, kings will be suspicious.” ‘‘ But his majesty, King William ‘‘ Firmly attached, and loyal as I am to my sovereign, Mynheer Krause, I do not think that King William is more to be relied upon than King James. Kings are but kings : they will repay the most important services by smiles, and the least doubtful act with the gibbet. I agree with you that some one must have maligned you ; but allow me to make a remark, that if once suspicion or dislike enters into a royal breast, there is no effacing it; a complete verdict of innocence will not do it; it is hike the sapping of one of the dams of this country, Mynheer Krause—the admission of water is but small at first, but it increases and increases, till it ends in a general inun- dation.” ‘But I must demand an audience of his majesty, and explain.” ‘‘Explain—the very attempt will be con- sidered as a proof of your guilt; no, no, asa sincere friend I should advise you to be quiet, and to take such steps as the case requires. Tnat frown, that treatment of you in public, is sufficient to tell me that you must prepare for the event. |Can you expect a king to publicly retract ?” “Retract! no—I do not require a public apology from my sovereign.” ‘* But if, having frowned upon you publicly, he again smiles upon you publicly, he does retract. He acknowledges that he was in error, and it becomes a public apology.” ‘God in heaven! then I am lost,’’ replied the syndic, throwing himself back in~ his chair. ‘Do youreally think so, Mynheer Ramsay?” ‘‘T do not say that you are lost. At present, you have only lost the favour of the king ; but you can do without that, Mynheer Krause.” ‘“Do without that ! —but youdo not know that without that I am lost. Am I not syndic of this town of Amsterdam, and can I expect to hold such an important situation if I am out of favour?” “Very true, Mynheer Krause; but what can be done? you are assailed in the dark ; you do not know the charges brought against you, and therefore cannot refute or parry them," ‘“ But what charges can they bring against mens" ‘“There can be but one charge against a person in your high situation—that of dis- affection,” ‘* Disaffection ! I who am and have always been so devoted.” ‘The most disaffected generally appear the tr.ost devoted ; Mynheer Krause, that will not help you.” ‘“My God! then,” exclaimed Krause with ”animation, ‘‘ what will, if loyalty is to be con- strued into a ag of disaffection ?’ “Nothing,” replied Ramsay, coolly. ‘‘Sus- picion in the heart of a king is never to be effaced, and disaffection may be magnified into high treason.’ ‘“‘ Bless me !”” exclaimed Van Krause, cross- ing his hands on his heart in utter despair. ‘““My dear Mynheer ae PF will you give me your opinion how I shoul Id act?” “There is no saying how far you may right in your conjectures, Mynheer Kri use,” replied Rams say: ‘‘you may have been mis- taken ‘“No, no, he frowned—looked cross—I see his face now.” “Yes, but a little thing will sou royalty ; his corn may h ave pinched hit ” - n at the time, he might have had a sl sht twinge in the bowels—his voyage may have affected ” him, ‘“He smiled upon others, upon my friend Engelback, graciously.”’ This was the very party who had prepared the charges against Krause—his own very particular Seat Did» he?” depend upon it, t belied you,” “What, Engelback? VCry cory eplied Ramsay. Chen, hat’s the very man who has my particular friend ?”’ ““Yes, I should imagine so. Tell me, Mynheer Krause, I trust you have never en- trusted to him the important secrets which I have made you acquainted with, for if you have, your knowledge of them would be quite sufficient.’ ‘My knowledge of them! I really cannot understand that. How can my knowledge of what is going on among theking’s friends and counsellors be a cause of suspicion ?”’ “Why ae heer Krause, because the king is Strrounde d by many w ho are retained from policy and fear of them. If these secrets made known contrary to oath, is it not clear that the parties so revealing them must be no sincere friends of his maje sty’ s, and will it not be naturally concluded that those who have possession of them are equally his open or secret enemies ?”’ ‘‘But then, Mynheer Ramsay, by you must be his majesty’s enemy.” ‘““That does not follow, Mynheer Krause ; I may obtain the secrets from those who are not so partial to his majesty as they are to me, but that does not disprove my loyalty. To expose them would of course render me liable to suspicion—but I guard them carefully. I have not told a word to a soul, but to you, my dear Mynheer Krause, and I have felt assured that you were much too loyal to make known to any one what it was your duty to your king to keep secret ; surely, Mynheer Krause, you have not trusted that man } a ‘I may have given a hint or so—I’m are that rule afraid SVARLEYVVO!. 12 ‘the face of 9 “S that I but he is friend.’ ‘Tf that is the case,” replied Ramsay, ‘‘I am not at all surprised at the king’s frowning on you: Engelback having intelligence from you supposed to be known only to the highest authorities, has thought it his duty to com- municate it to Government, and you are now suspected.” ‘*God in heaven ! did ; most icular my part I wish I never had your secrets, Mynheer Ramsay. It appears, then, that I have committed treason without know- ing it.” ‘At all events, you hax incurred suspicion. It is a pity that you mentioned what I confided to you; but tars done cann be helped ; you must now be active ‘‘ What must I, my dear friend ? ‘« expect the worst and be prepare d igs it— you are wealthy, LuSe, that will not be in your favour ; the explosion which, sooner or later, will take piace. Remit as much of your money as you can to where it will be secure from the spoilers. Mr. Var V al Kc it will only hasten «< ind Convert all that you can into gold, that you may take advantage of the first o] pportnns) VY) if necessary, of flying from their vengean Do all this very quietly.. Go on, as seis as if nothing had occurre te ilk wit h your friend Eengelbac ck perform syndic It may blow over, alth. aon I am afraid not, At all events, you will have, in al Pp rob ibility, some warning, as they wi 2 you as syndic before they proceed sirttsd r.' L-have only one thing toadd. I am your guest, and, depend upon it, shall share your fortune, whatever it may be; if you are thrown into prison, | am certain to be sent>there also. You may therefore command me as you please, I will not desert you, you may depend ipon it.” ‘“My dear young man, you are indeed a friend, and your advice is good. My poor Wilhelmina y what would become of her ?”’ ** Ves, indeed: used to luxury—her father in prison, perhaps his head at the gates—his whole property confiscated, and all because he had the earliest intelligence. Such is the reward of As ce Y’ loyalty. es, indeed,” repeated the syndic, ‘‘ ‘ put not your trust in princes,’ says the psalmist. If such is to be the return for my loyalty— but there isno time to lose. I must send, this post, to Hamburg and Franiiferk Many thanks, my dear friend, for your kind counsel, which I shall foll low so saying, Mynheer Krause went to his room, threw off his gown and chains tened to his counting-h¢ portant letters. We may now take this opportunity of inform- ing the reader of what had occurred in the house of the syndic. Ramsay had, as may is supposed, gained the affections of Wilhelmin in a passiot 1, and has- ouse to write his im- oO124 had told his love, and received her acknow- ledgment in return; he had also gained such a power over her that she had agreed to con- ceal their attachment from her father; as Ramsay wished first, he asserted, to be pos- sessed of a certain property which he daily expected would fall to him, and until that, he did not think that he had any right to aspire to the hand of Wilhelmina. That Ramsay was most seriously in love there was no doubt; he would have wedded Wilhelmina, even if she had not a sixpence ; but, at the same time, he was too well aware of the advantages of wealth not to fully appreciate it, and he felt the necessity and the justice to Wilhelmina, that she should not be deprived, by his means, of those luxuries to which she had been brought up. But here there was a difficulty, arising from his espous- ing the very opposite cause to that espoused by Mynheer Krause, for the difference of religion he very rightly considered as a mere trifle compared with the difference in political feelings. Hehad already weaned Wilhelmina from the political bias imbibed from her father, and his connexions, without acquainting her with his belonging to the opposite party, for the present. It had been his intention, as sogn as his services were required elsewhere, to have demanded Wilhelmina’s hand from her father, still leaving him in error as to his politics ; and by taking her with him, after the marriage, to the court of St. Germain, to have allowed Mynheer Krause to think what he pleased, but not to enter into any explanation : but, as Ramsay truly observed, Mynheer Krause had, by his not retaining the secrets confided to him, rendered himself suspected, and once suspected with King William, his disgrace, if not ruin, was sure to follow. This fact, so important to Ramsay'splans, had been communicated in the extracts made by Van- slyperken from the last despatches, and Ram- say had been calculating the consequences when Mynheer Krause returned discomfited from the presence of the king. That Ramsay played a very diplomatic game in the conversation which we have repeated is true ; but still it was the best game for Krause as well as for his own interests, as the events will show. We must, however, remind the reader that Ramsay had no idea whatever of the double treachery on the part of Vanslyperken, in copying all the letters sent by and to him, as well as extracting from the Government despatches. ‘My dearest Edward, what has detained you so long from me this morning,”’ inquired Wilhelmina when he entered the music-room, about an hour after his conversation with the syndic. Ramsay then entered into the detail of what had occurred, and wove in such remarks of his own as were calculated to disgust Wilhel- LHTEEDOG TIAN D 5 OR, mina with the conduct of King William, and to make her consider her father as an injured man. He informed her of the advice he had given him, and then pointed out to her the propriety of her enforcing his following it with all the arguments of persuasion in her power. Wilhelmina’s indignation was roused ; and she did not fail, when speaking with her father, to railin no measured tones against the king, and to press him to quit a country where he had been so ill-used. _Mynheer Krause felt the same ; his pride had been severely injured ; and it may be truly said that one of the stanchest adherents of the Protestant King was lost by a combination of circumstances as peculiar as they were unexpected. In the meantime, the corporal had gone on shore as usual, and made the widow acquainted with the last attempt upon Smallbones, and the revenge of the ship’s company. Babette had also done her part. She had found out that Ramsay lived in the house of the syndic, and that he was the passenger brought over by Vanslyperken in the cutter. The widow, who had now almost arranged her plans, received Vanslyperken more amicably than ever; anathematised the Sup- posed defunct Smallbones ; shed tears over the stump of Snarleyyow, and asked Vansly- perken when he intended to give up the nasty cutter and live quietly on shore. CHARTER» xii In which ts shown the tmprudence of sleeping in the open air, even ina summer's night. THE Yungfrau was not permitted to remain more thantwo days at her anchorage. On the third morning Mr. Vanslyperken’s signal was made to prepare to weigh. He imme- diately answered it, and giving his orders to Short, hastened, as fast as he could, up to the syndic’s house to inform Ramsay, stating that he must immediately return on board again, and that the letters must be sent to him : Ramsay perceived the necessity of this, and consented. On his return to the boat, Mr. Vanslyperken found that his signal to repair on board the frigate had been hoisted and he hastened on board to put on his uniform and obey this order. He received his despatches from the captain of the frigate, with orders to proceed to sea immediately. Mr. Vanslyperken, under the eye of his su- perior officer, could not dally or delay: he hove short, hoisted his mainsail, and fired a gun as a signal for sailing; anxiously looking out for Ramsay’s boat with his letters, and afraid to go without them; but no boat made its appearance, and Mr. Vanslyperken was forced to heave up his anchor. Still he cid not like to make sail, and he remained a fewminutes more, when he at last perceived a small boat coming off. At the same time he observed a boat coming from the frigate, and they arrived alongside the cutter about the same time, fortunately Ramsay’s boat the first, and Mr. Vauslyperken had time to carry the letters down below. **The commandant wishes to know why you do not proceed to sea, sir, in obedience to your orders,” said the officer. *“T only waited for that boat to come on board,’ sir,” replied Vanslyperken to the lieutenant. ‘« And pray, sir, from whom does that boat come ?”’ inquired the officer. ** From the syndic’s, Mynheer Van Krause,’’ replied Vanslyperken, not knowing what else to say, and thinking that the name of the syndic would be sufficient. “‘And what did the boat bring off, to occasion the delay, sir?”’ ‘“‘A letter or two for England,” replied Vanslyperken. “‘Very well, sir; I wish you a _ good morning,’ said the lieutenant, who then went into his boat, and Vanslyperken made sail. The delay of the cutter to receive the syndic’s letters was fully reported the same evening to the commandant, who, knowing that the syndic was suspected, reported the same to the authorities, and this trifling circumstance only increased the suspicions against the unfortunate Mynheer Van Krause ; but we must follow the cutter and those on board of her. Smalibones had remained concealed on board, his wounds had been nearly healed, and it was now again proposed that he should, as soon as they were out at sea, make his appearance to frighten Vanslyper- ken ; and that immediately they arrived at Portsmouth, he should go on shore and desert from the cutter, as Mr. Vanslyperken would, of course, find out that his mother was killed, and the consequences to Small- bones must be dangerous, as he had no evidence, if Vanslyperken swore that he had murdered his mother ; but this arrangement was overthrown by events which we shall now narrate. [twas on the third morning after they sailed, that Vanslyperken walked the ' deck: there was no one but the man at the helm abaft. The weather was extremely sultry, for the cutter had run with a fair wind for the first eight-and-forty hours, and had then been becalmed for the last twenty-four, and had drifted to the back of the Isle of Wight, when she was not three leagues from St. Helena. The consequence was, that the ebb tide had now drifted her down very nearly opposite to that part of the island where the cave was situated of which we have made mention. Vanslyperken heard the people talking below, and, as_ usual, anxious to SVARLEYVYOW, 125 overhear what was said, had stopped to listen. He heard the name of Smallbones repeated several times, but could not make out what was said. Anxious to know, he went down the ladder, and, instead of going into his cabin, crept softly forward on the lower deck, when he overheard Coble. Short, and Spurey in consultation, “We shall be in to-morrow,” said Spurey, ‘if a breeze springs up, and then it will be too late ; Smallbones must frighten him again to- night.” ‘* Yes,’’ replied Short. “He shall go into his cabin o'clock ; that will be the best way.” ‘* But the corporal.” ‘Hush! there is some one there,” said Spurey, whoattracted by a slight noise made by Vanslyperken’s boots, turned short round. Vanslyperken retreated and gained the deck by the ladder ; he had hardly been up when he observed a face at the hatchway, who was evidently looking to ascertain if he was on deck. These few words overheard, satisfied Van- slyperken that Smallbones was alive and on board the cutter; and he perceived how he had been played with. His rage was excessive, but he did not know how to act. If Small- bones was alive, and that he appeared to be, he must have escaped from his mother, and, of course, the ship's company must know that his life had been attempted. ‘That hedid not care much about : he had not done the deed ; but how the lad could have come on board ! did he not see him lying dead? It was very strange, and the life of the boy must be charmed. At all events, it was a mystery which Mr. Vanslyperken could not solve. At first, he thought that he would allow Small- bones to come into the cabin, and get a loaded pistol ready for him. The words, ‘‘ But the corporal,’’ which were cut short, proved to him that the corporal was no party to the affair ; yet it was strange that the ship’s com- pany could have concealed the lad without the corporal’s knowledge. Vanslyperken walked and walked, and thought and thought; at last he resolved to go down into his cabin, pretend to go to bed, lock his door, which was not his custom, and see if they would attempt to come in. He did so, the corporal was dis- missed, and at twelve o'clock his door was tried and tried again ; but being fast the party retreated. Vanslyperken waited till two bells to ascertain if any more attempts would be made ; but none were, so he rose from his bed, where he had thrown himself with his clothes on, and, opening the door softly, crept upon deck. The night was very warm, but there was a light and increasing breeze, and the cutter was standing in and close to the shore to make a long board upon next tack. Van- at twelveslyperken passed the man at the helm, and walked aft to the taffrail ; he stood up on the choak to ascertain what way she was making through the water, and he was meditating upon the best method of proceeding. Had he known where Smallbones’ hammock was hung he would have gone down with the view of ascertaining the fact ; but with a crew so evi- dently opposed to him, he could not see how even the ascertaining that Si mau Pones was. on board would be productive of any good conse- quences. ~The more 'Vanslyperken thought, the more he was puzzled. The fact is,’ that he was between the horns of a dilemma; but the devil, who always helps his favourites, came'to the aid of Mr. Vanslyperken. ‘The small boat Was, as usual, hoisted up astern, and Mr, Vanslyperken’s eyes were accident- ally cast upon it. He perceived a black mass lying on the thwarts, and he examined it more closely ; he heard snoring : it was one of the ship's company sleeping there against orders. He leant over the taffrail, and putting aside the great-coat which covered the party, he looked attentively on the face—there was no doubt it was Smallbones himself. _ From a knowledge of the premises, Vanslyperken knew at once that the lad was in his power. ‘The boat, after being hauled up with tackle was hung by a single rope at each davit. I was very broad in proportion to its length, and was secured from motion bya single gripe, which confined it in its place, bowsing it close to the stern of the cutter, and prevent- ing it from turning over bottom up, which, upon the least weight upon one gunwale or the other, would be_inevitably.the case. = mallbones was lying close to the gunwale ext to the stern of the cutter. By letting go ae gripe, therefore, the boat would imme- wate turn bottom up, and Smallbones would be ¢ lropped into the sea, . Vanslyperken care- fully examined the fastenings of the gripe, found that they were to be cast off by one novement, and that his success was certain ; but still he was cautious. ‘The man at the helm must hear the boat go over; he might hear Smaljbones cry for assistance. So Van- slyperken went forward to the man at the helm, and desired him to go down and to order Corporal Van Spitter to mix a glass of brandy-and-water, and send it up by him, and that he would steer the vessel till he came up again. [he man went down to execute the order, and V anslyperken steere sd the cutter for half a minute, during which he looked forward to ascertain if any one was moving, All was safe, the watch was a asleep forw ard, and Vanslyperken, leaving the cutter to steer itself, hastened aft, cast off the gripe, the boat as he calculated, immediately turning over, rin ‘and the sleeping Smallbones fell into the sea. Vanslyperken hastened back to the helm, and put the cutters head right. He heard the L1HE DOG LAEND; OR, cry of Smallbones, but it was not loud, for the cutter had already left him astern, and it was fainter and fainter, and at.last it was heard no more, and not one of the watch had been disturbed. ‘‘If ever you haunt me again,” muttered Vanslyperken, ‘‘ may I be hanged.” We particularly call the reader's attention to these words of Mr. Vanslyperken. The man returned with the brandy-and- water, with which Vanslyperken drank don voyage to poor Smallbones. He then ordered the cutter to be put about, and as soon as she was round he went down into his- cabin and turned in with greater Eyeraction than he had for a long time. ‘We shall have got rid of him at last, my poor dog,’ said he, patting Snarleyyow’s head. ‘‘ Your enemy is gone for ever.” And Mr. Vanslyperken slept soundly, be- c eS although he had committed a murder, there was no chance of his being found out. We soon get accustomed to crime: before, he irted at the idea of murder; now, all that fe > cared for was detection. Good-night to you, Mr. Vanslyperken. CHAPTER’ XLHYI, Ix which Smallbones changes from a King’s man into a smuggler, and also changes his sex. I¥ we adhered to the usual plans of historical novel writers, we should, in this instance, leave Smallbones to what must appear to have been his inevitable oy and then bring him on the stage again with a coup de théatre when least,expected by the reader. But that is not our intention : we consider that the in- terest of this our narration of by-gone events is quite sufficient, without condescending to what is called clap-trap; and there are so many people in our narrative continually labouring under deception of one kind or an- other, that we need not add to it by attempt- ing to past ify our readers, who, on the contrary, we shall take with us familiarly by the han a and, like a faithful historian, lead them through the events in the order in which they occurred, and point out to them how they all lead to one commonend. With this intention in view, we shall now follow the ars s of Gialitenee whom we left flound- ring in about seven fathoms’ water. The weather was warm, even sultry, as we said before ; but notwithstanding which, and notwithstanding he was a very tolerable swimmer, considering that he was so thin, Smallbones did not like it. To be awoke out of a profound sleep, and all of a sudden to find yourself floundering out of your depth about half a mile from the “nearest la and, iS anything but agreeable; the transition is too rapid, Smallbones descended a few fe set beforehe could divest himself of the folds of the Flustring coat which he had wrapped himself upin. it belonged to Coble; he had pur- chased it at a sale-shop on the Point for seven- teen shillings and sixpence, and, moreover, it was as good as new. In consequence of this delay below water-mark, Smallbones had very little breath left in his body when herose to the surface, and he could not inflate his lungs so as to call loud, until the cutter had walked away from him at least one hundred yards, for she was slipping fast through the water, and another minute plainly proved to Smallbones that he was left to his own re- sources, At first, the lad had imagined that it was an accident, and that the rope had given way with his weight ; but when he found that no attention was paid to his cries, he then was convinced that it was the work of Mr. Vansly- perken, “* By gum, he’s a-done for meat last. Well, I don't care, I can die but once, that’s sartin sure; and he'll goto the devil, that’s sartin sure.” And Smallbones, with this comfortable assurance, continued to strike out for the land, which, indeed, he had but little prospect of ever making. ‘‘ A shame for to come for to go to murder a poor lad three or four times over,” sputtered Smalibones, after a time, feeling his strength fail him. He then turned on his back, to ease his arms. ‘*T can't do it no how, I sees that,” said Smallbones, ‘‘so I may just as well go down like a dipsey lead.” But as he muttered this, and was making up his mind to discontinue further exertions —not a very easy thing to do, when you are about to go into another world—still floating on his back, with his eyes fixed on the starry heavens, thinking, as Smallbones afterwards narrated himself, that there wa'n’t much to live for in this here world, and considering what there could bein that ’ere, his head struck against something hard. Smallbones immediately turnd round in the water to see what it was, and found that it was one of the large corks which supported a heavy net laid out across the tide for the taking of shoal-fish. The cork was barely sufficient to support his weight, but it gave him a certain relief, and time to look about him, as the saying is. The lad ran under the net and cork with his hands until he arrived at the nearest shoal, for it was three or four hundred yards long. When he arrived there, he contrived to bring some of the corks together, until he had quite suffi- cent for his support, and then Smallbones voted himself pretty comfortable after all, for the water was very warm, and now quite smooth, pmallbones, as the reader may have ob- Oo o SVMARLEYVVOW, 127 served during the narration, was a lad of most indisputable courage and of good principles, Had it been his fortune to have been born among the higher classes, and to have had all the advantages of education, he might have turned out a hero; as it was, he did his duty well in that state of life to which he had been called, and as he said in his speech to the men on the forecastle, he feared God, honoured the king, and was the na- tural enemy to the devil. The Chevalier Bayard was nothing more, only he had a wider field for his exertions and his talents; but the armed and accoutred 3ayard did not show more courage and con- duct when leading armies to victory, than did the unarmed Smallbones against Vanslyper- ken and his dog. We consider that, zz Ais way, Smallbones was quite as great a hero as the Chevalier, forno man can do more than his best: indeed, it is unreasonable to expect it. While Smallbones hung on to the corks, he vas calculating his chances of being saved. “If so be as how they comes to take up the nets in the morning, why then I think 1 may hold on ; but if so be they waits, why they'll then find me dead asa fish,” said Smallbones, who seldom ventured above a monosyllable, and whose language, if not considered as pure English, was certainly amazingly Saxon ; and then Smallbones began to reflect whether it was not necessary that he should forgive Mr. Vanslyperken before he died, and his pros and cons ended with his thinking he could, for it was his duty ; however, he would not be in a hurry about it, he thought that was the last thing that he need do ; but as for the dog, he wa'n't obliged to forgive him, that was certain—as certain as that his tail was off ; and Smallbones, up to his chin in the water, grinned so at the remembrance that he took in more salt water than was pleasant. He spit it out again, and then looked up to the stars, which were twinkling above him. I wonder what o'clock it is, thought Small- bones, when he thought he heard a distant sound. Smallbones pricked up his ears and listened ;—yes, it was in regular cadence, and became louder and louder. It was a boat, pulling. ‘‘Well, I am sure,” thought Smallbones, ‘‘ they'll think they have caught a queer fish anyhow ;’’ and he waited very patiently for the fishermen to come up. At last he per- ceived the ‘boat, which was very long, and pulled many oars. ‘‘ They be thesmugglers,”’ thought Smallbones. ‘‘I wonder whether they'll pick up a poor lad. Boat ahoy !”’ The boat continued to pass towards the coast, impelled at the speed of seven or eight niles an hour, and was now nearly abreast of Smallbones, and not fifty yards from him,>Q I25 ‘I say, boat ahoy !"’ screamed Smallbones, to the extent of his voice. Iie was heard this time, and there was a pause in the pulling, the boat still driving through the water with the impulse which had been given her, as if she required no pro- pelling power. ‘‘T say, you arn't a going for to come for to leave a poor lad here to be drowned, are VOUT. “Thats Smallbones, Ull swear,’ cried Jemmy Ducks, who was steering the boat, and who immediately shifted the helm. But Sir Robert Barclay paused ; there was too much at stake to run any risk, even to save the life of a fellow-creature. “You takes time for to think on it, anyhow,” cried Smallbones. ‘‘ Youare going for to leave a fellow-Christian stuck like a herring in a fishing-net, are you? You would not like it yourself, anyhow.”’ ‘“‘It is Smallbones, sir,’’ repeated Jemmy Ducks, ‘‘and I'll vouch for himas a lad that’s good and true.” Sir Robert no longer hesitated : ‘‘ Give way, my lads, and pick him up.” In a few minutes Smallbones was hauled in over the gunwale, and was seated on the stern- sheets opposite to Sir Robert. ‘* It's a great deal colder out of the water than in, that’s sartain,’’ observed Smallbones, shivering. ‘‘ Give way, my lads, we've no time to stay,” cried Sir Robert. ‘Take this, Smallbones,’’ said Jemmy. " Why, So. it is Jemnmy Ducks!” replied Smallbones, with astonishment—‘‘ why, how did you come here ?”’ ‘*Sarcumstances,”’ replied Jemmy,; ‘‘ how did you come there?” ‘« Sarcumstances Smallbones. eS axeep siletice, said Sir; Robert, and nothing more was said until the lugger dashed into the cave. The cargo was landed, and Smallbones, who was very cold, was not sorry to assist. He carried up his load with the rest, and, as usual, the women came half-way down to receive it, ‘“Why, who have we here?” said one of the women to whom Smallbones was deliver- ing his load ; ‘‘ why, it’s Smallbones.”’ “Yes,” rephed Smallbones, “itis me; but how came you here, Nancy ?”’ ‘“That’s tellings ; but how came you, my lad?” replied Nancy. ** I came by water, anyhow.” ‘Well, you are one of us now, you know ; there's no going back.” ‘* I’m sure I don’t want to go back, Nancy ; but what is to be done? nothing unchristian- like;-d hope, * too, Jemmy,’ - replied ‘We're all good Christians here, Small- LHE DOG FIEND; OR, bones ; we don't bow down to idois and pay duty to them as other people do.” ‘Do you fear god, and honour the king?” ‘“We do; the first as much as other people, and as for the king, we love him and serve him faithfully.” ‘‘ Well, then, I suppose that’s aH right,” replied Smallbones; ‘‘but where do you liviewss ‘Come with me, take your load up, and I will show you, for the sooner you are there the better; the boat will be off again in half an hour, if I mistake not.” ‘‘ Off, where?” ‘To France, with a message to the king.” ‘“ Why, the king’s in Holland! weleft him there when we sailed !”’ ‘‘ Pooh! nonsense! come along.” When Sir Robert arrived at the cave, he found an old friend anxiously awaiting his arrival; it was Graham, who had been de- spatched by the Jacobites to the court of St. Germain, with intelligence of great import- ance, which was the death of the young Duke of Gloucester, the only surviving son of King William. He had, it was-said, died of a malignant fever; but if the reader will call to mind the address of one of the Jesuits on the meeting at Cherbourg, he may have some sur- mises as to the cause of the duke’s decease. As this event rendered the succession uncer- tain, the hopes of the Jacobites were raised to the highest pitch ; the moreso as the country was in a state of anxiety and confusion, and King William was absent at the Hague. Graham had, therefore, been despatched to the exiled James, with the proposition from his friends in England, and to press the necessity of an invasion of the country. As Nancy had supposed, Sir Robert decided upon immediately crossing over to Cherbourg ; the crew were allowed a short time to repose and refresh themselves, and once more re- turned to their laborious employment ; Jemmy Ducks satisfied Sir Robert that Smallbones might be trusted and be useful, and Nancy corroborated his assertions. He was, there- fore, allowed to remain in the cave with the women, and Sir Robert and his crew, long before Smallbones’ garments were dry, were again crossing the English Channel. Now, it must be observed, that Smallbones was never well off for clothes, and, on this occasion, when he fell overboard, he had nothing on but an old pairof thin linen trousers and a shirt, which, from dint of long washing, from check had turned to a light cerulean blue: what with his struggles at the net and the force used to pull him into the boat, the shirt had more than one-half disappeared— that is tosay, one sleeve and the back were wholly gone, and the other sleeve was well pre- pared to follow its fellow, on the first capful of wind. ~ His trousers also were in almost asbada state. In hauling him in, when his head was over the gunwale, one of the men had seized him by the seat of his trousers to lift him into the boat, and the consequence was that the seat of his trousers, having been too long sat upon, was also left in his muscular gripe. All these items put together, the reader may infer that, although Smallbones might appear merely ragged in front, that in his rear he could not be considered as decent, especially as he was the only one of the mus culi me Sex among a body of females. No notice was taken of this by others, nor did Smallbones observe it himself, during the confusion and bustle previous to the departure of the smug- glers; but now they were gone, Smallbones perceived his deficiencies, and was very much at a loss what to do/ as he was aware that daylight would discover them to others as well as to himself: so he fixed his back up against one of the rocks, and remained idle while the women were busily employed storing away the cargo in the various compartments of the cave. Nancy, who had not forgotten that he was with them, came up to him. ‘* Why do you stay there, Smallbones ? you must be hungry and cold; come in with me, and [I will find you something to eat.” ‘‘T can’t, Mistress Nancy, I want your advice’ firs Has any of the men left any of their duds in this here cavern ?”’ ““Duds!men! No, they keep them all on the other side. We have nothing but petti- coats here and shimmeys.” “Ehen what..must’ 1 do?’ exclaimed Smallbones. ‘‘Oh, I see, your shirt is torn off your back. Well, never mind, I’lLlend you a shimmey.”’ ‘“Yes, Mistress Nancy, but it be more worse than that; I an’t got no behind to my trousers ; they pulled it out when they pulled me into the boat. I sticks to this here rock for decency’s sake. What must Ido?” Nancy burst into a laugh. ‘‘ Do? why, if you can’t have men’s clothes, you must put on the women’s, and then you'll be in the regular uniform of the cave.”’ ‘*I do suppose that I must, but I can’t say that I like the idea much, anyhow,” replied sSmallbones. ‘“Why, you don’t mean to stick to that rock like a limpet all your life, do you? there’s plenty of work for you.” ‘Ifso be I must, I must,” bones. ‘“You can’t appear before Mistress Alice in that state,” replied Nancy. ‘‘She’s a lady bred and born, and very particular too, and then there's Miss Lilly, you will turn her as red as a rose if she sees you.” ‘Well, then, I suppose I must, Mistress Nancy, for I shall catch my death of cold here. I'm all wet and shivery, from being so long in replied Smali- SVARLEVVOW 129 the water, and my back, against the rock, feels just as ice.” “No wonder; I'll run and fetch you some- thing,”’ replied Nancy, who was delighted at the idea of dressing up Smallbones as a woman. Nancy soon returned with a chemise, a Short flannel petticoat, and a shawl, which she gave to Smallbones, desiring him to take off his wet clothes, and substitute them. She ua return to him as soon as he had put them on, and see that they were put tidy and right. smallbones retired behind one of the rocks, and soon shifted his clothes ; he put everything on the hind part before, and Naney had to lter them when she came, She adjusted the hal and then led him into the cave, where he found Mistress Alice, and some of the women who were not busy with the cargo. “ Here’s the poor lad who was thrown over- board, madam,”’ said Nancy, retaining her gravity, ‘‘ All his clothes were torn off his back, and I have been obliged to give him these to put on.” Lady Ramsay could hardly repress a smile, Smallbones’ appearance was that of a tall, gaunt creature, pale enough, and smooth enough to bea woman cert ainly, but cutting a most ridiculous figure. His long, thin arms were bare, his neck was likea crane’s, and the petticoats were so short as to reach almost above his knees. Shoes and stockings he had none. His long hair was platted and matted with the salt water, and one side of his head vas shaved, and exhibited a monstrous, half- healed scar. Lady PADISAy! asked him a few questions, and then desired Nancy to give him some re- fre shment, and find him sometl 1ing to lie down upon in the division of the cave which was used as a kitchen. 3ut we must now leave Smallbones to entertain the inhabitants of the cave with the history of his adventures, which he did at in- tervals, during his stay there. He retained his women’s clothes, for Nancy would not let him wear any other, and was a source of great amusement, not only to the smugglers’ wives, but also to little Lilly, who would listen to his conversation and remarks, which were almost as naive and unsophisticated as her own. CHAPTIER ALIV. Vauslyperken meets with a double defeat. IT was late in the evening of the day after Smallbones had been so satisfactorily disposed of that the cutter arrived at Portsmouth ; but from daylight until the time that the cutter anchored, there was no small confusion and bustle on board of the Yumgfrau. When I [nu which Mr.130 THE DOG FIEND; OR, Vanslyperken’s cabin door was found to be locked, it was determined that Smallbones should not appear as a supernatural visitant that night, but wait till the one following ; consequently the parties retired to bed, and Smallbones, who found the heat between decks very oppressive, had crept up the ladder and taken a berth in the small boat, that he might sleep cool and comfortable, intending to be down below again long before Mr. Vanslyperken was up; but, as the reader knows, Mr. Vanslyperken was up before him, and the consequence was that Smallbones went down into the sea instead of the lower deck, as he had. intended. The next morning it was soon ascertained that Smallbones was not to be found, and the ship's company were in a State of dismay. The boat, as soon as Smallbones had been turned out, had resumed her upright position, and one of the men when busy washing the decks, had made fast the gripe again, which he supposed had been cast off by accident when the ropes had been coiled for washing, Smallbones not being at that time missed. When, therefore, the decks had been searched everywhere, and the lad was discovered not to be in the ship, the suspicion was very great. No one had seen him go aft to sleep in the boat. The man who was at the wheel stated that Mr. Vanslyperken had sent him down for a glass of grog, and had taken the helm for the time; but this proved nothing. His disappearance was a mystery not to be un- ravelled. An appeal to Mr. Vanslyperken was, of course, impossible, for he did not know that the lad was on board. The whole day was spent in surmises and suppositions ; but things all ended in the simple fact that somehow or another Smallbones had fallen overboard, and there was an end of the poor fellow. So soon as the cutter was at anchor, Mr. Vanslyperken hastened to perform his official duties, and anxious to learn how Smallbones had contrived to escape the clutches of his mother, bent His steps towards the half-way houses. He arrived at the door of his mother's room, and knocked as usual, but there was no reply. It was now the latter end of July, and although it was past seven o'clock it was full daylight. Vanslyperken knocked again and again. His mother must be out, he thought: and if so, she always took the key with her. He had nothing to do but to wait for her return. The passage and stair- case was dark, but there was a broad light in the room from the casement, and this light streamed from under the door of the room. A shade crossing the light attracted Vansly- perken’s attention, and to while away the tediousness of waiting, he was curious to see what it was ; he knelt down, looked under the door, and perceived the key which Small- bones had placed there; he inserted his finger and drew it forth, imagining that his nother had slid it beneath till her return. He fitted it to the lock and opened the door, when his olfactory nerves were offended with a dreadful stench, which surprised him the more as the casement was open. Vansly- perken surveyed the room ; he perceived that the blood had been washed from the floor, and sand strewed over it. Had he not known that Smallbones had been on board of the cutter the day before, he would have thought that it had been the smell of the dead body not yet removed. ‘This thought crossing his imagination, immediately made the truth flasl upon him, and, as if instinctively, he went up to the bed and pulled down the clothes, when he recoiled back with horror at uncovering the face of his mother, now a lived blue, and in the last stage of putrefaction. Overcome with the horrid sight, and the dreadful stench which accompanied it, he reeled to the casement and gasped for breath. A sickness came over him, and for some time he was incapable of acting, and barely capable of reflection. ‘She is gone, then,” thought he at last, and he shuddered when he asked himself where. ‘‘She must have fallen by the hands of the lad,” continued he, and immediately the whole that had happened appeared to be revealed to him. ‘Yes, yes, he has recovered from the blow—killed her and locked the door—all is clear now, but I have revenged her death.” Vanslyperken, who had now recovered him- self, went softly to the door, took out the key, and locked himself in. He had been debating in his mind whether he should call in the neighbours : but, on reflection, as no one had seen him enter, he determined that he would not. He would take his gold, and leave the door locked, and the key underit, as he found it, before her death was discovered: it would be supposed that she died a natural death, for the state of the body would render it im- possible to prove the contrary. But there was one act necessary to be performed at which Vanslyperken’s heart recoiled. The key of the oak-chest was about his mother’s person, and he must obtain it ; he must search for it in corruption and death, amongst creeping worms and noisome stench. It was half an hour before he could make up his mind to the task : but what will avarice not accomplish. He covered up the face, and with a trembling hand turned over the bedclothes. 3ut we must not disgust our readers; it will suffice to say, that the key was obtained, and the chest opened. Vanslyperken found all his own gold, and much more than he had ever expected belong- ing to his mother. There were other articles belonging to him, but he thought it prudent rot to touch them. He loaded himself withthe treasure, and when he felt that it was all secure, for he was obliged to divide it in different parcels, and stow it in various manners about his person, he re-locked the chest, placed the key in the cupboard, and quitting the room, made fast the door, and, like a dutiful son, left the remains of his mother to be inhumed at the expense of the parish. As he left the house without being observed, and gained the town of Portsmouth, never was Mr. Vanslyperken’s body so heavily loaded, or his heart lighter. He had got rid of Smallbones and of his mother, both in a way perfectly satisfactory to himself. He had recovered his own gold, and had also been enriched beyond his hopes by his mother’s savings. He felt not the weight which he carried about his person, he wished it had been heavier. All he felt was, very anxious to be on board, and have his property secured. His boat waited for him, and one of the men informed him his presence was required at the admiral’s immediately ; but Mr. Vanslyperken first went on board, and having safely locked up all his treasures, then complied with the admiral’s wishes. They were to sail immediately, for the intelligence of the Duke of Gloucester’s death had just arrived, with’ the despatches announcing the same to be taken to King William, who was still at the Hague. Vanslyperken sent the boat on board with orders to Short to heave short and loose sails, and then hastened up to the house of Lazarus the Jew, aware that the cutter would, in all probability, be despatched immediately to the Hague. The Jew had the letters for Ramsay all prepared. Vansly- perken once more touched his liberal fee, and, in an hour, he was again under way for the EREr. During the passage, which was very quick, Mr. Vanslyperken amused himself, as usual, in copying the letters to Ramsay, which contained the most important intelligence of the projects of the Jacobites, and, from the various communications between Ramsay and the conspirators, Vanslyperken had also been made acquainted with the circumstance hitherto unknown to him, of the existence of the caves above the cove, where he had been taken to by the informer, as mentioned in the early part of this work, and also of the names of the parties who visited it. Of this intelligence Vanslyperken determined to avail himself by-and-by. It:was evident that there were only women in the cave, and Mr. Vanslyperken counted his gold, patted the head of Snarleyyow, and indulged in anticipations of further wealth, and the hand of the widow Vandersloosh. All dreams! Mr. Vanslyperken The cutter arrived, and he landed with his despatches for the Government ; and his letters SNARLEVVOW. to Ramsay being all delivered, Vanslyperken hastened to the widow’s, who as usual received him, all smiles. He now confided to her the death of his mother, and astonished her by representing the amount of his wealth, which he had the precaution to state that the major part of it was left him by his mother. ‘« Where have you put it all, Mr. Vansly- perken?” inquired the widow. And Vansly- perken replied that he had come to ask he advice on the subject, as it was at present all on board of the cutter. The widow, who was not indifferent to money, was more gracious than ever. She had a scheme in her head of persuading him to leave the money under her charge; but Vanslyperken was anxious to go on board again, for he discovered that the key was not in his pocket, and he was fearful that he might have left it on the cabin table ; so he quitted rather abruptly, and the widow had not time to bring the battery to bear. As soon as Mr. Vanslyperken arrived on board, Corporal Van Spitter, without asking leave, for he felt it was not necessary, went on shore, and was soon in the arms of his enamoured widow Vandersloosh. In the meantime, Mr. Vanslyperken discovered the key in the pocket of the waistcoat he had thrown off, and having locked his door, he again opened his drawer, and delighted himself for an hour or two in re-arranging his treasure ; after which, feeling himself in want of occupation, it occurred to him that he might as well dedicate a little more time to the widow, so he manned his boat and went on shore again. it is all very well to have a morning and afternoon lover if ladies are so inclined, just as they have a morning and afternoon dress, but they should be worn separately. Now, as it never entered the head of Mr. Vanslyperken that the corporal was playing him false, so did it never enter the idea of the widow that Mr. Vanslyperken would male his appearance in the evening, and leave the cutter and Snarley- yow, without the corporal being on board to watch over them. 3ut Mr..Vanslyperken did leave the cutter and Snarleyyow, did’come on shore, did walk to the widow's house, and did most un- expectedly enter it; and what was the con- sequence ?—that he was not perceived when he entered it, and the door of the parlour as well as the front door being open to admit the air, for the widow and the corporal found that making love in the dog-days was rather warm work for people of their calibre—to his mortification and rage the lieutenant beheld the corporal seated in his berth, on the little fubsy sofa, with one arm round the widow's waist, his other hand joined in hers, and grok pudor/ sucking at her dewy lips like some huge carp under the water-lilies on a mid- summer's afternoon. Mr. Vanslyperken was transfixed—the par=y sa £32 ties were too busy with their amorous inter- change to perceive his presence: at last the corporal thought that his lips required moist- ening with a little of the beer of the widow's own brewing, for the honey of her lips had rather glued them together—he turned towards the table to take up his tumbler, and he be- held Mr. Vanslyperken. The corporal, for a moment, was equally transhixed ; but on these occasions people act mechanically because they don’t know what to do. The corporal had been well drilled ; he rose from the sofa, held himself perfectly upright, and raised the back of his right hand to his forehead ; there he stood like a statue, saluting at the presence of his superior officer. The widow had also perceived the presence of Vanslyperken almost as soon as the corporal, but a woman's wits are more at their command on these occasions than a man’s. She felt that all concealment was now useless, and she prepared for action, At the same time, al- though ready to discharge a volley of abuse upon Vanslyperken, she paused, to ascertain how she should proceed. Assuming an in- different air, she said—‘‘ Well, Mr. Vansly- perken ?”’ “Well!” exclaimed Vanslyperken, but he could not speak for passion. “‘Raves-dropping, as usual, Mr. Vansly- perken? ”’ ‘May the roof of this house drop on you, you infernal he ‘No indelicate language, if you please, sir,” interrupted the widow, *‘ I won't put up with it in my house, I can tell you.—Ho, ho, Mr. Vanslyperken,”’ continued the widow, working herself into a rage, ‘‘ that won't do here, Mr. Vanslyperken.”’ “Why, you audacious—you—you double- faced : « Double-faced !—it’s a pity you wernt double-faced, as you call it, with that snivel- ling nose and crooked chin of yours. Double- faced, heh !—oh ! oh! Mr. Vanslyperken—we shall see—wait a littlke—we shall see who's double-faced. Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken— that for you, Mr. Vanslyperken—I can hang you when I please, Mr. Vanslyperken. Cor- poral, how many guineas did you see counted out to him at the house opposite?” During all this the corporal remained fixed and immovable with his hand up to the salute : but on being questioned by his mistress, he replied, remaining in the same _ respectful attitude, — ‘Fifty golden guineas, Mrs. Vandersloosh.”’ ‘A Tie! an infamous lie!” cried Yansly- ‘perken, drawing his sword. ‘“Traitor that you are,” continued he to the corporal, *“ take your reward.’ “This was a very critical mo- ment. The corporal did not attempt the defensive, but remained in the same attitude, and Vanslyperken’s rage at the falsehood of THE DOG FIEND 3 0R, the widow and the discovery of his treason was so great, that he lost all command of him- self. Had not a third party come in just as Vanslyperken drew his sword, it might have gone hard with the corporal ; but, fortunately, 3abette came in from the yard, and perceiving the sword fly out of the scabbard, she put her hand behind the door, and snatched two long- handled brooms, one of which she put into the hands of her mistress and retained the other herself. ‘Take your reward !”’ cried Vanslyperken, running furiously to cut down the corporal. But his careerwas stopped by the two brooms, one of which took him in the face, and the other in the chest. “The widow and Babette now ranged side by side, holding their brooms as soldiers do their arms in a charge of bayo- Nets. How did the corporal act? He retained his former respectful position, leaving the defen- sive or offensive in the hands of the widow and Babette. This check on the part of Vanslyperken only added to his rage. Again he flew with his sword at the corporal, and again he was met with the besoms in his face. He caught one with his hand, and he was knocked back with the other. Heattempted to cut them in two with his sword, but inf vain. ‘“ Out of my house. you villain !—you traitor —out of my house,” cried the widow, pushing at him with such force as to drive him against the wall, and pinning him there while Babette charged him in his face, which was now stream- ing with blood. The attack was now followed up with such vigour, that Vanslyperken: was first obliged to retreat to the door, then out of the door into the street ; followed into the street, he took to his heels, and the widow and Babette returned victorious into the parlour to the corporal. Mr. Vanslyperken could not accuse him of want of respect to his superior officer ; he had saluted him on entering, and he was still saluting him when he made his exit. The widow threw herself on the sofa—Cor- poral Van Spitter then took his seat beside her. The widow, overcome by her rage and exer- tion, burst into tears and sobbed in his arms. The corporal poured out a glass of beer, and persuaded her to drink it. “T'll have him hanged to-morrow, at all events. I'll go to the Hague myself,” cried the widow. ‘‘Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see who will gain the day,’’ continued the widow, sobbing. ‘“You can prove it, corporal?” ‘‘ Mein Gott ! yes,” replied the corporal. “As soon as he’s hung, corporal we'll marry.” ‘Mein Gott! yes.’ ‘“'Praitorous villain !—sell his king and his country for gold!”* Mein Gott! yes.” ‘You're sure it poral?” ““Mein Gott ! yes.” “Ah, well, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see, said the widow, drying her eyes. ‘' Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken, you shall be hanged, and your cur with you, or my name's not Vandersloosh.”’ *‘Mein Gott ! yes,” replied the corporal. vas fifty guineas, cor- CHARTER XLV. In which Mr. Vanslyperken proves his loyalty and his fidelity to King William. MR. VANSLYPERKEN hastened from his in- glorious conflict, maddened with rage and disappointment. He returned on board, went down into his cabin, and threw himself on his bed. His hopes and calculations had been so brilliant—rid of his enemy Smallbones—with gold in possession, and more in prospect, to be so cruelly deceived by the widow—the cockatrice! Then by one to whom he fully confided, and who knew too many of his secrets’ already—Corporal Van Spitter—he too !—and to dare aspire to the widow—it was madness—and then their knowledge of his treason—the corporal having witnessed his receiving the gold—with such bitter enemies, what could he expect but a halter ?—he felt it even now round his neck ; and Vanslyperken groaned in the bitterness of his spirit. In the meantime, there was a consultation between the widow and the corporal as to the best method of proceeding. ‘That the cor- poral could expect nothing but the most determined hostility from Vanslyperken, was certain ; but for this the corporal cared little, as he had all the crew of the cutter on his side, and he was in his own person too high in rank to be at the mercy of Vanslyperken. After many pros and cons, and at leasta dozen bottles of beer—for the excitement on the part of the corporal, and the exertion of the widow, had made them both dry—it was resolved that the Frau Vandersloosh should demand an audience at the Hague the next morning, and should communicate the trea- sonable practices of Mr. Vanslyperken, calling upon the corporal as a witness to the receipt of the money from the Jesuit. ‘‘Mein Gott!” exclaimed the corporal, striking his bull forehead as if a new thought had required being forced out, ‘‘ but they will ask me how I came there myself, and what shall I say?” *‘ Say that the Jesuit-father had sent for you to try and seduce you to do ‘his treason, but that you would not consent.” ‘‘Mein Gott! yes—that will do.” ‘The corporal then returned on board, but Ww VV i SWMARLEV VOW. 133 did not think it worth while to report himself to Mr. Vanslyperken. Mr. Vanslyperken had also been thinking over the matter, and in what way he should be able to escape from the toils prepared for him. That the widow would immediately inform the authorities he was convinced. How was he to get out of his scrape? Upon mature reflection, he decided that it was to be done. He had copies of all Ram- say's letters, and those addressed to Ramsay, and the last delivered were very important. Now, his best plan would be to set off for the Hague, early the next morning—demand an interview with one of the ministers, or even his majesty himself—state that he had been offered money from the Jacobite party to carry their letters, and that, with a view to serve his majesty by finding out their secrets, he had consented to do it, and had taken the money to satisfy them that:he was sincere. That he had op€ned the letters and copied them, and that now, as the contents were important, he had thought it right to make them immediately known to the Government, and at the same time to bring the money received for the ser- vice, to be placed at his majesty’s disposal. ‘“Whether she is before or after me, thought Vanslyperken, ‘‘it will then be little matter; all I shall have to fear will be from Ramsay and his party ; but the Government will be bound to protect me.” ‘There certainly was much wisdom in this plan of Vanslyperken ; it was the only one which could have been attended with success, or with any chance of it. Mr. Vanslyperken was up at daylight, and dressed in his best uniform ; he putin his pocket all the copies of the Jacobite correspondence, and went on shore—hired a calash, for he did not know how to ride, and set off for the Hague, where he arrived about ten o'clock. He sent up his name, and requested an audi- ence of the Duke of Portland, as an officer commanding one of his majesty’s vessels; he was immediately admitted. ‘‘What is your pleasure, Mr. Vanslyper- ken?’ said the duke, who was standing at the table, in company with Lord Albemarle. Vanslyperken was a little confused —he mut- tered, and stammered about anxiety, and loyalty, and fidelity, and excess of zeal, &c. No wonder he stammered, for he was talk- ing of what he knew nothing about ; but these two noblemen recollecting his confusion when presented to his sovereign on board of the frigate, made allowances. ‘““T have at last,”’ cried Vanslyperken, with more confidence, ‘‘been able to discover the plots of the Jacobites, your grace.’’ ‘“‘Indeed ! Mr. Vanslyperken,” replied the duke, smiling incredulously, ‘‘ and pray what may they be? you must be as expeditious as possible, for his majesty is waiting for us!’134 THE DOG FIEND; OR, ce These letters will take some time to read,” replied Vanslyperken ; ‘‘but their contents are most important.’ ‘“‘ Indeed ! letters—how have you posses- sion of their letters ?”’ “It will be rather a long story, sir—my lord! I mean,” replied Vanslyperken ; ‘‘ but they will amply repay an hour of your time, if you ‘can spate it, ‘At this moment the door opened, and his majesty entered the room. At the sight of the king, Vanslyperken’s confidence was again taking “French leave. * My lords, I am waiting for you,” said the king, with a little asperity ‘of manner, ‘May it please your majesty, here is oe eutenant Vanslyperken, Seas one of your majesty's vessels, who states that he has important intelligence, and th 2at he has posses- sion of Jac sobite papers.” ‘Indeed !" replied King William, who was always alive to Jacobite plotting, from which he had already run so much risk. ““What is it, Mr. Vanslyperken? speak boldly what you have to communicate.” ‘“Your majesty, 1 beg your gracious pardon, but here are copies of the correspondence carried on by the traitors in England and this country. If your majesty will deign to have it read, you will then perceive how important itis. After your majesty has read it, I will have the honour to explain to you by what means it came into my possession.” King William was a man of business, and Vanslyperken had done wisely in m: aking this proposal. His maje sty at once sat dow n, with the Duke of Portland on one side, and Lord Albemarle on the other ; the latter took the letters, which were arranged according to their dates, and read them in a clear, distin ct voice. as the reading went on, his majesty made memorandums and notes with his pencil on asheet of paper, but did not interrupt during the whole progress of the lecture. When the jast and most important was finished, the two noblemen looked at his majesty, with counten- ances full of meaning. Fora few moments, his majesty drummed with the second and third fingers of his left hand upon the table, and then said,— ‘“Pray, Mr. Vanslyperken, how did you obtain possession of these papers and letters, or make copies of these letters ?”” Vanslyperken, who had been standing at the other side of the table during the time of the reading, had anxiously watched the countenance of his majesty and the two noble- men, and perceived that the intelligence which the letters contained had created a strong feeling, as he expected. With a’ certain degree of confidence, he commenced his ex- planation. He stated that the crew of the cutter had been accustomed to frequent the Lust Haus of a certain widow Vandersloosh, and that he had made her acquaintance, by several times going there to look after his seamen. That this widow had often hinted to him, and at last proposed to him, that he should take letters for some friends of hers—at last she had told ~him plainly that it was for the Jacobite party, and he pretended to consent. That he had been taken by b r to the house of a Jesuit, 169, in’ the Br an rs } i) ur Sacer nearly id that tl 12 Jesuit and fifty guineas opposite to her Lust Haus, had given him some lette! for his trouble. He then stated that he had opened, copied, and re-sealed them: further, that he had brought over one of the confederates, who was now residing in the house of the syndic, Van Krause. That he should have made all this known before, only that he waited till it was more important. ‘That the last letters appeared of such consequence, that he deemed it his duty no longer to delay. ** You have done well, Mr. V. anslyper rken,’ replied his majesty. =*** And played a bold game,” observed Lord Albemarle, fixing his eyes upon Vanslyperken. ‘* Suppose you had been found out co-operat- ing with traitors, before you made this dis- covery ?” ‘‘T might have forfeited my life in my Zeal or replied } Mr. Vansly yperken, with adroit- esss. SUL) toat 16 the duty of a king’s officer.” ** That is well said,” observed the Duke of Portland. ‘‘T have a few questions to put to you, Mr, Vanslyperken,” observed his majesty. ‘“ What is the cave they mention so often ?’ ‘‘It ison the bank of the Isle of Wight, your majesty. I didnot know of its existence but from the letters—but I once laid a whole’ night in the cove underneath it, to intercept the smugglers, upon information that I had received ; but the alarm was given, and. they escaped.” ‘Who is their agent at Portsmouth ?” TA Jom of the name of Lazarus, residing in Little Orange Street, at the back of the Point, your paaieet a “Do you know any of the names of the conspirat ors?- ‘tf, not, your I najesty, except a2 woman, who is very active, one Moggy Salisbury—her husband, not a month back, was the boatswain of the cutter, but by some interest or another, he has obtained his discharge.” ““My Lord of Portland, take. a memoran- dim to inquire who it was applied for the dis- charge ofthat man. Mr, Vanslyperken, you may retire—we will call you in by-and-by— you will be secret as to what has passed.” ‘‘T have one more duty to perform,’replied Vanslyperken, taking some rouleaus of gold out of his pocket ; ‘‘ ‘this is the money received from the traitors—it is not fora a king’s officer to have it in his possession. ‘“You are right, Mr. Vanslyperken; but the gold of traitors is forfeited to the crown, and it is now mine; you will accept it as a present from your king.” Mr. Vanslyperken took the gold from the table, made a bow, and retired from the royal presence. The reader will acknowledge that it was impossible to play his cards better than Mr. Vanslyperken had done in this interview, and that he deserved great credit for his astute conduct. With such diplomatic talents, he would have made a great prime minister. ‘The council was ordered at twelve o'clock, my lords. ‘These letters must be produced. That they are genuine appears to me beyond a doubt.” “That they are faithful copies, I doubt not,’ replied Lord Albemarle, ‘‘ but ‘* But what, my Lord Albemarle?” ‘‘I very much suspect the fidelity of the copier—there is something more, that has not been told, depend upon it.” ‘“Why do you think so, my lord? ‘‘ Because, your majesty, allowing that a nan would act the part that Mr. Vanslyperken says that he has done to discover the con- spiracy, still, would he not naturelly, to avoid any risk to himself, have furnished Govern- ment with the first correspondence, and ob- tained their sanction for prosecuting his plans ? This officer has been employed for the last two years or more in carrying the despatches to the Hague, and it must at once strike your majesty, that a person who can, with such dexterity, open the letters of others, can also open those of his own Government.” ‘That is true, my lord,” replied his majesty, musing, ‘« Your majesty is wellaware that suspicions were entertained of the fidelity of the syndic, suspicions which the evidence of this officer have verified. But why were these suspicions raised P 3ecause he knew of the Govern- ment secrets, and it was supposed he cbtained them from some one who is in our trust, but inimical to us and unworthy of the confidence reposed in him. Your majesty’s acuteness will at once perceive that the secrets may have been obtained by Mynheer Krause by thesame means as have been resorted to to obtain the secrets of the conspirators. I may be in error, andif I do this officer wrong by my suspicions, may God forgive me, but there is something in his looks which tells me a ‘* What, my lord ? “That he is a traitor to both parties, may it please your majesty.’ ‘« By the Lord, Albemarle, I think you have hitupon the truth, "replied the Duke of Portland. ” SNARLEYVVO!W. 155 ‘*Of that. we shail soon have proof—at present, we have to decide whether it be advisable to employ him to discover more, or at onceseize upon the parties he has denounced. But that had better be canvassed in the coun- cil-chamber. Come, my lords, they be wait- ing for us.” "The affair was of too great importance not to absorb all other business, and it was de- cided that the house of Mynheer Se and of the Jesuit, and the widow Vandersloosh should be entered by the sence cotHnees at midnight, and that they and any of the con- spirators who might be found should be thrown into prison. ‘That the cutter should be de- spatched immediately to England, with orders to seize all the other parties informed against by Vanslyperken, and that a force should be sent to attack the cave, and secure those who might be found there, with directions to the admiral, that Mr. Vanslyperken shouldbe employed both as a guide, and to give the assistance of the cutter and his crew. These arrangements having een made, the council broke up, King William had a con- ference with his two favourites, and Vansly- perken was sent for. *‘ Lieutenant Vanslyperken, we feel much indebted to you for your important com- munications, and we shall not forget, in due time, to reward your zeal and loyalty as it deserves. At present, it is necessary that you sail for England as soon as our despatches are ready, which will be before midnight ; you will then receive your orders from the “Adiniral at Portsmouth, and I have no doubt you will take the opportunity of affording us fresh proofs of your fidelity and attachment.’ Mr. Vanslyperken bowed humbly and re- tired, delighted with the successful result of his manceuvre, and with a gay heart he leaped into his calash, and drove off. “Yes, yes,’ thought he, ‘‘ Madam Vander- sloosh, you would betray me. We shall see. Yes, yes, we shall see, Madam Vandersloosh.” And sure enough he did see Madam Van- dersloosh, who, in another calash, was driving to the palace, and who met him face to face. Vanslyperken turned up his nose at her as he passed by, and the widow, astonished at his presumption, thought, as she went on her way, ‘‘ Well, well, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see: you may turn up your snivelling nose, but stop till your head’s in the halter— yes, Mr. Vanslyperken, stop till your head's in the halter.” We must leave Mr. Vanslyperken to drive and the widow Vandersloosh to drive, while we drive on ourselves. The subsequent events of this eventful day we will narrate in the following chapter.CHAPTER XIVa. In which there is much bustle and confusion, plot and counter-plot. ABOUT two hours after the council had broken up, the following communication was delivered into the hands of Ramsay by an old woman, who immediately took her departure. “The lieutenant of the cutter has taken copies of all your correspondence and betrayed you. You must fly immediately, as at mid- night you and all of you will be seized. In justice to Mynheer Krause leave documents to clear him. ‘“The cutter will sail this evening—with orders to secure your friends at Portsmouth and the cave.” “Now, by the holy cross of our Saviour ! I will have revenge upon that dastard ; there is no time to lose ; five minutes for reflection, and then to act,” thought Ramsay, as he twisted up this timely notice, which, it must be evident to the reader, must have been sent by one who had been summoned to the coun- cil. Ramsay's plans were soon formed; he Cespatched a trusty messenger to the Jesuit’s, desiring him to communicate immediately with the others, and upon what plan to pro- ceed. He then wrote a note to Vanslyperken, requesting his immediate presence, and hastened to the morning apartment of Wil- helmina. Ina few words, he told her that he had received timely notice that it was the in- tention of the Government to seize her father and him as suspected traitors, and throw them that very night into prison. Wilhelmina made no reply. ‘*For your father, my dearest girl, there is no fear: he will be fully acquitted; but I, Wilhelmina, must part immediately, or my life is forfeited.” “Leave me, Edward?” replied Wilhel- mina, ‘No, you must go with me, Wilhelmina, for more than one reason; the Government have ordered the seizure of the persons to be made in the night, to avoid a disturbance ; but that they will not be able to prevent ; the mob are but too happy to prove their loyalty, when they can do so by rapine and plunder, and depend upon it that this house will be sacked and levelled to the ground before to- morrow evening. You cannot go to prison with your father ; you cannot remain here, to be at the mercy of an infuriated and lawless mob. You must go with me, Wilhelmina : trust to me, not only for my sake; but for your father’s.” ‘* My father’s, Edward, it is that only Iam thinking of; how can I leave my father at such a time?” “You will save your father by so doing. Your departure with me will substantiate his innocence; decide, my dearest girl! decide THE DOG FIEND ; OR, at once; you must either fly with me, or we must part for ever.” ‘‘Oh no, that must not be, Edward,” cried Wilhelmina, bursting into tears. After some further persuasions on the part of Ramsay, and fresh tears from the attached maiden, it was agreed that she should act upon his suggestions, and with a throbbing heart she went to her chamber to make the necessary. preparations, while Ramsay re- quested Mynheer Krause would give him a few minutes of his company in his room above. The syndic soon made his appearance. ‘Well, Mynheer Ramsay, you have some news to tell me, 1. am sure: ”. for. Mynheer Krause, notwithstanding his rebuff from the king, could not divest himself of his failing of fetching and carrying reports. Ramsay went to the door and turned the key. ‘“T have, indeed, most important news, Mynheer Krause, and, I am sorry to say, very unpleasant also.” ‘‘Indeed,’”’ replied the syndic, with alarm. ‘“Yes:'I find from a notice given me by one of his majesty’s council, assembled this morning at the Hague, that you are suspected of treasonable practices.” ‘* God in heaven !”’ exclaimed the syndic. ‘‘And that this very night you are to be seized and thrown into prison !”’ ‘J, the syndic.of the town! I, who put everybody else into prison !”’ ‘‘Even so; such is the gratitude of King William for your long and faithful services, Mynheer Krause! I have now sent for you that we may consult as to what had best be done. Will you fly? I have the means for your escape.’ ‘‘Fly, Mynheer Ramsay? the syndic of Amsterdam fly? Never! they may accuse me falsely ; they may condemn me and take off my head before the Stadt House, but I will not fly.” ‘‘ Tl expected this answer ; and you are right, Mynheer Krause ; but there are other con- siderations worthy of your attention. When the populace know that you are in prison for treason, they will level this house to the ground.” ‘“ Well, and so they ought, if they suppose me guilty; I care little for that.” ‘‘T am aware of that; but still your pro- perty will be lost ; it will be but a matter of frudence to save all you can: you have already a large sum of gold collected.” ‘““T have four thousand guilders at least. ‘“You must think of your daughter, Myn- heer Krause. This gold must not find its way into the pockets of the mob. Now, ob- serve, the king's cutter sails to-night, and I propose that your gold be embarked, and I will take it*over for you and keep if safe. Then, let what will happen, your daughter will not be left to beggary.”’ TO 25ae rue, true, my dear sir, there is no saying how this will end: it m ee end well; but, as you say, if the house is plundered the gold is gone for ever. Your advice is good, and [| will give you, before you go, orders for all the moneys in the hands of my agents at Ham- burg and Frankfort, and other places. I have taken your advice, my young friend, and, though I have property to the amount of some hundred thousand guilders, with the ex- ception of this house, they will hold little of it which belongs to Mynheer Krause. And my poor daughter, Mynheer Ramsay ?”’ ‘“‘ Should any accident happen to you, may trust tome2. I swear it to you, I< rause, on my hope of salvation.’’ Here the old man sat down much affected, and covered his face. *‘Oh ! my dear young friend, what a world is this! where they cannot distinguish a true and a loyal subject from a traitor. But why could you not st: iy here— protect my house from the mob—demand the civic ee roe oy Stay. Nere,,. my dear. sir! why I am included in the warrant of treason.” you Mynheer S* YOtLse" ‘* Yes ; and there would be no chance of my escaping jatiteg enemies ; they detest me too much. But cheer up, sir, I think that, by my means, you may be cleared of all suspicions,” ‘* By your means ?”’ ‘‘ Yes ; but I must not explain ; my departure is absolutely necessary for your safety ; I will take the whole upon myself, and you shall be saved.” ‘I really cannot understand you, my dear friend ; butit appears to me as if you were going to make some. great sacrifice for my sake,” ‘‘ T willnot be questioned, Mynheer Krause, only this I say, that I am resolved that you shall | be proved innocent. It is my duty. But we have no time to lose. Let your gold be ready at sunset: I will have everythi ing pre- pared.” ‘But my daughter must not remain here ; she will be by herself at the mercy of the mob,’ ‘«Be satisfied, Mynheer Krause, that is also cared for; your daughter must leave this house, and be ina safe retreat before the officers come in to seize you: I have arranged everything.” “Where do you propose sending her?”’ ‘‘ Not to any of your friends’ houses, Myn- heer Krause ; no—no, but I’llsee her in safety before I leave; do not be afraid ;it must depend upon circumstances: but of that hereafter ; you have no time to lose.” ‘“God in heaven!” exclaimed Mynheer B tele, unlocking the door, “that I, the yndic, the most loyal subject !—well, well, you may truly say, ‘put not your trust in yay Dlrinces, SNVARLEVYOW. IP “Trust in me, Mynheer Ramsay, taking his hand. “T do, I will, my good f to prison proudly, and like aed ee And Mynheer Krause hastened down to hi count ine PBuee to make the proposed ae ments, Ramsay returning to Wilhelmina, to whom he imparted what had taken place between him and her father, and which had the effect of confirming her resolution. We must now return to the widow Vander- sloosh, who hx as arrived safely, but melting with the heat of her journey, at fhe Palace of the Hague. She immediately informed one of the domestics that she wished to speak with his majesty upon important business. ‘I cannot take your name in to as MAJEStys but if you will giveit me, I will speak to Lord Albemarle.” The widow wrote her name down upon a slip of paper, with which the servant went away, and then the widow sat down upon a bench in the hall, and cooled herself with her fan. ‘‘Frau Vandersloosh,”’ marle, on reading the name. ‘‘Lether come up. Why this,” Krause,” replicd riend, and I will go an innocent and said Lord Albe- continued he. turning to the Duke of Porth: ind, who was sittii.:; by him, ‘‘is the woman who is ordered to be ar:ested this night, upon the evidence of Lieutenant Vanslyperken ; we | shall learn something now, depend upon it.’ The Frau Vandersloosh made her appear- ance, Sailing into the room like a Dutch man- of-war of that period, under full sail, high- Been eee and broad-sterned. Never nee stood in the Se ee of great men, she was not a little confused, so “she fanned hérsel most furiously. ‘“You wish to speak with me?” said Lord Albemarle. ‘“Yes, your honour’s honour. I've come to expose a snivelling traitor to his majesty's crown. Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see now, continued the widow, talking to herself, and f fanning away. ‘We are all attentive, madam. Mistress Vandersloosh then began, out of breath, and continued out of breath till she had told the whole of her story, which, as ne reader must be aware, only corroborated al Vanslyperken had already stated, with se exception that he had denounced the widow Lord Albemarle allowed her to proceed without interruption; he had a great in- sight into character, and the story of the widow confirmed him in his opinion of Van- slyperken. ‘But, my good) ‘woman, ‘said: Lord Albemarle, ‘‘are you aware that Mr, Vansly- perken has already been here ?” ‘“ Yes, your honour, I met him going back and he turned his nose up at me, and then | ,said, ‘Well, well, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see ; wait a little, Mr. Vanslyperken.’”’ *‘ And,” continued Lord Albemarle, ‘‘ that he has denounced you as being a party to all these treasonable practices?” ‘“Me—denounced me—he—O Jord, O Lord, only let me meet him face to face—let him say it then, if he dares, the snivelling— cowardly—murdering wretch.” Thereupon Mrs. Vandersloosh commenced the history of Vanslyperken’s wooing, of his cur Snarleyyow, of her fancy for the corporal, of his finding her with the corporal the day before, of her beating him off with the brooms, and of her threats to expose his treason. ‘“And so, now, when he finds that he was to e exposed, he comes up first himself: that’s now the truth of it, or my name’s not Vander- sloosh, your honour ;”’ and the widow walked up and down with the march of an elephant, fanning herself violently, her bosom heaving with agitation, and her face as red as a boiled lobster. ‘* Mistress Vandersloosh,”’ said Lord Albe- marie, ‘‘let the affair rest as it is for the present, but I shall not forget what you have told me. I think now that you had better go home.” At this dismissal the widow turned round. ‘Thank your worship kindly,” said she, im rea dy to come whenever I’m wanted. Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken,”’ resumed the widow, as she walked to the door, quite for- getting the respect due to the two nobleme: ‘we shall see ; yes, yes, we shall see ‘‘ Well, my lord, ‘what think you of this?” said Lord Albemarle to the duke, as the widow closed the door. ‘‘ Upon my soul I think she is honest ; sl is too fat for a traitor.” “Tam of your opinion. The episoc corporal was delightful, and has thrown much light upon the lheutenant’s conduct, who is a traitor in my opinion, if ever there was one; but he must be allowed to fulfil his task, and then we will soon find out the traitor ; but if I mistake not, that man was born to be hung.” We must now return to Mr. Vanslyperken, who received the note from Kamsay, just as he was going down to the boat. As he did not know what steps were to be taken by Government, he determined to go up to Ramsay, and inform him of his order for immediately sailing. He might gain further information from his letters, and also remove the suspicion of his having betrayed him. Ramsay received Mr. Vanslyperken witi: 2n air of confidence. “Sit down, Mr. Vanslyperken, I wish to know whether there is any chance of your sailing.” Cy was about to come up to you to state that I have orders to sail this evening.” > 1e le of the 138 LHE DOG HEND = OR, ‘«'Thatis fortunate, as I intended to take a passage with you; and what is more, Mr. Vanslyperken, I have a large sum in specie, which we must contrive to get on board. Cannot we contrive it? I cannot go without it.’ ‘A large sum in specie!” V anslyperken reflected. Yes, he would secure Ramsay as a prisoner, and possess himself of the specie if he could. His entrapping Ramsay on board would be another proof of his fidelity and dexterity. But then Vanslyperken thought of the defection of the corpora I: ; but that was of no great consequence. The crew of the cutter dare not disobey him, when they were ordered to seize a traitor. While Vanslyperken was meditating this, Ramsay fixed his eyes upon him, waiting for his reply. 4, It will be difficult,’’ observed Vanslyper- ken, ‘‘ to get the specie on board without being Seen’ “‘ I'm afraid so too; but I have a propo- sition to make. Sup pose you get under way, and heave-to a mile ‘outs! ide, I will then come off in the syndic’s barge. I can have the use ofit. Then nothing will be discovered.” Vanslyperken appeared to reflect again. orl shall still run a great risk, Mr. Ram- <9 Sad mm os ec ‘You will run some Ettle, perhaps, but you will be well paid for it, I promise you. ‘Well, sir, I consent,”’ replied Vanslyper- ken. ‘‘ At what hour do you propose to em- bark?” ‘“ About eleven or a little earlier. You will have a light over the stern ; hail the boat when you see* 1°» coming, and I shall answer ‘King’s messenger, with despatches ;’ that will be a blind to your crew—they supposed me a king’s messenger before.”’ “Yes, that will be prudent,’ slyperken, who then took his leave apparent cordiality ‘Villain !"" muttered Ramsay, as Vansly- perken shut the door. ‘‘I know your thoughts.” We must pass She: the remainder of this eventful day. Wilhelmina had procured the dress of a boy, in which disguise she pro- posed to elope with Ramsey, and all her pre- pa rations were inade long beforethetime. Myn- heer Krause was also occupied in getting his specie ready for embarkation, and Ramsay in writing letters. The despatches from the poet came down about nine o'clock, and anslyperken received them on board. About fea he weighed and made sail, and hove-to about a mile outside, with a light shown as agreed. About the time arranged, a large boat appeared pulling up to the cutter. ‘' Boat a-hoy ?” “ King’s messenger with despatches,” was the reply. All's right,” said Vanslyper- ken; ‘‘get arope there, from forwards” The boat darted alongside of the cutter ee Van- ith greatShe pulled ten oars + but, as soon a alongside, a number of armed 1 from her on the decks, and beat the crew below, while Ramsay, with pistols in his belt and his sword in his hand, went aft to Vansly- perken. ‘What is all this?” exclaim lieutcrant. ‘Nothing, sir, but common my part.” replied Ramsay - count to settle with you.” Vanslyperken perceived that his treacl was discovered, and he fell] upon his knees. Ramsay turned away to give orders, and Van- slyperken darted down the hatchway, and gained the lower deck. ‘“Never mind,” said Ramsay, ‘‘he’ll not escape me; come, my lads, hand up the boxes as fast as you can,” Ramsay then went to the boat up Wilhelmina, who had rem conducted her down into boxes were also handed dow Ss she was nen sprang ed the terrified prudence on “T have an ac- 1ery , and brought ained there, and the cabin), ‘Lhe n, the boat made fast, and the conspirators remained in possession of the deck. The helm was taken by one of them: sail again made on the cutter, and the boat with a boat-keeper towed astern. CAP ERR RL ti: Which is rather interestin os MR. VANSLYPERKEN’S retreat was not known to the crew ; they thought him still on deck, and he hastened forward to secrete himself, even from his own crew, who were not a little astonished at this unexpected attack, which they could not account for, The major part of the arms on board were always kept in Mr. Vanslyperken’s cabin, and that was noi only in possession of the assailants, but there was a Strong guard in the passage outside which led to the lower deck. “Well, this beats my comprehension en- tirely,” said Bill Spurey. ‘* Yes,” replied Short. “And mine too,” added Obadiah Coble, “‘ being as we are, as you know, at peace with all nations, to be boarded and carried in this way.” ‘““Why, what, and who can they be?” *‘T’ve a notion that Vanslyperken’s at the bottom of it,” replied Spurey, “* Yes,’’ said Short. ‘But it’s a bottom that I continued Spurey. “‘ My dipsey line arn't long enough either,” replied Coble. ‘Gott for dam, what itcan be?” exclaimed can't fathom,” Jansen. ‘‘It must be the treason.” ‘“Mein Gott! yes,” replied Corporal Van Spitter, ‘' It is all treason, and the traitor be Vanslyperken.” But although the corporal SNVARLEVVOW. 139 had some confused ideas, yet he could not arrange them, “ Well, I’ve no notion here,’ observed Coble : maeny-aS. we are, even if they: were stowed away in the boat, like pilchards in a cask, Can't we get at the aims, corporal, and make a rush for it ?” “Mein Gott ! de arms are all in the cabin, all but three pair pistols and the bayonets,” “Well, but we've handspikes,’” observed Spurey. “Gott for dam, gif Jansen. ‘““We had better wait till events,” observed Coble, ‘ work better.” “Yes,” replied Short. ‘And in the meantime, get everything to hand that we can,” ““Yes,’’ replied Short. “Well, I can’t understand the nmianoeuvre. It beats my comprehension, what they have done with Vanslype Then. ‘‘I don't know, but they've kicked the cur out of the cabin,” “Then they've kicked him out too, depend upon it.” Thus did the crew continue during the whole night, said, the manceuvre beat t] One thing was agree should make an attempt t as soon as they could. In the meantime Rams and the Jesuits, had t cabin, and had opened all the despatches, which acquainted them with the directions in detail given for the taking of the conspirators at Portsmouth, and in the cave, Had it not been to save his friends, Ramsay would, at once, have taken the cutter to Cherbourg, and have there landed Wilhelmina and the treasure; but his anxiety for his friends determined him to run at once for the cave, and send overland to Portsmouth. The wind was fair and the water smooth, and, before morning, the cutter was on her way. In the meantime, the crew of the cutter ®* had not been idle ; the ladders had been taken up and hatches closed. The only chance of success was an attack upon the guard, who was Stationed outside of the cabin. They had six pistols, about two hundred pounds of ammunition; but, with the exception of half-a-dozen bayonets, no other weapons, But they were resolute men, and as soon as they had made their arrangements, which consisted of piling up their hammocks, so to make a barricade to fire over, they then commenced operations, the first signal of which was a pistol-shot discharged at the men who were on guard in the passage, and which vounded one of them, Ramsay darted out of being boxed up “‘ they can't be so me de handspike,”’ cried daylight, at all we shall see our to surmise but, as Bill Spurey 1eir comprehension. d upon, that they O recover the vessel ay, with Wilhelmina aken possesion of the asnosironarte 140 THE DOG FIEND; OR, of the cabin at the report of the pistol; another and another was discharged, and Ramsay then gave the order to fire in return. This was done, but without injury to the seamen of the cutter, who were protected by the hammocks, and Ramsay, having already three of his men wounded, found that the post below was no longer tenable. A consultation took place, and it was determined that the passage on the lower deck and the cabin should be abandoned, as the upper deck it would be easy to retain. The cabin’s skylight was taken off, and the boxes of gold handed up, while the party outside the cabin door maintained the conflict with the crew of the Yungfrau. When all the boxes were up, Wilhelmina was lifted on deck, the skylight was shipped on again, and, as soon as the after hatches were ready to put on, Ramsay’s men retreated at the ladder, which they drew up after them, and then put on the hatches. Had not the barricade of hammocks pre- vented them, the crew of the Yungfrau might have made a rush, and followed the others on deck, but, before they could beat down the barricades, which they did as soon as they perceived their opponents retreat, the ladder was up, and the hatches placed over the hatchways. The Yungfraus had gained the whole of the lower deck, but they could do no more ; and Ramsay perceived thatif he could main- tain possession of the upper deck, it was as much as he could expect with such determined assailants. This warfare had been continued during the whole morning, and it was twelve o'clock before the cabin and lower deck had been abandoned by Ramsay's associates. During the whole day, the skirmishes con- tinued, the crew of the Yuz'g/rau climbing on the table of the cabin, and firing through the skylight ; but in so doing, they exposed them- selves to the fire of the other party, who sat like cats watching for their appearance, and discharging their pieces the moment that a head presented itself. In the meantime, the cutter darted on before a strong favourable breeze, and thus passed the first day. Many attempts were made during the night by the seamen of the cutter to force their way on deck, but they were all prevented by the vigilance of Ramsay, and the next morning, the Isle of Wight was in sight. Wilhelmina had passed the night on the forecastle, covered up with a sail: none of his people had had anything to eat during the time that they were on board, and Ramsay was most anxious to arrive at his destination. About noon, the cutter was abreast off the Black Gang Chyne: Ramsay had calculated upon :etaining possession of the cutter, and taking the whole of the occupants of the cave over to Cherbourg ; but this was now impos- sible. He had five of his men wounded, and he could not row the boat to the cave without leaving so few men on board that they would be overpowered, for his ammunition was ex- pended, with the exception of one or two charges, which were retained for an emer- gency. All that he could do now was, there- fore, to put his treasure in the boat, and with Wilhelmina and his whole party make for the cave, when he could send notice to Ports- mouth for the others to join them, and they must be content to await the meditated attack upon the cave, and defend it till they could make their escape to France. The wind being foul for the cutter’s return to Ports- mouth, would enable him to give notice at Portsmouth overland, before she could arrive. There was a great oversight committed when the lower deck was abandoned—the despatches had been left on Mr. Vanslyper- ken’s bed. Had they been taken away or destroyed, there would have been ample time for the whole of his party to have made their escape from England before duplicates could arrive. As it was, he could do no more than what we have already mentioned. The boat was hauled up, the boxes of specie put in, the wounded men laid at the bottom of the boat, and having, at the sug- gestion of one of the men, cut the lower riggings, halyards, &c. of the cutter to retard its progress to Portsmouth, Ramsay and his associates stepped into the boat, and pulled for the cave. Their departure was soon ascertained by the crew of the Yunefrau, who now forced the skylight, and gained the deck, but not before the boat had entered the cave. ‘“ What's to be done now?” said Coble. ‘‘Smash my timbers, but they've played Old Harry with the rigging. We must knot and splice.” ‘*Yes,’’ replied Short. ‘‘What the devil have they done with Vanslyperken ?”’ cried Bill Spurey. ‘« Kither shoved him overboard, or taken him with them, I suppose,’’ cried Coble. ‘Well, it’s a nice jobaltogether,” observed Spurey. ‘‘Mein Gott! yes,’”’ replied the corporal ; ‘“we will have a pretty story to tell de ad- miral.” ‘‘ Well, they've rid us of him at all events ; I only hope they'll hang him.” ‘* Mein Gott !-yes.” ‘‘ He'll have his desarts,’’ replied Coble. ‘‘ Got for tam! I like to see him swing,” “ Now he’s gone, let’s send his dog after him. Hurrah, my lads! get a rope up on the yard, and let us hang Snarleyyow.” ‘‘Mein Gott? I'll go fetch him,’ cried the corporal. ‘*You will—will you?” roared a voice, The corporal turned round, so did theothers, and there, with his drawn sword, stood Mr. Vanslyperken. ‘““You d—d mutinous scoundrel,’ cried Vanslyperken, ‘‘ touch my dog, if you dare.” The corporal put his hand up to the salute, and Vanslyperken shook his head with a dia- bolical expression of countenance. ‘“Now, where the devil could he come from ?*’ whispered Spurey. Coble shrugged up his shoulders, and Short gave a long whistle, expending more breath than usual. However, there was no more to be said ; and as soon as the rigging was knotted and spliced, sail was made in the cutter ; but the wind being dead in their teeth, they did not arrive until late the next evening, and the admiral did not see despatches till the next morning, for the best of all possible reasons, that Vanslyperken did not take them on shore. He had a long story to tell, and he thought it prudent not to disturb the admiral after dinner, as great men are apt to be very cho- leric during the progress of digestion. The consequence was, that when, the next morning, Mr. Vanslyperken called upon the admiral, the intelligence had been received from the cave, and all the parties had ab- sconded. Mr. Vanslyperken told hisown tale, how he had been hailed by a boat, purporting to have a messenger on board, how they had boarded him and beat down himself and his crew, how he and his crew had fought under hatches, and beat them on deck, and how they had been forced to abandon the cutter. All this was very plausible, and then Van- slyperken gave the despatches opened by Ramsay. The admiral read them in haste, gave im- mediate orders for surrounding and breaking into the house of the Jew Lazarus, in which the military found nobody but an old tom-cat, and then desired Mr. Vanslyperken to hold the cutter in readiness to embark troops and sail that afternoon: but troops do not move so fast as people think, and before one hun- dred men had been told off by the sergeant, with their accoutrements, knapsacks, and sixty pounds of ammunition, it was too late to embark them that night, so they waited until the next morning. Moreover, Mr. Vansly- perken had orders to draw from the dock- yard three large boats for the debarkation of the said troops: but the boats were not quite ready, one required a new gunwale, another three planks in the bottom, and the third having her stern out, it required all the car- penters in the yard to finish it by the next morning. Mr. Vanslyperken’s orders were to proceed to the cave, and land the troops, to march up to the cave, and to cover the advance of the troops, rendering them all the assistance in his power in co-operating with the major commanding the detachment ; but SNARLEYVYOW, IAI r where the cave was, no one knew, except that it was thereabouts. The next morning, at eight o'clock, the detachment, consisting of one hundred men, were embarked on board of the cuttter, but the major commandant, finding that the decks were excessively crowded, and that he could hardly breathe, ordered section first, section second, and section third, of twenty-five men each, to go into the boats and be towed. After which there was more room, and the cutter stood out for St. Helen’s. CHAPTER ZLVITT. In which there ts a great deal of correspondence, and the widow is called up very early in the morning. WeE must now return to Mynheer Krause, who, after he had delivered over his gold, locked up his counting-house and went up to the saloon, determining to meet his fate with all the dignity of a Roman senator. He sent for his daughter, who sent word back that she was packing up her wardrobe, and this an- swer appeared but reasonable to the syndic, who, therefore, continued in his chair, reflect- ing upon his approaching incarceration, con- ning speeches, and anticipating a glorious ac- quittal, until the bell of the cathedral chimed the half hour after ten. He then sent another message to his daughter, and the reply was that she was not in the room, upon which he despatched old Koop to Ramsay, requesting his attendance. The reply to this second message was a letter presented to the syndic, who broke the seal and read as follows :— ‘(My DEAR AND HONOURED SIR, ‘‘T have sought a proper asylum for your daughter during the impending troubles, and could not find one which pleased, and in con- sequence I have taken the bold step, aware that I might not have received your sanction if applied for, of taking her on board the cutter with me ; she will there be safe, and as her character might be, to a certain degree, impeached by being in company with a man of my age, I intend, as soon as we arrive 1n port, to unite myself to her, for which act, | trust, you will grant me your pardon. As for yourself, be under no apprehension ; I have saved you. ‘Treat the accusation with scorn, and if you are admitted into the presence o: his majesty, accuse him of the ingratitude which he has been guilty of. I trust that we shall soon meet again, that I may return to vou the securities and specie of which I have charge, as well as your daughter, who is anxious once more to receive your blessing. ‘« Yours ever, till death, “EDWARD RAMSAY.” Mynheer Krause read this letter over auda as 142 THE DOG FIEND; OR, over again; it was very mystifying. Much depends in this world upon the humour people are in at the time ; Mynheer Krause was, at that time, full of Cato-like devotion and Roman virtue, and he took the contents of the letter in true Catonic style. ‘‘Excellent young man—to preserve my honour he has taken her away with him! and, to preserve her reputation he intends to marry her! Now, I can goto prison without asigh. He tells me that he has saved me— saved me !—why, he has saved everything ; me, my daughter, and my property! Well, they shall see how I behave! ‘They shall - witness the.calmness of a Stoic. I shall express no emotion or surprise at the arrest, as they will naturally expect, because I know it is to take place—no fear—no agitation when in prison, because I know that I am to be saved. FI shall desire them to bear in mind that I am the syndic of this town, and must receive that respect which is due to my exalted situation ;’’ and Mynheer Van Krause lifted his pipe, and ordered Coop to bring him a stone jug of beer, and thus doubly armed by Cato, he awaited the arrival of the officer with all the stoicism of beer and tobacco. About the same hour of night that the letter was put into the hands of Mynheer Krause, a packet was brought up to Lord Albemarle, who was playing a game of put with his Grace the Duke of Portland; at that time put wasa most fashionable game; but games are like garments—as they become old they are cast off, and handed down to the servants. The outside of the despatch was marked ‘To Lord Albemarle’s own hands. Immediate and most important.’’ It appeared, however, as if the two noble lords considered the game of put as more important and immediate, for they finished it without looking at the packet in question, and it was midnight before they threw up the cards. After which, Lord Albemarle went to a side table, apart from the rest of the company, and broke the seals. It was a letter with enclosures, and ran as fol- lows :— ‘My Lorp ALBEMARLE,— ‘« Although your political enemy, I do justice to your merits, and to prove my opinion of you, address to you this letter, the object of which is to save your Government from the disgrace of injuring a worthy man, and a stanch supporter, to expose the villany of a coward and a scoundrel. When I state that my name is Ramsay, you may at once be satisfied that, before this comes to your hands, Iam out of yourreach. I came here in the king's cutter, commanded by Mr. Vansly- perken, with letters of recommendation to Mynheer Krause, which represented me asa stanch adherent of William of Orange, and a Protestant, and with that impression I was well received, and took up my abode in his house. My object you may imagine, but fortune favoured me still more, in having in my power Lieutenant Vanslyperken. I opened the Government despatches in his presence, and supplied him with false seals to enable him to do the same, and give me the extracts which were of importance, for which I hardly need say he was most liberally rewarded ; this has been carried on for some time, but it appears, that in showing him how to obtain your secrets, I also showed him how to possess himself of ours, and the consequence has been that he has turned double traitor, and I have now narrowly escaped. ‘““The information possessed by Mynheer Krause was given by me to win his favour, for one simple reason, that I fell in love with his daughter, who has now quitted the country with me. He never was undeceived as to my real position, nor is he even now. Let me do an honest man justice. I enclose you the extracts from your duplicates made by Mr. Vanslyperken, written in his own hand, which I trust will satisfy you as to his perfidy, and induce you to believe in the innocence of the worthy syndic from the assurance of a man, who, although a Catholic, a Jacobite, and, if you please, an attainted traitor, is incapable of telling you a falsehood. I am, my lord, with every respect for your noble character, ‘‘Yours most obediently, ‘“EDWARD RAMSAY.” ‘This is corroborative of my suspicions,” said Lord Albemarle, putting down the papers before the Duke of Portland. The duke read the letter and examined the enclosures. ‘« Shall we see the king to-night ?” ‘‘No, he is retired, and it is of no use: they are in prison by this time ; we will wait the report to-morrow morning—ascertain how many have been secured—and then lay these documents before his majesty.’ Leaving the two noble lords to go to bed, we shall now return to Amsterdam. At twelve o'clock at night, precisely as the bell tolled, a loud knock was heard at the syndic’s house, Koop, who had been ordered by his master to remain up, immediately opened the door, and a posse comitatus of civil power filled the yard. ‘“ Where is Mynheer Krause?” inquired the chief in authority. ‘‘Mynheer, the syndic, is up-stairs in the saloon.” Without sending up his name; the officer went up, followed by three or four others, and found Mynheer Krause smoking his pipe. “Ah, my very particular friend, Mynheer Engelback, what brings you here at this late hour with all your people? Is there a fire in the town ?”SVARL ‘“No, Mynheer Syndic. It is an order, I am very sorry to say, to arrest you, and con- duct you to prison.” ‘Arrest and conduct me to prison ?—me, the syndic of the town ?—that is strange—will you allow me to see your warrant ?—yes, it is all true, and countersigned by his majesty; I have no more to say, Mynheer Engelback. As syndic of this town, and administrator of the laws, it is my duty to set the example of obedience to them, at the same time protesting my entire innocence. Koop, get me my mantle. Mynheer Engelback, I claim to be treated with the respect due to me, as syndic of this town.” The officers were not a little staggered at coolness and sang-froid of Mynheer Krause ; he had never appeared to so much advantage ; they bowed respectfully as he finished his speech. ““T believe, Mynheer Krause, that you have some friends staying with you?” ‘IT have no friend in the house except my very particular friend, Mynheer Engelback,”’ replied the syndic. ‘You must excuse us the house.” ‘“You have his majesty’s warrant so to do, and no excuse is necessary.” After a diligent search of half-an-hour, no- body was found in the house, and the officers began to suspect that the Government had been imposed upon. Mynheer Krause, with every mark of attention and respect, was then ked off to the Hotel de Ville, where he remained in custody, for it was not considered right by the authorities that the syndic should be thrown into the common prison upon sus- picion only. When he arrived there, Mynheer Krause surprised them all by the philosophy with which he smoked his pipe. But, although there was nobody to be found, except the syndic, in the syndic’s house, and not a soul at the house inhabited by the Jesuit, there was one more person included in the warrant, which was the widow Vandersloosh ; for Lord Albemarle, although convinced in his own mind of her“innocence, could not take upon himself to interfere with the deci- sions of the council: so, about one o'clock, here was a loud knocking at the widow’s door, which was repeated again and again before it awoke the widow, who was fatigued with her long and hot journey to the Hague. As for > 1 D 1 ut we must search ’ at i t L aL W a ] 4 t ho Babette, she made a rule never to wake at anything but the magical No. 6, sounded t the church clock, by her mistress’s voice. ‘* Babette,” cried the widow Vandersloosh, Babette.” ‘Yes; maam “« There’s a knock at the door, Babette.” ‘* Only some drunken sailors, ma’am—they go away when they find they cannot get in.” Here the peals were redouble# yy cd rX7 x EVYOW, 143 “Babette, get up, Babette—and threaten them with the watch.” * Yes; ma’am,' replied Babette, with a ter- rible yawn. Knocking and thumping with strokes louder than before. ‘* Babette, Babette !” ‘“ I must put something on, ma'am,” replied Babette, rather crossly. ‘“Speak to them Babette.” Here poor I floor, and openi place on the cried, — “If you don’t go away, you drunken fel- lows, my mistress will send fer the watch,” ‘‘Tf you don’t come down and open the door, we shall break it open,” replied the officer sent to the duty. ‘Tell them it’s no inn, Babette ; we won't let people in after hours,” cried the widow, turning in her bed and anxious to resume her sound sleep, Babette gave the message and shut down the window. ‘‘ Break open the door,” cried the officer to his attendants. Ina minute or two the door was burst open, and the party ascended the staircase. ‘“Mercy on me! Babette, if they ar’n't come in,’ cried the widow, who jumped out of her bed, and, nearly shutting her door, which had been left open for ventilation, she ‘ped out to see who were the bold intruders : she perceived a man in black with a white iT. ‘““What do you want?” screamed the widow, terrified. ‘“We want Mistress Vandersloosh. you that person?” said the officer. ‘“To be sure lam. But what do you want heres?" ‘““I must request you to dress and come along with me directly to the Stadt House,” replied the officer, very civilly. ‘Gott in himmel ! what’s the matter?” ‘‘ Its on a charge of treasonable practices, madam.” ‘“Oh, bo! I see: Mr. Vanslyperken. Very vell, good sir ; I'll put on my clothes directly. Il get up any hour in the night, with pleasure, o bring that villain- Yes, yes, Mr. Van- lyperken, we shall see. Babette, take the gentlemen down in the parlour, and give them some bottled beer. You'll find it very good, Sirs ; it's of my own brewing. And, Babette, you must come up and help me.” The officer did not think it necessary to undeceive the widow, who imagined that She was to give evidence against Vanslyperken, not that she was a prisoner herself. Still the widow Vandersloosh did not like being called up at such an unseasonable hour, and thus out of the window, > > abette came down to the first ng the window at the landing- Stairs, put her head out and pec 4¢ Sti Are ) J , t SrAd THE DOG FIEND; OR, expressed herself to Babette as she was dress- ing herself, ' Well, we shall see the ending of this, Bab ette.—My under petticoat is on the chair. -~I told the lords the whole truth, every word of it; and I am convinced that they believed me, too.—Don’t pull tight all at once, Ba- bette ; how often do I tell you that? Ido believe you missed a hole. —The cunning villain goes there and says that I—yes, Ba- bette—that I was a traitor myself; and I said to the lords, ‘ Do I look like a traitor ?’—My petticoats, Babette ; how stupid you are, why, your eyes are half shut now; you know I always wear the blue first, then the green, and the red last, and yet you will give me the first which comes.—He's a handsome lord, that Duke of Portland ; he was one of the doz before King William went over and conquered Iingland, and he was made a lord for his valeour.—My ruff, Babette. The Dutch area brave nation. My bustle now.—How much beer did you give the officers ? Mind you take care of everything while 1am gone. [I shall be home by nine, I dare say. I suppose they are going to try him now, that he may be hanged at sunrise. I knew how it would be. Yes, yes, Mr. Vanslyperken, every dog has his day ; and there’s an end of you, and of your cur also, I've a notion.” The widow being now duly equipped, walked downstairs to them, and proceeded with the officers to the Stadt House. She was brought into the presence of Mynheer Engel- back, who held the office of provost. ‘Here is the widow Vandersloosh, myn- heer: » ‘Very well,” replied Engelback, who was in a very bad humour at the unsuccessful search after the conspirators, ‘‘away with her “Away! where?” exclaimed the widow. Engelback did not condescend to make a reply. The officers were mute; but one stout man on either side seized her arm, and led her away, notwithstanding expostulation, and some resistance on her part. “‘Where am I going? What is all this?” exclaimed the widow, terrified ; but there was no answer. At last they came to a door, held open already by another man with a bunch of keys. The terrified woman perceived that it was a paved stone cell, with a brick arch over itn shorta dungeon. The truth flashed upon her for the first time. It was she who had been arrested for treason. But before she could shriek she was shoved in, and the door closed and locked upon her; and the widow sank down into a sitting posture on the ground, overcome with astonishment and indignation. ‘Was it possible? had the villain prevailed ?” was the question which she asked herself over and over again, changing alternately from ’ sorrow to indignation. At one time wringing her hands, and at others exclaiming, ‘‘ Well, well, Mr. Vanslyperken, we shall see.” CHAPTER AXEL. In which ts related niuch appertaining to the “* pomp and glorious circumstance’” of war. THE arrival of Ramsay and his party was so unexpected, that," at first, Lady Barclay imagined they had been betrayed, and that the boat was filled with armed men from the king’s cutter, who had come on shore with a view of forcing an entrance into the cave. In a minute every preparation was made for defence ; for it had long been arranged, that in case of an unexpected attack, the women should make all the resistance in their power, and which the nature of the place enabled them to do. But, as many observed, the party, although coming from the cutter, and not badly armed, did not appear to advance in a hostile manner. After waiting some time near the boat, they advanced, each with a box on his shoulder ; but what those boxes might be was a puzzle; they might be hand-grenades for throwing into the cave. However, they were soon down to the rock at which the ladder was let down, and then Smallbones stood up with a musket in his hand, with his straddling legs and short petticoat, and bawled out, ‘‘ Who comes there?” Ramsay, who was assisting Wilhelmina, looked up surprised at this singular addition to the occupants of the cave. And Wilhel- mina also looked at him, and said, ‘‘Can that be a woman, Ramsay?”’ ‘At all events, I’ve not the honour of her acquaintance. Butsheis pointing her musket. ie We are friends,” cried Ramsay. ‘'Tell@ Mistress Alice it is Ramsay.” Smallbones turned round and reported the answer; and then, in obedience to his order from Mistress Alice, he cried out, in imitation of the sentinels, ‘‘ Pass, Ramsay, and all's well !’—presented his arms, and madea fly- ing leap off the rocks, where he stood, down on the platform, that he might lower the ladder as soon as Ramsay was up, who de- sired everybody might be sent down to secure the boxes of specie as fast as they could, lest the cutters people, releasing themselves, should attempt an attack. Now, there was no more concealment necessary, and they women as well as the men went down the precipitous path and broughtup the treasure, while Ramsay introduced Wilhelmina to Lady Barclay, and, in a brief, but clear narrative, told her all that had passed, and what they had now to expect. There was not a moment for delay; the cutter’s people might send the despatches overland if they thought of itSVARLEVVOW, 1d i Cin end be there as soon, if not sooner than porals ; an idea struck her which she thought themselves. Nancy Corbett was summoned she could turn to advantage. She slipped into immediately, and her instructions given. the barrack-yard, and to where the men were ‘The whole of the confederates at Portsmouth being selected, and was soon close to a ser- were to come over to the cave with what they geant whom she was acquainted with, could collect and carry about their persons : ‘So you've an expedition on hand, Ser- and, in case of the cutter sending overland, geant Tanner.” with the precaution of being in disguise. Of “Yes, Mistress Corbett, and I’m one of the arms and ammunition there was sufficient in party.” the cave, which Ramsay now felt was to be ‘‘T wish you joy,” replied Nancy sarcasti- defended to the last, until they could make a cally. cireat over to the other side of the channel. ‘‘Oh, it’s nothing, Mistress Corbett, no- ‘ii half an hour, Nancy was gone, and that thing at all, only some smugglers in a cave; very night had arrived at Portsmouth and we'll soon rout them out.” siven notice to the whole of the confederates, ‘‘T’ve heard a different account from the Upon consultation, it was considered that the admiral’s clerk.” hest disguise would be that of females; and ‘‘ Why what have you heard ? ” itt consequence, they were all so attired, and, ‘‘ First, tell me how many men are ordered before morning, had all passed over, twoor out?” three in a boat, and landed at Ryde, where ‘‘A hundred rank and file—eight non-com- they were collected by Moggy Salisbury, who missioned officers—two lieutenants—one cap- alone, of the party, knew the way to the re- tain—and one major.”’ treat. “[hey walked across the island by two ‘‘ Bravo, sergeant, you'll carry all before and three, one party just keeping sight of the you.” next ahead of them, and arrived without sus- ‘Why, I hope so, Mistress Corbett, espe- picion or interruption, conducted by Moggy cially as we are to have the assistance of the Salisbury, Lazarus the Jew, and sixteen stout cutter’s crew.” and desperate men, who had remained se- ‘‘ Better and better still,” replied Nancy, creted in the Jew’s house, ready to obey any ironically. ‘‘I wish you joy of your laurels, order, however desperate the risk might be, of sergeant, ha, ha, ha!” their employers, ‘“Why do you laugh, Mistress Corbett, When they were all assembled at the brow and what is that you have heard at the ad- of the precipice, with the exception of Laza- miral’s office?” rus, who looked like a little old woman, a ‘“What you may hear yourself, and what more gigantic race of females was never seen; I know to be true; there is not a single for, determined upon a desperate resistance if smuggler in the cave.”’ discovered, they had their buff jerkins under ‘“No!” exclaimed the sergeant. ‘‘ What, their female garments. They were soon in nobody there ?”’ the cave, and very busy, under Ramsay’s ‘‘Yes, there is somebody there; the cave directions, preparing against the expected at- has been chosen by the smugglers to land tack. Sir Robert Barclay, with his boat, had their goods in,” been over two days before, and it was not ‘‘ But some of them must be there in charge known when he would return. That his pre- of the goods.” sence was most anxiously looked for may be ‘Yes, so there are, but they are all women, readily conceived, as his boat's crew would the smugglers’ wives, who live there: what double their force, if obliged toremain there; an expedition! Let me see :—one gallant and his boat would enablethem, with the one major, one gallant captain, two gallant lieu- brought by Ramsay, to make their escape with- tenants, eight gallant non-commissioned out leaving one behind, before the attack could officers, and a hundred gallant soldiers of the be made. Buffs, all going to attack, and rout, and Nancy Corbett, as the reader may have defeat a score of old women.” observed, did not return. to the cave with the ‘‘ But you're joking, Mistress Nancy.” conspirators. As she was not suspected, she ‘‘ Upon my life I’m not, sergeant; you'll determined to remain at Portsmouth till the find it true: the admiral’s ashamed of the last, and watch the motions of the authori- whole affair, and the cutter’s erew swear they ties,” won't fire a single shot.” The cutter did not arrive till the evening of ‘‘ By the god of war!” exclaimed the ser- the second day, and the despatches were not geant, ‘‘ but this is cursed bad news you bring, delivered to the admiral till the third morning, Mistress Corbett.” when all was bustle and preparation. Nancy “ Not at all; your regiment will become Corbett was everywhere ; she found out what quite the fancy, you'll go by the name of the troops were ordered to embark on the expedi- lady-killers, ha! ha! ha! I wish you joy, tion, and she was acquainted with some of sergeant, ha! ha! hal” a he officers, as well as the sergeants and cor- Nancy Corbett knew well the power of ridi- Ke146 cule: she left the seryeant, and was accosted by one of the lie sutenants ; she rallied him in the same way. ““But.are you really in earnest, Nancy?” said Lieutenant Dillon, at last. ‘‘Upon my soul I am; but at the same time I hear that they will fight hard, for they are well armed and desperate like their hus- bands, and they swear that they'll all die toa woman, before they yield; so now we shall see who fi ghts best, the women or the men, I'll back my own sex fora gold Jacobus, lieu- tenant : : will you take the bet?” ‘Good God, how very annoying! I can’t, I won't order the men to fire at women; I could not do so if they were devils incarné rate; a woman is a woman still.” And never the worse for being brave, Lieutenant Dillon; as I said to Sergeant Tanner, your regiment, after this, will al Vays go by the name of the lady-killers.”’ ‘‘D—n!’' exclaimed the lieutenant ; ‘‘but now I recollect there must be more there; those who had possession of the cutter and who landed in her boat.” “Yes, with forty boxes of gold, they say ; but do you think they would be such fools as 6 remain there and allow you to take their money ?—that boat started for France yester day night with all the treasure, and are no safe at Cherbourg. I know it fora fact, ior one of the men's wives who lives here showed me a letter to that effect, from her husband, in which he requests her to follow him. But I must go now—good-by, Mr. Lady-killer.’’ The lieutenant repeated what Nancy had told him to the otheers, and the major was so much annoyed, that he went up to the admiral and stated what the report was, and that there were only women to contend with. LTS PhceieneA in the despatches, If believe,” observed the admiral, ‘that there are only women supposed to be in the cave ; but the smugglers who were on board the cutter-——”’ ae 1 al lefi admiral; sot nor profit.” ‘At all events, you will have the merit of obeying your orders, Major Lincoln.” The major made no reply, but went away very much dissatisfied. In the meantime, the sergeant had communicated with his non-com- missioned officers and the privates ordered on the duty, and the discontent was universal. Most of the men swore that they would not pull a trigger against women, if they were shot for DIARY. ON, ZHE CONTINENT. RT fill up the endless variety, and add the links to the chain of nature necessary to render it complete. ‘The question which naturally will be put is, ‘How do you know this? It is assertion but not proof.’ But. arguments are always commenced in this way. The asser- tion is the quid, the est demonstrandum always comes afterwards. I handle my nose, flourish my handkerchief, and proceed. Man is the most-perfect of creation. What part of his body, if separated from the rest, can he renew? No part, except the hair and the nail. Reproduction can go no farther. With the higher class of animals, also, there is no reproduction; but even at this slight descent upon the scale, we may already point out a great difference. Although there is no reproduction, still there are decided proofs of inferiority. For instance, a hare or rabbit caught in a trap, will struggle till they escape, with the less of a leg ; a fox, which is carni- vorous, will do more: he will gvaw off his own leg to escape. Do they die in conse- quence? No, they live, and.do well. But could a man live under such circumstances ? Impossible. If you don’t believe me, gnaw your own leg off and try. And yet the con- formation of the mammalia is not very dis- similar from our own; but man is the more perfect creature, and therefore has not the same resources. I have hitherto referred only to the lzmds I had-a of animals; I will now go farther. beautiful little monkey on board my ship. By accident it was crushed, and received such injury that the backbone was divided at the Joins, and the vertebra of the upper part pro-, truded an inch outside of its skin. Such an accident in a man would have produced immediate death; but the monkey did not die ; its lower limbs were of course paralyzed. The vertebra which protruded gradually rotted off, and in six weeks the animal was crawling about the decks with its fore feet. It was, however, such a pitiable object that I ordered it to be drowned. Now, if we descend iower down in the scale until we come to the reptiles and insects, we shall find not only that the loss of limbs was not attended with death, but that the members are reproduced. Let any one take a spider by its legs, it will leave them in your hands that it may escape. Con- fine the animal under a glass, and in a few weeks it will have all its members perfect as before. Lizards are still more peculiar in their reproduction, I was at Madeira for many months, and often caught the lizards which played about the walls and roofs of the out- houses; and, if ever I caught a lizard by the tail, he would make a spring, and leave his tail in my hand, which seemed to snap off as easily as would a small carrot. Now the tail o lizard is longer than its body, anda tion of the vertebra of the back. I soon found out that lizards did not die from this extensive loss, but, on the contrary, that their tails grew again. Even the first week afterwards, a little end began to show itself, and in about two months the animal had reproduced the whole. What I am about to Say now will probably be considered by some as incredible; they are, however, at full liberty to disbelieve it. One day I was looking out of the window with the late Tom Sheridan, who lived in the same house, and we observed on the roof of the out-house a lizard with two tails, but neither of them full grown ; and we argued that, at the time the animal lost his tail, he must have suffered some divis of the stump. Being at that time a naturalist, z.€., very cruel, I immediately caught a lizard, puiled off his tail, notched the vertebra, and turned him loose again. Our conjectures were right ; the animal in two or three weeks had two tails growing out like the one we had seen. I repeated this experiment several times, and it always appeared to succeed ; and all the two-tailed lizards were called mine. Now this power of reproduction increases as you descend the scale; as an instance, take the polypus, which is as near as possible at the bottom ofit. If you cut a polypus into twenty pieces, without any regard to division, in a short time you will have twenty perfect polypi. Now the deductions I will draw from these remarks are— That the most perfect animals are least capable of reproduction, and most sensible of pain. That, as the scale of -nature descends, animals become less perfect, and more capable of reproduction. Ergo—they cannot possibly feel the same pain as the more perfect. Now, with respect to fish, they are very inferior in the scale of creation, being, with the exception of the cetaceous tribe, which class with the mammalia, all cold-blooded animals, and much less perfect than reptiles or many insects. ‘The nervous system is the real seat of all pain; and the more perfect the animal, the more complicated is that system : with cold-blooded animals the nervous organ- ization is next to nothing. Most fish, if they disengage themselves from the hook, will take the bait again; and if they do not, it is not on account of the pain, but because their in- stinct tells them there is danger. Moreover, it is very true, as Sir H. Davy observes, that fish are not killed by the hook, but by the hooks closing their mouths and producing suffocation, How, indeed, would it other-32 OLLA PODRIDA. wise be possible to land a salmon of thirty pounds weight, in all its strength and vigour, with a piece of gut not thicker than three or four hairs ? Upon the same grounds that I argue that fish feel very little comparative pain, so do I that the worm, which is so low in the scale of creation, does not suffer as supposed. Its writhings and twistings on the hook are efforts to escape natural to the form of the animal, and can be considered as little or nothing more. At the same time I acknowledge and, indeed, prove, by my own arguments, that it is very cruel to J06 for whale. To suppose there are no gradations of feel- ing -as well as of perfection in the animal kingdom, would not only be arguing against all analogy, but against the justice and mercy of the Almighty, who does not allow a sparrow to fall to the earth without his knowledge. He gave all living things for our use and our sustenance ; he gave us intellect to enable us to capture them: to suppose, therefore, at the same time, that he endowed them with so fine a nervous organization as to make them undergo severe tortures previous to death, is supposing what is contrary to that goodness and mercy which, as shown towards us, we are ready to acknowledge and adore. I cannot finish this subject without making a remark upon creation and its perfectibility. All respectable animals, from man down to a certain point in the scale, have their lice or parasites to feed upon them. Some wit, to exemplify this preying upon one another, wrote the following :— ‘Great fleas have little fleas, And less fleas to bite them, These fleas have lesser fleas, And so—ad infinitum.’ This, however, is not strietly true. Parasites attach themselves only to the great. Upon those they can fatten. Having your blood sucked is, therefore, a great proof of high heraldry and perfectibility in the scale of creation. If animals were endowed with speech and pride like man, we might imagine one creature boasting to another, as a proof of his importance, ‘And I, too, also have my louse!’ CHAPTER XV. Liége, May 30th. WHAT strange meetings take place some- times! I recollect once, when-I was sitting at a table d’hote, at Zurich, being accosted by a lady next to me, and being accused of having forgotten her. I looked with all my eyes, but could not discover that I had ever seen her before. At last, after allowing me to puzzle for some time, she said: ‘Sir, you and I me at dinner four years ago, at Mr. K——— 'S house in Demerara.’ It was very true; but who would have thought of running his me- mory over to South America, to a cursed alluvial deposit, hatching monthly broods of alligators, and surrounded by naked slaves, whilst out of the window before him his eye rested upon the snow-covered mountains of Switzerland, and he breathed the pure air of William Tell and liberty. This morning I fell in with an acquaintance whom I had not seen for years, and him also I did not recollect. I am very unfortunate in that respect, and Iam afraid that I have very often given offence without intending it ; but so imperfect is my memory of faces, that I have danced with a lady in the evening, and the next day have not known her, because she was in a bonnet and morning dress. Sometimes the shifts I am put to are quite ludicrous, asking all man- ner of questions, and answering those put to me at random, to find out some clue as to who my very intimate friend may be. ‘They ought not to be angry at my forgetting their names, for sometimes, for a few. minutes, I have actually forgotten my own. It does, however, only require one clue to be given me, and then all of a sudden 1 recollect everything connected with the party. I remember one day as I was passing Whitehall, somebody came up, wrung my hand with apparent de- light, and professed himself delighted to see me. I could do no other than say the same, but who he was, and where I had seen him before, was a mystery. ‘Iam married since we parted,’ said he, ‘and have a fine little boy.’ I congratulated him with all my heart. ‘You must come and see me, and I will intro- duce you to Mary.’ ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure ;’ but if he had only called his wife Mrs. So- and-so, I should have a c/we. ‘Let me see,’ said I, ‘where was it we parted ?’ ‘Don’t you recollect ? said he, ‘At the Cape of Good Hope.’ But I was still mystified, and after putting several leading questions, I found myself quite as much in the dark as ever. At last I asked him for his card, that I might call upon him. He had not one in his pocket. I pulled out my tablets, and he took out the pencil, and wrote down his address; but that was of no use to me. ‘Stop, my good fellow, I have so many ad- dresses down there, that I shall be making some mistake ; put your name down above iteDIARY ON THE CONTINENT?) He did so, and when I saw the name every- thing came fast like a torrent into my recol- lection ; we had deen very intimate, and he was fully justified in showing so much warmth. I could then talk to him about old scenes, and old acquaintances ; so I took his arm, and went forthwith to be introduced to his Mary. The knowledge of this unfortunate failing makes me peculiarly careful not to avoid a person who appears to know me; and one day a very absurd scene took place. I was standing on some door steps close to the Ad- miralty, waiting for a friend, and there was another gentleman standing close to me, on the pavement. A third party came up, ex- tending his hand, and I immediately took it, and shook it warmly—-although who my friend was, I was, as usual, very much puzzled to find out. Now it so happened that the hand which I had taken was extended to the gentle- man standing by me and not to me; and the party whose hand I was squeezing looked me in the face and laughed. Idid the same, and he then gave his hand to the right party, and walked off. As, however, we had said, ‘ How d'ye do?’ we had the politeness to say, ‘Good- bye ;’ both taking off our hats on the broad grin. I was observing, that I here met with a person whom [I could not recollect, and, as usual, I continued to talk with him, trusting to my good fortune for the clue. At last it was given me.. ‘Do you recollect. the little doctor and his wife at Bangalore?’ I did, and immediately recollected him. As the story of the doctor and his wife has often made me laugh, and as I consider it one of the best specimens of ¢2¢ for fat, I will narrate it to my readers. I have since been told that it is not new—I must tell it nevertheless, A certain little army surgeon, who was stationed at Bangalore, had selected a very pretty little girl out of an invoice of young ladies, who had been freighted out on specu- lation. She was very fond of gaiety and amusement, and, after her marriage, appeared to be much fonder of passing away the night at a ball than in the arms of her little doctor. Nevertheless, although she kept late hours, in every respect she was very correct. The doctor, who was a quiet, sober man, and careful of his health, preferred going to bed early, and rising before the sun, to inhale the cool breeze of the morning. And as the lady seldom came home till past midnight, he was not very well pleased at being disturbed by her late hours. At last his patience was wearied out, and he fold her plainly, that if she stayed out later than twelve o’clock, he was resolved not to give heradmittance. At this, his young wife, who, like all pretty women, imagined that he never would presume to do 3d any such thing, laughed heartily, and from the next ball to which she was invited, did not return till half-past two in the morning. As soon as she arrived, the palanquin-bearers knocked for admittance ; but the doctor, true to his word, put his head out of the window, and very ungallantly told his wife she might remain all night. Thelady coaxed, entreated, expostulated, and threatened ; but it was all in vain. At last she screamed, and appeared to be frantic, declaring that if not immediately admitted, she would throw herself into the well, which was in the compound, not fifty yards from the bungalow. The doctor begged that she would do so, if that gave her any pleasure, and then retired from the window. His wife ordered the bearers to take her on her palanquin to the well; she got out, and gave her directions, and then slipped away up to the bungalow, and stationed herself close to the door, against the wall. The bearers, in obedience to her directions, commenced crying out, as if expostulating with their mis- tress, and then detaching a large and heavy stone, two of them plunged it into the water ; after which, they all sat up a howl of lamen- tation. Now the little doctor, notwithstand- ing all his firmness and nonchalance, was not quite at ease when he heard his wife express her determination. He knew her to be very entété, and he remained on the watch. He heard the heavy plunge, followed up by. the shrieks of the palanquin-bearers. ‘ Good God,’ cried he, ‘is it possible?’ and he darted out in his shirt to where they were all stand- ing by the well. As soon as he had passed, his wife hastened indoors, locked, and made all fast, and shortly afterwards appeared at the window from which her husband had ad- dressed her. ‘The doctor discovered the ruse when it was too late. It was now his turn to expostulate ; but how could he ‘hope for mercy, rendering none? ‘The lady was la- conic and decided. ‘At least, then, throw me my clothes,’ said the doctor. ‘Not even your slippers, to protect you from the scor- pions and centipides,’ replied the lady, shut- ting the ‘jalousie.’ At daylight, when the officers were riding their Arabians, they dis- covered the poor little doctor pacing the verandah up and down in the chill of the morning, with nothing but his shirt to protect him. ‘Thus were the tables turned, but whe- ther this vzse of the well ended well—whether the lady reformed, or the doctor conformecd— I have never since heard.CHAPTER’ XVI. Liége, June 2, THE academy or college established at Liége in 1817 is very creditable to the Liégeois. Much has been done in fifteen Wears: the philosophical apparatus, collections of miner- als, and natural history, are all excellent for instruction, although the minerals are not very valuable. ‘The fossils found in the Ar- dennes are very interesting, and ought to be a mine of wealth to the Liégeois, as by €x- changing them they might soon ‘have a valuable collection. It is a pity that the various museums of Europe do not. print catalogues, not of their own collections only, but also of the duplicates which tlfey can part with, so that they may be circulated, not only among the national collections, but also among private cabinets ; by so doing they would all become more perfect. It is currently reported that more duplicates have been allowed to perish in the cellars of the British Museum than would have furnished all the cabinets in Europe. It may be replied, that other cabi- nets had nothing to offer in exchange | ue that is only a surmise : and even if they had not, they should have been presented to other institutions abroad. ° Science ought not to be confined to country or people; it shaula be considered as universal. To the college is annexed a botanical gar- den. . There is nothing I dislike more than a botanical garden. I acknowledge the advan- tages, perhaps the necessity, of “such institu- tions; but they always appear to me as if there was disarrangement instead of arrange- ment. What may be called order and clas- sification seems to me to be disorder and confusion. It, may be very well to Class plants and trees for study, but certainly their families, although joined by man, were never intended to be united by God. Such a mix- ture in one partition, of trees, and shrubs, and creeping plants, all of which you are gravely told are of one family. I never will believe it: it is unnatural. I can see order and ar- rangement when I look at the majestic forest- trees throwing about their wild branches, and defying the winds of heaven, while they afford shelter to the shrubs beneath, which in their turn protect and shelter the violets that. per- fume allaround. ‘This is beautiful and natural —-it is harmony ; but in a botanical garden everything is out of its place. The Scripture Says, ‘Those whom God hath joined let no man put asunder ;’ may we not add, Those whom God hath sundered let no man presume to join. I felt as I looked at the botanical garden as if it were presumptuous and almost wicked, and as it was on the banks of the OLLA ' PODRIDA. Meuse, I sat down on the wall and recovered myself by looking at the flowing river, and thinking about titility and futility, ‘and. all that sort of thing and everything else in the world,’ as poor “Mathews used td say—and there I sat for an hour, until my thoughts re- volved on the propriety of going back and eating my dinner—as Mrs. ‘Trollope used to do when she was in Belgium. AS Iwas w a ae about in the evening, I perceived a dirty litrle alley illuminated with chandeliers ane wax candles. There must be a ball, thought I, or some gaiety going on: let™us ‘inquire: ??' Wo Sir? replied a man to whom I put the question, ‘it’s not a ball-—it is a monsieur who has presented to an image of the Virgin Mary which is up that court, a petticoat, Which: they s say, is worth one thou- sand five hundred francs, and this lighting-up 1S in honour of her putting it on.’ The race f fools is not extinct, thought I. I wonder WHEE? , like King Ferdinand, he worked it himself. Belgium is certainly at this present the stronghold of superstition, CHAPTER: , XVI. June 3. WENT to Harquet’s manufactory of arms, and was much amused. They export all over the world, and the varieties they make up for the different markets are astonishing. They were then very busy completing an order for several thousand muskets for the Belgian troops, which load at the breech and fire off without locks or priming. They showed me a fowling- piece on the same principle, which they fired off under water. But the low prices ‘of the arms astonished me. There were a large quantity of very lone fowling-pieces with the merker's name at Constantinople, for the Turk- ish gentlemen, at thirty francs each! a ¢oim- mon musket was fourteen franes. I perceived in a corner a large number of muskets, of infa- mous workmanship , and with locks res sembling those awkward attempts made two hundred years back. I. asked what they were ‘for. ‘They were for the South American market, and made to order, for the people there would use no others : any improvement was eschewed by them. I presume they had borrowed one of the Spanish muskets brought ‘over by Pizarro as a model, but, at’ all events, they were very cheap, only, eight franes each. God help us, how cheaply men can be killed now- a-days ! It is very seldom that you now meet with a name beginning with an X, but one ‘caught my eye as I was walking through the streetsDIARV ON THE CONTINENT. here. Urban Xhenemont, négociant. _I per- ceive there are still some to be found in Greece ; the only one I’know of in England is that of Sir Morris Ximenes, who, I presume, claims descent from the ‘celebrated cardinal. The mention,of that name reminds me of the songs of the improvisatore, Theodore Hook, and his address in finding a rhyme for such ° an awkward name as Ximenes. Few possess the talent of improvising. In Italy it is more common, because the Italian language admits the rhyme with so much facility ; but a good improvisatore is rare eyen in that: country. There was a Dutchman who was a very good improvisatore, a poor fellow who went about to amuse conipanies with his singing and this peculiar talent. One day a gentlemand topped a gold Guillaume into a glass of Burgundy, and told him, if he would make a good im- promptu, he should have both the wine and the gold : without hesitation he took up the glass, and suiting the action to the word, sang as follows ; * Twee Goden in een Glas, Wat zal ik van maken ? K’ steek Plutus in myn tas, ~ K’ slaak Bacchus in myn Kaken- Which may be rendered into French as follows :— “Quoi! deux dieux dans un verre, nien ! que vais-j’en faire? J’empocherai Plutus, J’avalerai Bacchus.’ The gentleman, who gave me this transla- tion, also furnished me with a copy of extem- pore French verses, given by a gentleman of Maestricht, who was celebrated as‘an impro- visatore. They certainly are’ very superior. He was at a large party, and agreed to im- provise upon any theme given him by five of those present in the way of Souvenir. ‘The first person requested the souvenir of early youth. “Vous souvient-il? Amis de ma jeunesse, Des beaux momens de nos fougueux exploits ? Quand la raison sous le joug de l’ivresse, Essaye en vain de soutenir ses droits. Ce tems n’est plus, cet age de folie, Ou tout en nous est pressé de jonir ; Mes bons amis, du printemps de la vie Gardons toujours le joyeux souvenir. The next party requested a souvenir of the conscription, many of them, as well as the poet, having been forced into the army of France. ‘Vous souvient-il ? que plus tard, sous les armes Plusieurs de nous, désignés par le sort, Loin des parents; versant d’arméres lartnes, Allaient trouver ou la gloire ou la mort. Ces jours de deuil par milliers dans l’histoire Ne viendront plus, sur nous s'appesantir Amis, volons au temple de Mémoire Effacons-en le sanglant souvent Lhe third party requestec a souvenir of his ‘first love.’ ‘Vous souvient-il? de cet enfant de Guide Fripon rusé, volage et séducteur : Qui par les yeux d’une beauté timide, Dun trait de feu veut nous frapper au coeur. Du sentiment que sa fléche fit naitre, Kt que la mort peut seul ané: ntir, Eternissons le ravissant bien-étre, En conservant un si beau souvenir.’ _ The fourth proposed asa theme, the morn- ing of his marriage, ‘Vous souvient-il? du jour ott !hyménée Vint nous dicter ses cernelles loix, En attachant A notre destinée L’objet sacré de notre premier choix. Solennité qui par des voeux nous lie, De saints devoirs chargeant notre avenir, Solennité que le vulgaire oublie Nous te gardons en pleux sonuventr. The last party desired him to wind up with Tricndship, * Quel souvenir puis-je chanter encore, Aprés celui né dans la volupté ? Il enest un que le tems corr re, C’est le premier élan de |’amitié. Eh ! qui de nous n’a pas dans sa jeunesse, Livré son coeur & ses charmes puissants, Sainte Amitié, jusqu’a dans la vieillesse, Console-nous des ravages du tems.’ I should imagine that after the gentleman had finished all this, he must have been pretty well out of breath. se " About four miles from Liége is thé cele- brated manufactory of Seraing, belonging to Messrs. Cockerell. It is beautifully situated on the banks of the Meuse, and was formerly the summer palace of the Prince Archbishop: But it is not only here that you observe these symptoms of the times—all. over France you wili perceive the same, and the major portion of the manufactories have the arms of princes or nobles emblazoned over the facade, while the interiors, which once were the abode of refinement and luxury, are now tenanted by artisans and appropriated to utility. The utilitarian system was, however, more fully exemplified before the Belgian revolution, for William of Nassau was, in fact, a partner of Mr. Cockerell. Mr. Cockerell, the father, who is now dead, came over from England before the peace, bringing with him either the machinery for spinning cotton, or the know- ledge necessary for its construction, so jea- ao 9D =< “~lously guarded by our manufacturers, He established himself at Liége, and soon gained patrons. The firm has now three or four manufactories at Liége besides the one at Seraing. Large as was the bishop's palace, it has been increased to about three times its original size : it reminds me more of Ports- mouth yard than any other place. The num- ber of workmen employed in this manufactory alone is between fourteen and fifteen hundred. They make every variety of steam engines, and not only supply this country, but Prussia, Austria, France, and even Russia. People talk of Mr. Cockerell having done much’ mis- chief to his country by furnishing foreigners with the machinery which enabled us to under- sell them. I doubt it very much : I consider that the sooner other countries are enabled to compete with us to a certain extent, the better it will be for England. At present we are in an unhealthy state, and chiefly arising from the unlimited use of machinery. Let us lose that advantage, and, if not richer, at all events we shall be much happier. We are now suf- fering under a plethora of capital at the same time that we are oppressed with debt. As for Mr. Cockerell, it may be very well to cry out about patriotism, but the question is, would not every other man have done the same? Had he not a right to bring his talents to the best market ? and before he is accused of having had no regard for his country, it may first be fairly asked, what regard had _ his country shown for him ? COAPPER XVILL Spa, June to. HERE we are, and fora time at ‘rest. Rest, no, the wheels of the carriage may rest, even the body for a time may rest, but the mind will not. We carry our restlessness with us wherever we go. Like a Ssteam-engine, the mind works, and works, and works, some- times, indeed, with less rapidity of motion; but still it goes on, goes on in its ever con- tinued labour; waking or sleeping, no repose ; until the body, which is the mechanical part of the engine, is worn out by constant friction, or the steam of the mind is exhausted. And people tell you, and believe that there is rest in the grave. Howean that be? The soulis immortal and cannot exist without conscious- ness. If not conscious, it does not exist ; and if conscious, it must work on, even beyond the grave, and for ever. To assert that there is rest in the grave, is denying the immortality of the soul. And whata contemptible, base slave the body is to the soul! I was going to say that he could not call his soul his own: 36 OLLA PODRIDA, but that would be a Catachresis, and I hate and abominate everything which begins with cat. It is singular that they are all unplea- Sant, or unlucky, or unsafe ; for instance— Cat-acombs remind you of death, funerals, and mummies. Cat-alogue reminds you of sale of effects, some poor devil done up. Cat-aplasm reminds you of a boil poulticed. Cat-aract reminds you of sore eyes, Sam Patch, and devastation. Cat-arrh reminds you of head stuffed, run- ning of the glands. Cat-echism reminds you of equally unplea- sant in youth and marriage, Cat-egorical reminds youof argument, which is detestable. Cat-erpillars reminds you of beasts who foul NAUCUre: Cat-erwaul remind you of horrid variety of love. Cat-gut reminds you of street music, hurdy- gurdy. Cat's-paw reminds you of acalm, witha prize in sight. As fora cat itself, I cannot say too much against it; and it is singular, that the other meanings of the single word are equally disa- greeable ; as to cat the anchor, isa sign of gotne to sea, and theca? at the gangway isthe worst of all. Five o'clock in the morning,—the sun has not yet appeared above the hills, but the mist is rising gradually. The bell of the church in front of my windowis tolling ;—it ceases ; and the pealing of the organ, with the chanting of the priests, comes distinct and clear upon my ear, as the notes of the bugle over the stild water, from some dashing frigate in the Sound, beating off at sunset. How solemn and how beautiful is this early prayer! The sun is rising, the mists of the night are rolling off, and the voicesand music resound at the same time to heaven. The church is full, and many remain outside, uncovered, and kneeling in humility.. But who comes here, thought I, as aman ina shabby coat walked to within a few yards of the church door, and laid down his burden, consisting of a drum, a fiddle, a roil-of canvas, a chair, and a long pole. ‘This is a curious stock in trade, methinks; how in the name of all the saints do you gain your livelihood? This was soon ascertained. A minute before the mass was over he fixed his pole upright in the ground, hung his canvas on it, and unrolled it, display- ing a picture divided in six compartments. He then hung his fiddle to his button, took his drum, and putting his chair close to his pole, stood upon it, giving a long, but not loud roll of his drum, which he repeated at intervals,tY ON THE CONTINENT. 49 to attract attention. He had taken his station with judgment ; and as the people came, out of church, he had soon a crowd about him, when he commenced with crossing himself, and then continued to explain the legend which was attached to his pictures on the canvas. I could not hear all, but still I could understand enough to fill up, the rest. It was the wonderful cure performed by a cer- tain saint ; and as he told the Story, he poiated to the different compartments with his fiddle- stick, for he had laid aside his drum as soon as he had collected an audience. Now and then he crossed himself devoutly, and at last informed the crowd around him that he had the very prayer, and the very remedy which had been prescribed. He then played his fiddle, singing the prayer in a solemn chaunt ; and then he pulled out of his pocket a packet of little books and little boxes. They are only one halfpenny each ; and all that is neces- Sary is, that they should touch the figure of the saint on the canvas, to be imbued with the necessary virtue. He sells them rapidly ; each time that he puts them to the canvas crossing himself, and insisting that the party who purchases shall do the same. He takes his fiddle again, and sings the history of the saint, pointing with his fiddlestick to the compartments of the picture as he goes on; and now he pulls out more little books and more boxes, and how fast they purchase them ; the stock in trade in his own posses- sion is certainly of little value; but he pos- sesses a fruitful mine in the superstition of others. Ah, well! Are not those inside the church setting him the example of mixing up religion with quackery ? Spa is beautifully situated, between abrupt hills covered with verdure ; the walks cut in these hills are very beautiful, and much pains have been taken to render the place agreeable ; ——no wonder, when we recollect how many crowned heads have visited the place: but the sun of Spa has set, probably never to rise again ; for whatever may be the property of its‘waters, to be frequented, a watering-place must be fashionable. ‘There are many causes for its desertion. One is, the effects of the Belgian revolution. During the time that Belgium was attached to the Netherlands, the king, with the Prince and Princess of Orange, came here almost every year, bringing with them, of course, a great number of the no- bitity ; but now the nobility have deserted the court ; and when Leopold came here no one followed. Hewas disgusted and remained but a few days. The Prussians used also to resort very much to Spa; but the king of Prussia finding that so many young men were ruined at the gaming-tables, and so much distress occasioned by it, with a most fatherly 2 despotism, has refused all the officers permis- sion to visit Spa, and has forbidden the medi- cal_men to recommend the waters. The Russians also flocked in great numbers to Spa ; but the emperor, although very indif- ferent about’ their losing their money, is very particular about his subjects gaining revolutionary opinions; and Spa being in a revolutionary country, has been condemned : they may just as well ask to go to Siberia, for that would probably be their route; and lastly, there is one more cause which, these two last seasons, has had a powerful effect, nei- ther more nor less than a certain book, called the ‘Bubbles of the Brunnen.’ I say for the last two seasons, for its influence will not ex- tend toa third, as hundreds and hundreds who have gone to the Baths with the intention of passing this season, have already returned in disgust. A word upon this. When Sir George Head published his ‘Bubbles,’ he set people almost as mad as they were during the great ‘ Bubble Mania;’ and like all the mining and other associations, thay have proved but bubbles at last. Itis said that one hundred and _ thirty-five thousand passports were taken out last year to go up the Rhine, by people who wished to see the igs go through their daily manceuvres, to an rthly solo on the horn, and to witness the decapitation of the Seltzer-water bottles, which were condemned as traitors. Now, so large an influx of people to these German watering- places could have but one effect: that of a glorious harvest to the innkeepers, and those who had lodgings to let. The prices at these places have now become so enormous, that three florins have been asked for a single bed, and everything else has risen in the same proportion. The reaction has now begun to take place, and every day and every hour we have carriages returning through Liége, and other towns, from these watering-places, the occupants holding up their hands, quite for- getting the pigs and bottles, and only ex- claiming against extortion, and everything German. ‘They have paid too dear for their Whistle, as Franklin used to say ; the bubble has burst, and they look with regret at their empty purses. And yet, all that Head said in his amusing book was true. He rambled through a verdant and unfrequented lane, and described what he felt as he stopped to pick blackberries. An immense multitude have followed him, the green lane has been beaten down into a high road, and, as for blackberries, they are only to be procured at the price of peaches in May. And now let us reflect whether the bubble will not also burst with the Germans. For- merly they were contented with moderate profits, and received their visitors with humi-lity and thankfulness. Now that they have suddenly made large profits, they have be- come indépendent and unceremonious ; and, like most people, because they have reaped a golden harvest for two years, they anticipate that it will continue, The va lue of property at these places has risen) speculations have been entered into on a ‘large scale, provisions 5 the necessaries of life have become dear; new houses are building against time, and the proprietors smoke their pipes with be- coming gravity, calculating upon their future gains. But the company will fall off more and more each succeeding year, although the speculations will continue; for people always find a good reason for a bad season, and anti- cipate a better one the next. At last they will find that they are again deserted, and property will sink in value to nothing; the reaction will have fully taken place, prices will fall even lower than they were at first ; honesty and civility will be reassumed, al- though, probably, the principal will have been lost. Thus will the bubble burst with them, as it has already with deserted ee But when all idle people shall have visited all the bubbling fountains of Germany, when are they to go.next? ‘There are some very nice springs in Iceland not yet patronized ; but although the springs. there are hot, the springs, vernally speaking, are cold. I can inform travellers where they will find out something new, and I advise them to proceed to the boiling springs at St. Michael's, one of the Western Teles. and which are better worth eeing than all the springs that Germany can produce, I will act as guide de voyage When you land at St. Michael's, you will find yourself in one of the dirtiest towns in the world, and will put up at one of the worst hotels; however, you will have to pay just as dear as if lodged at the Clarendon, and fed at the Rocher de Cancale. “The town con- tains many inhabitants, but more pigs. Ger- man pigs ‘are not to be compared to them. You must then hire donkeys and ascend to the mountains, and, after a hot ride, you will arrive at a small valley in the centre of the mountains, which was once the crater of a volcano, but. 1s now used by nature asa kettle, in which she keeps hot water perpetually boil- ing for those who may require it. ‘There you will behold the waters bubbling and boiling in all directions, throwing up huge white columns of smoke, brought out in strong relief by the darker sides of the mountains which rear their heads around you. The ground, you tread upon trembles as you walk ; you feel that it is only a thin crust, and that_ina moment you may sink into the vast cauldron below, and have a hot bath without paying for it. Continke along the valley, and you 38 OLLA PODRIDA, will find lakes of still, deadly-cold water, with hot springs at their verge, throwing the smoke over their surface, while they pour in their boiling water as if they would fain raise the Cae eT depositing sulphur in cakes and crystals in their course. And in another spot there is a dark, unfathomable hole, called the Devil's. Mouth: you approach it, and you hear low moanings: and rumblings, as if nature had the stomach-ache ; and then you will Nave a sudden explosion, and a- noise like thunder, and a shower of mud will -be thrown out to a distance of several yards. Wait again; you will again hear the moans and rumblings, and in about three minutes the explosion and discharge will again take place, and thus has this eternal diarrhoea continued ever since the memory or tradition of man. Yet, upon this apparently insecure and dangerous spot have been erected houses and baths, and it is resorted to by the fashionables of. “St.” Michael's, who wish, by its pre- perties, to get rid of certain cutaneous dis- orders :. for the whole air ,is “loaded with sulphurous vapour, as the eternal pot keeps boiling. Observe the advantages of this place :—you may have a bath as hot as you please, as cold as you please, or you may have a mud douche, if you have that buffalo propensity ; and then you will have to rough it, which is so delight- ful; you will find little or nothing to eat, and plenty of bedfellows in all their varieties, a burning sun, and a dense atmosphere, and you will be very delighted to get back again, which, after all, is the summum bonum to be obtained by travel. Not very far from this valley of hot water there is another valley, containing four small lakes,-and in’those lakes.are found the most beautiful gold and silver fish, ‘perhaps, in the world. How they came there heaven only knows ; but I mention this because there is a curious coincidence. ‘These lakes are known by the name of Quadre Cidade, or four cities. Now, if my readers will recollect, in the ‘Arabian Nights’ there is a story of a valley with four la kes, which were once four cities, and that in these elec were fish of various beautiful colours, who were once the inhabi- tants. If recollect right, when the fish were caught and put into the frying-pan, they jumped up and made a speech (so would fish now-a-days, if they were not mute) ; and the story is told by a prince, whose lower extremities are turned into black marble, very convenient, certainly, if he dined out every day, as he had only his upper toilet to com- plete. This coincidence appeared to me to be very curious, and had I had time and opportunity I certainly should have fried fourof these unfortunate fish, to ascertain whether they were of the real breed spoken of in the Arabian tales, of the authenticity of which no one, I presume, ayill venture to doubt, CHAPTER XIX. Spa, July 15. WHAT a curious history might be afforded by Spa and its gaming tables! When Spa was in its glory, when crowned heads met, and dukes were forced to remain in their carriages for want of accommodation, when it was the focus of all that was recherché and brilliant, for Spa was so_ before the French revolution, the gaming tables were a source of immense profit ; and to whom do you imagine that a great portion of the profits belonged ?—to no less a person than the most sacred and puis- Sant prince, the Bishop of Liége, who derived a great revenue from them. But it would appear as if there was a judgment upon this anomalous secular property, for these gaming tables were the cause, of the prince bishop losing all, and being driven out of his terri- tories. ‘There were two gaming establishments at Spa, the Redoubt, in the town, and the Vauxhall, about a quarter of a mile outside of.it. The Redoubt is a fine building, with splendid ball-rooms and a theatre, but you must go through the gaming-rooms to, enter either the ball-room or the theatre. .The Vauxhall has no theatre, but the rooms are even more spacious ; but when Spa was at its zenith, even these two immense edifices were barely sufficient for the company. Both these establishments were under the same proprie- tors, and it so happened that the English nobility, who were always.a very strong party here, were displeased with the conduct of the lessees, and immediately raised. funds for the building. of-a’second Vauxhall. ‘The bishop ordered the building to be discontinued, but, as by the privileges granted by former bishops this was a violation of the rights, of the Liegeois, his order was disregarded. and :the Vauxhall now known by the name of, the Vauxhall.was finished. When finished, the bishop would. not permit it to be opened, but his commands being disregarded, he came down with two hundred ‘Soldiers and two _pieces of cannon, and took possession,- This created a revolution, and the bishop was ulti- mately obliged to fly his territory and seek assistance. The Prussians marched an army into the city, and there was apparent submis- sion, but, as soon as they. quitted, the insur- rection again took place, and the bishop was forced again to Solicit aid from the Austrians, DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. om for Prussia would no longer interfere, .Met- ternich, who was so fond of legitimacy that he considered the gaming tables.a legitimate source of revenue to the apostle, marched in an, Austrian army, and hundreds were slaugh- tered that the bishop might obtain his rights. Such was the state of affairs when the French revolution broke out and convulsed..Europe, and the province of Liege was. among the very first to receive with open arms the bonnet rouge and to join themselves with France, and thus did the bishop: lose his beautiful province for ever. As far as Liége was con- cerned, the. French revolution proved.a bless- ing. It certainly was a.disgraceful finale. to an ecclesiastical power, which, as I have before mentioned, had formerly led the van in the march of Christianity and liberty, But it appears that the clergy are fated to have an interest in these. gaming tables, the stipend of the English. resident..clergyman being, even now, paid out of their profits ; for, when,.Belgium was made over to the Netherlands, King William assumed:his right to the bishop's former share of the profits of the tables, and of course brought as many people down here as he could to. lose their money, as he pocketed. his zizrds. .. Since the revolution, Leopold is. in, King, William’s shoes, but there are little or no. profits, as Spa is deserted, and the expenses of the establish- ments are great. Perhaps there is no spot of ground in Europe—I will not except Paris— where so much money has been lost by gaming as at Spa. I was walking with;a friend, who pointed out to me asmall pavilion ina gar- den. ‘ There,’ says he, ‘the Prince of Orange, who played very deeply, lost to a Spanish gentleman those very jewels that were pre- tended to be stolen. It was well got up. in the papers, but that is the real. truth.’ ... How far it may be the truth or not I cannot pretend to say, and only know that in Spa you cannot pick your teeth without all the world knowing it, and that this is fully believed at Spa to be the real truth of the disappearance of the splendid jewels of the princess, which have since been redeemed from the Spanish gentle- man, who now resides at the Hague. Gaming has always been held up in abhor- rence as a vice; but it: is rather a,passion strongly implanted by nature, and abhorrent from. the dreadful effects. produced by. its overpowering influence, than a vice per. se. Life itself is a lottery, and the best part of our life is passed in gambling. It is difficult to draw the line between gambling.and spe- culation, for every speculation is a gambling transaction. Is not the merchant a gambler? In fact is not every venture an act of gambling? As for: the Stock Exchange,;,it,is the very worst species of gambling. All we can say40 OLLA PODRIDA: , that gambling may be legitimate or other- drawn but oncea year, and those who puif- Wise ; that is, there are species of gambling which may enrich the individual if he is fortu- nate, but whether it enriches him or not, at all events it is beneficial to the community at large. A merchant speculates—he sends out manufactures of every description : he fails, and is ruined. But the artisans have procured employment for their industry, and, although the merchant fails, the community at large has benefited. This is legitimate gambling ; but do people in business stop’ there? No: they will agree to deliver so many thousands of casks of tallow or tons of hemp at such and such a time and at a certain price, whatever the price may then be, They cannot complete their engagement, and they are ruined. But in this instance, which is simply termed spe- culation, we have quite as much gambling as if the money were at once laid down on the table, and the chances decided in an hour instead of so many months. — But there is this difference, that this party does not injure his character by such a transaction, whereas, if he lost his money at the gaming table he would. The English are, with the exception of the Americans, the most gambling nation under heaven ; naturally so, because they are the greatest mercantile nation. ‘The spirit of gambling is innate, and, when directed into the proper channel, it becomes enterprise. It is doubtless a great moral error on the part of a government to encourage vice with the view of increasing the revenue ; but at the same time, there is no tax so well laid on as that which is imposed on vice. Again, there are certain propensities in man which cannot be overcome, and which, if attempted to be wholly eradicated by legal enactments, would occasion more evil still. All that a judicious government can or should attempt to effect is, to restrain them within proper bounds, to regulate them, and as much as possible to keep them out of sight, that the virus may not extend. It is well known that certain houses are licensed by the magistrates, be- cause, it being impossible to eradicate the vice, they can do no more than to separate it, that it may not be communicated to the healthier part of the community. Now upon this principle, which is the true principle of sound legislation, I have often thought that it was a‘ great error in our legislature when they consented to put down the public lotteries in England. I am convinced that they were beneficial, acting as safety - valves to the gambling spirit of the nation, and that their prohibition has been productive of much crime and misery. ‘The spirit of gambling cannot be eradicated ; it ought, therefore, to be kept within due bounds. There was one great advantage in the English lottery: it was chased the tickets were content to remain quiet until their success was made known. The chances, although very distant, of so high a prize, satisfied the spirit of gambling ; if they lost they purchased again, and waited patiently for another year, trusting to be more fortunate. Now, although they gambled, they did not acquire the hadzt of gaming. What has been the consequence since the lotteries have been abolished? ‘That there are hells of every description established throughout the metropolis, from those which admit the stake of a shilling, to Crockford’s splendid Pande- monium ; and those who were formerly con- tent with a lottery ticket now pass their evenings away from their families, and ruin themselves in a very short time. The lottery never ruined any one. The sum staked might be large for the circumstances of the parties. but it was a yearly stake, and did not. inter- fere with the industry, the profits, or the domestic happiness of the year. One half the tradesmen who now appear in the ‘ Gazette’ have been ruined by frequenting the low hells with which the metropolis abounds. From the above considerations I do not think it was advisable to abolish tho lotteries. The next question is one upon which I hesi- tate to offer an opinion; but it is worthy of consideration how far it may be advisable to license and tax gaming-houses. Were it possible to put them down altogether, the question need not be discussed: but it is im- possible. Has any magistrate ventured to in- terfere with Crockford’s, where it is well known that the highest gaming is carried on every night ? Are you not permitted to walk through the club at any hour of the day? .Do they not have the tables exposed to the view of every one? Yet who has interfered, although you find that the smaller hells are constantly broken in upon, and the parties had up to the police-office? Are not the laws made forall? Is that an offence in the eyes of government in a poor man which is not one in the rich? Yet this is the case: and why so? Because the rich-will game, and the government cannot prevent them. Has not a man a right to do as he pleases with his own money? You legalise the worst of gambling on the Stock exchange, fora man can there risk what he cannot pay : you cannot control the gaming of the race-course, and yet you would prevent a man from gambling after his own fashion. You wink at the higher classes ruining them- * selves, and you will not permit the middle classes. Now the consequence of not having licensed tables is, that you have no control over them, and the public, who will play, are the dupes of rascals who cheat in every way ; whereas, if a certain number were licensedDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. and controlled, those who play would have a better chance, and the licensed tables taxed by government would take care to put down all others who were not. We must legislate for society as it is, not as it ought to be ; and, as on other points, we have found it necessary to submit to the lesser evil of the two, it is a question whether in this also we might not do better by keeping within due bounds that which it is impossible to prevent. I was amused with an anecdote told me to- day. An Englishman and a Frenchman ar- rived at Spa in the same diligence. They both took up their quarters at the same hotel, but from that moment appeared to have no further intimacy. ‘Do you see that fellow ?’ would the Englishman say, pointing at the Frenchnian, ‘I know him, and he’s a con- founded rogue. I recommend you to be shy of him.” ‘ Voyez-vous cet Anglais?’ said the Frenchman as the Ii an passed by. ‘Gardez-vous en bien; c'est un coquin su- périeur.’ ‘Thus did they continue to warn the company of each other, until the close of the season, when one fine day they both went off together in the diligence, leaving all their debts unpaid, and their trunks and portman- teaus for the benefit of the landlord of the hotel, who, on opening them, found them to contain nothing but stones and rubbish. This Was a new species of holy alliance, but the yuse was by no means ill advised. When you hear a man constantly proclaiming the roguery of another, you are too apt to give him credit for honesty in his own person. ‘Thus, with those whom each party associated and dealt with, they obtained a credit for honesty, which enabled them to succeed in their roguish endea- vours. glis CHAPTER KX: Ostend. FROM Spa to Liége, from Liége to Brussels, from Brussels to Ostend, how detestable it is to go over the same ground again and again! only to be imposed upon and cheated again What a weary world this is, and what a rascally one! How delightful a little honesty would be, by way of a change. Of all the rascality spread like butter on bread over the surface of the globe, certainly the butter lies thicker on the confines of each ter- ritory. “hereisa concentration of dishonesty at the ports of embarkation and debarkation. ‘Take London when you land from a steam- boat, or Dover, or Calais, or Ostend. It is nothing but a system of extortion or over- reaching. And why so? because in the hurry, and again. 41 the confusion, the sickness, and the ignorance of what is right, everything that is wrong can be practised with impunity. These preyers upon mankind at the confines, remind you of the sharks in India, who always ply zz the surf, where their motions cannot be seen, and the unwary are invariably their prey. I have knocked three down already, and one would imagine they would hasten for redress; but they will not, for that would take hours, and during these hours they will lose the oppor- tunity of making their harvest, so they get up again, and pocket the affront, that they may not lose time in filling their pockets. Talking about roguery, there was a curious incident occurred some time back, in which a rascal was completely outwitted. A bachelor gentle- man, who was a very superior draftsman and caricaturist, was laid up in his apartments with the gout in both feet. He could not move, but sat in an easy-chair, and was wheeled by his servant in and out of his cham- ber to his sitting-room. Now a certain well- known vagabond ascertained the fact; and watched until the servant was sent upon a message. ‘The servant came out of the front door, but left the area door Open, communi- cating with the kitchen. Down went the va- gabond, entered the kitchen, and walked up stairs, where, as he anticipated, he found the gentleman quite alone and helpless. ‘I am sorry, sir, to see you in this situation,’ said the rogue ; ‘you cannot move, and your servant is out.” The gentleman stared. ‘It is exces- sively careless of you to leave yourself so ex- posed, for behold the consequences. I take the liberty of removing this watch and these seals off the table, and putting them into my own pocket ; and, as I perceive your keys are here, I shall now open these drawers, and see what suits my purpose.’ ‘Oh! pray help yourself, I beg,’ replied the gentleman, who was aware that he could do nothing to prevent him. The rogue did so accordingly; he found the plate in the sideboard drawer, and many other articles which suited him, and in about ten minutes, having made up his bundle, he made the gentleman a very low bow, and decamped. But the gentleman had the use of his hands, and had not been idle; he had taken an exact likeness of the thief with his pencil, and on his servant returning soon after, he despatched him immediately to Bow Street with the drawing, and an account of what happened. ‘The likeness was so good, that the man was immediately identified by the runners, and was captured before he had time to dispose of a single article purloined. He was brought to the gentleman in two hours afterwards, identified, the. property found on him sworn to, and, in six weeks, he was on his passage to Botany Bay.pnp RSPR K CHAPTER XXII London, November. WE have the signs of the times here. T peep through ‘the fog, and see quite enough to salisfy'‘me that the prosperity is but partial. Money in plenty, but lying in heaps—not circulated. J¢very one hugs his bag, and is waiting to see what the event may be. Re- trenchment is written up as evident as the prophetic words of fire upon the walls of Belshazzar's palace—7Yo Jlet—to let—to Jet. Leave London in any direction, and you find the same mystical characters everyone hun- dred yards of the road. ‘This beautiful villa, this cottage ornée, this capital house with pieasure-grounds, this mansion and park—all —all to let. It is said that there are upwards of seven thousand of these country seats to let within twelve miles of the metropolis. Again, look at the arms of the carriages which still roll through the streets, and you will perceive that if not with a coronet or supporters, nine out of ten have the widow's Jdozenge. Ani why so? because they belong to the widows of those who died in the times of plenty, and who left them large jointures upon their estates. They, of course, can still support, and even better support, the expense; but the estates now yield but sufficient to pay the jointure, and the incumbent swallows up the whole. And where are the real owners of the properties? At Paris, at Naples, at Brussels, if they can afford to be in a capital—if not, dispersed over Belgium, Switzerland, and Italy—retrenching in other countries, or living more comfortably upon their incomes. How many millions, for it does amount to millions, are now spent on the continent, enriching the people of other countries, and in all proba- bility laying up for those countries the sinews for another war to be directed against Eng- land!) How much of wretchedness and :star- vation has been suffered in our own country within these few years, which, if our’ people had ‘not been living abroad, might never have been felt ! Where are the élite of our aristo- cracy?) ‘Whére are our country gentlemen who used to keep opén house at their estates, disseminating their wealth and producing happiness? All driven abroad—society dis- jointed—no leader of fashion to sét the ex- ample, by luxurious entertainments, of dis- seminating that wealth which ultimately finds its way into the greasy pocket of the labourer or mechanic. Shops opened late and closed early. Gin palaces, like hell, ever open to a customer. “The pulse of London hardly beats —it is perceptible, but no more: Nothing is active but the press, and the pressure from fo OLLA PODRIDA. without. But who would remain ten days in London in the month of November, when he can go away, without he had'serious thoughts of suicide? Candles at high noon, yellow fogs, and torches in mid-day, do not suit me, so I'm off again to a purer atmosphere, CHAPTER XXII. Spa, June go. YESTERDAY I fell in with two old friends, who, from a mere ‘ truant disposition,’ joined perhaps with a little good-will towards me, came over to Spa. As soon as their arrival had been announced, I-went to them, and at their request joined their dinner. After our first greetings, B——, who not only appears, but really is, a man of fashion, in the best sense of the term, wanted his snuff-box. It was in his bedroom, and his bedroom was locked by the servant, who had taken the key and gone out. The consequence was, that B—— had to wait some time, and until the man came back. I have always had a great aversion to a valet when constantly moving about on the continent, as a single man; and, although I do not now, as I used to do when a midshipman, brush my own clothes and black my own shoes, yet I like indepéndence in everything, and infinitely prefer doing any- thing myself, to being’ waited upon ; for, ge- nerally speaking, it-is the master who za7fs and not the man. ‘I wonder you bother yourself with such a travelling appendage, B—-—,” observed I, giv- ing him a pinch of snuff to quiet his impa- tience. “I. have never lately’ travelled* with one.. ‘My dear feillow—the comfort of it—you have no idea. 1t would be impossible to get on without one.’ ‘Quite impossible,’ observed W——, my other acquaintance. ‘I have been brought up in a school in Which the word impossible. has been erased from the language.’ “Well, but the comfort of it. When you arrive, dirty and dusty, your portmanteau opened, all your articles of dress laid out.’ ‘I'can do all that myself sooner than he can; ‘and, as I must wait till it be done, I may as well do it myself.’ ‘Yes, so you may, but then the security ; everything locked up, which, in a strange ho- tel, is so necessary.’ ‘I lock my own room, and know where to find the key when I come in.’ ‘Very likely ; but still it is impossible to travel comfortably without a valet.’ rejoined. W--—, 4 “Quite impossible,’DIARY ON THE CONTINENT ‘ Be it so,’ replied 1; ‘we differ in opinion. All I'can say is, that necessary as a valet is when stationary he is a nuisance when you travel ex ovrcon, : The conversation dropped, and we sat down to dinner; the time passed away, as it always does, when old friends, who respect and like each other, meet, after an absence of some months. After dinner we smoked cigars ; and, as the evening advanced, there were none left on the table. B—— rang the bell for his servant to procure others; the servant had gone out and was nowhere to be found, and for security had lockéd the bedroom door and taken the key with him. So we drank our claret, and Waited for his return. ‘ Thinks I to myself’—— but I said nothing, At last we waited till past twelve o'clock; but the gentleman’s gentleman was nowhere to be found. 3—— was angry with the. man, W—— had thrown himself on the sofa. He wished to go to bed after a long day’s travel ; but his key was also, for security, in the valet's pocket, who had been searched for everywhere without success. _B—-— begged me not to re- main out of politeness ; but I did remain not out of politeness, but of ‘malice,’ as the French term it. ‘I had too much ple i their company to think of leaving them ; we continued to sip brandy-and-water. last, three o’clock came, B—— was out of all patience, W—— snoring onthe sofa, and I quite delighted. The sun should have poured his beams upon us before I would have gone away. The bell was rung, but in vain, for the waiters would wait no longer. It was pro- posed to send for a menuisier to pick the lock ; but how was one to be found at three o'clock in the morning? At last the valet, drunk and reeling in his morning .jacket, entered the room. ‘The keys! the, keys!’ demanded B——- in wrath. ‘The keys !’ roared W——, who had woke up. ‘I have them,’ replied the valet, with a most knowing leer, facetiously smiling. ‘I have them—all safe—all right, gentlemen. Here they are,’ continued the man, pulling them out, and presenting them as if he had done a very clever thing. ‘ Here they are you see.’ [he man was too tipsy to be expostulated with, and the gentlemen took their keys in silence. ‘And now,’ said I, ‘gentlemen, I wish you a very good-night. You have fully established the extreme com/ort ofa travelling valet, and the impossibility of doing without one.” It was a glorious victory, although to get owt.of the house I had to open a window and leap from it, and to get zz/o my own house at that hour was even more difficult. CHAPTER XOXIEL I HAVE been reading Jesse’s ‘Gleanings.’ Is he quite correct ?. Ihave my doubts. In one point I certainly do not agree with him, in his favourite opinion of eats. I do, however, know an instance of misplaced affection in a cat, which, although it does not add to the moral character of the race, is extremely curious for more reason: i one, and: as. it happened in my own fami ys [can vouch for its authenticity. A little black spaniel had five puppies, which were considered too many for her to bring up. As, however, the. breed was much in request, her mistress was unwill- ing that any of them should be destroyed, and she asked the cook whether she thought it would be possible to. bring a portion of them up by hand before the kitchen fire. In reply, the cook observed that the cat had that day kittened, and that, perhaps, the puppies might be substituted for her ‘progeny. ‘The experi- ment was made, two ofthe kittens were re- moved, and two puppies substituted. The cat made no objections, took to them kindly, and gradually all the kittens were taken away, and the cat nursed the two puppies only. Now, the first curious fact was, that the two puppies nursed by the cat were, in a fortnight, as active, forward, and playful as kittens would have been : they had the use of their legs, barked, and gambolled about ; while the other three, nursed by the mother, were whin- ing and rolling about like fat slugs. The cat gave them her tail to play with, and they were always in motion; they very soon ate meat, and long before the others they were fit to be removed. ‘This was done and the cat became very inco able. She, prowled about the house, and on the second day of tribulation fell in with the little spaniel, who was nursing the other three puppies. ‘O ho!’ says Puss, putting up her back, ‘it is, you who have stolen my children.’ ‘No,’ replied the Spaniel, with a snarl, ‘they are my own flesh and blood.’ ‘That won’t do,’ said the cat, ‘IIL take my oath before any justice of the peace that you have my two puppies.’ . Thereupon issue was joined, that is to.say, there was a desperate combat, which ended in the defeat of the spaniel, and the cat walking proudly off with one of the puppies, which she took to her own bed..,- Having deposited this one, she re- turned, fought again, gained another victory, and redeemed another puppy. Now itis very singular that she should have only taken two, the exact number she had been deprived of, Does this not prove toacertain extent the power of calculating numbers in animals 2 and does not the precocity of the two puppies brought up by the cat, infer there are someow RRP RLIN TATRA EOE OO scmiaenee mer at 44 OLLA PODRIDA. grounds for the supposition that with the milk is imbued much of the nature and disposition of the mother? A few experiments made on these points would be interesting, and we should have a new science, that of lacteology, to add to craniology, in our nurture and rear- ing of the species. This reminds me of a singular fact, little known. ‘The Burmahs, who are disciples of Gaudma, equally with the inhabitants of Pegu and Syriam, whose country they have con- quered, worship the White Elephant, who 1s considered as a god. ‘Chere have been but three white elephants since the foundation of the Burmah dynasty by Alompraa. The first one is dead, and I have one of his teeth carved with figures, which was consecrated to the great Dagon Pagoda. The second now reigns = he j is attended by hundreds, wears a how d: uh, or cloth, studded with 1 precious stones, which is said to be worth a million of money. He also wears his bangles or armlets on each leg, and fares sumptuously every ‘day. White ele- phants are very scarce; the colour is occa- sioned by a disease in the animal, a species of leprosy. An elephant hunter in these coun- tries, who is fortunate enough to capture a white elephant, is immediate ly created a noble, and advanced to high honour and wealth. The third white elephant, of which I am about to speak particularly, and who may be con- sidered as the heir apparent, was taken a few months previous to our declaring war against the Burmahs. He was very young; his mother had been killed, and he yet required partial nourishment. He w as brought to Ran- goon, established in one of vhe best houses in the place, and an edict was sent forth from the capital, ordering that twenty-four of the most healthy young married women should be dedicated to his wants, and if they fell off in powers of nourishment, be replaced by others. This was considered an honour—for were they not nursing a God? Major Canning, the political agent, who went to see this curious spectacle, described to me as follows: ‘The animal was not above three feet and a few inches high, its colour was a dirty gray, rather than white ; it was very healthy, playful, and in good spirits. When I went into the room, which was very spacious, and built of teak- wood, the twenty-four nurses were sitting or lying on mats about the room, some playing at draughts and other games, others working. The elephant walking about, looking at them and what they were doing, as if he understood all about it. After a short time, the little deity felt hungry, and, with his trunk, he pushed some of the women, but to annoy him they would not yield to his solicitations. When he became angry and was too rough for them, they submitted, and he put his trunk round their waists in the most affection- ate manner, while he was supplying himself I did not see the animal myself, as immedi- ately that they heard of our arrival at the mouth of the river , they despatched him under a strong guard toa place of security. But I should like to ascertain hereafter, whether his nurture made him a more reasonable being than are elephants in general. How one’s thoughts fly away over time and Space !. ‘Whata rush of incidents crowd into My memory, merely from having mentioned this circumstance of the white elephant. I did not once intend to have written a narrative of what passed during our sojourn in that country, for I saw more of the inhabitants than most people ; but others have forestalled me, and it is now too late. Nevertheless, it will perhaps amuse the reader, if, without entering into the military details, I mention a few of the operations and scenes which then occurred, It shall be so then, and we will discourse a little about the Burmahs. An Armenian merchant who resided there told me a story one day which was curious. The King of Pegu was ‘possessed of the most splendid Tuby i in the world, both as to size and colour. This was well known ; it was the boast of the nation.. When the Burmahs subdued the kingdom of Pegu, the old king with all his family were taken prisoners, vast treasure was also captured, but the great ruby was not to be found, notwithstanding the tor- ture and beheading of thousands. With the usual barbarity of Hine countries, the old king, a miserable paralytic little man, was stripped naked and confined in an iron cage, which I saw when I was at Rangoon. In this confinement he lived for ten or twelve years, every festival day being brought out and exposed to the derision of the populace. At last he died, and his body was thrown out to be devoured by the dogs and birds of prey. One of the soldiers who assisted to drag the body out of the cage, turned it over with his foot, and perceived that his right hand grasped a lump of damma (a sort of pitch), which curiosity induced the Burmah to force out with the point of his spear. This had been observed before, but the Burmahs, who are very superstitious and carry about with them all sorts of charms, imagined it to be a charm for his paralysis or palsy with which he was afflicted, and therefore had allowed him to re- tain it. sut When the Burmah took. it up, the weight of it convinced him that it was not all damma: he examined it, and found that it was the great ruby of the Pegu kingdom which had been lost, and which the old man had for so many years, in a state of nudity and incarceration, held in his left hand. I asked one of the Burmah chiefs whether this rubyDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. how in the possession of the King of Ava was so fine as represented: his answer was in truly Eastern hyperbole—‘ Dip it in the Irra- waddy,’ said he (that is, an enormous river seven hundred miles long and in many parts several miles broad), ‘and the whole water will turn to blood.’ I have said that the Burmahs are very superstitious : they have a great variety of charms which they wear about their persons, but there is one custom of theirs which is very singular. They polish rubies ; that is, without cutting them in facettes, but merely the stone, whatever its primitive shape, is rubbed down on every side until it is perfectly smooth. They then make an incision in the flesh, generally the arm or leg, put in the ruby, and allow the skin to heal over it, so that the stone remains there. Soldiers and sailors in search of plunder will find out anything, and this practice of the Burmahs was soon dis- covered ; and, after the assault and carrying of a stockade, you would see the men passing their hands over the bodies, and, immediately they felt a rising in the limb, out with their knives, and cut in for the rubies. Indeed, the plunder was more considerable than might be imagined, for every Burmah carried all his wealth about his person. Another singular custom arising from their superstition prevails among this people. The king has a corps denominated /zvu/nerables, whose ranks are filled up in this manner :-— When a criminal is condemned to death for certain offences, such as robbery, he is per- mitted to challenge as an zxvulnerable. ‘This is proved by his standing at a certain distance from several men, who fire at him with ball. Should he not be wounded or killed, he is pronounced an invulnerable, and enrolled in the corps. In every stockade we attacked, there were always one or two of these men, and they really appeared to believe in their own powers. They generally stood above the timbers of the stockade, dancing and capering as the boats advanced, and continued their extravagance amidst a shower of bullets, ex- posing their persons in a most undaunted manner. There was one fellow, dressed in a short red jacket, and nothing else except the cloth round his loins, who was well known to our men; they called him Happy Fack, from the capers which he used to cut, and somehow or another it was his good fortune never to be hit, at least, not that we know of, for taking stockade after stockade, at every fresh attack there was Happy Jack to be seen capering and shouting as usual, and never ceasing to expose himself until the troops had landed and were about to scale the fortress. It was quite amusing to hear the men shout out with laughter,’ ‘ By heavens, there’s 45 Happy Jack again!’ I hope he is alive ‘at this moment ; at all events, he deserves to be. CHAPTER XXIV. Spa. YES, now Spa is agreeable; we have no redoubte open with fools losing their money, no English passants looking after amusement, no valetudinarians drinking the poupon, no Spa boxes crowding every window ; we are now asa Spa should be, a coterie of houses in a ravine, surrounded by the mountains of the Ardennes, crowding and shoving up together in mutual protection against the deep snow and the forest wolves. ‘There is something new in this: most of the houses are shut up, the shop windows are all bare, the snow is two feet deep in the streets, the mountains on every side are white, the icicles hang upon the leafless boughs, and the rivulets are enchained. All is one drear blank ; and, except the two-horse diligence which heaves slowly in sight three or four hours past its time, and the post (which is now delivered at nine o'clock instead of noon) there is no stich thing as an arrival ; the boys slide upon their little sledges down the hills, the cattle are driven home, the church clock strikes, and, unless we are enlivened by the crowd assembled round;a countryman, who ss Of a wolf which he appears with the c has been fortunate enough to kill, we are all quiet, monotony, and peace; in fact, Spa. now that it is a desert, has become, to me at least, agreeable. They say this hard winter promises plenty of wolves; if so, [ recommend those who are fond of excitement to come here. Indeed, it will be profitable, for, if they are active hunts- men, they can pay their expenses. A dead horse costs little, and in Spa. as they give very little to the horses to eat in the summer, and nothing at all in the winter, they die fast. You have only to drag the carcass to an gut- house at a little distance from the town, and with your rifle watch during the night. ‘The wolves will come down to prey upon the car- rion, and itis hard if you do not kill your couple during the night, and then you are rewarded by the commune. I do not know what the price is now, but, when the King of Holland was in possession of Belgium, it was one hundred francs for a male, and three hundred francs for a female wolf. Now a brace a night, four hundred francs, or sixteen pounds, is not a bad night's earning : in Spa it would keep a half-pay officer for three months. There is a curious story here, proving the sagacity of a wolf which came down anAan AP TORE Peaaeprsen hour before dusk into the town, and made off with a child of two years old in her mouth. The cry was raised, and the pursuit imme- diate. After following her track for many miles, she gained upon them, it became quite dark, and the people returned homewards, melancholy at the fate of the poor child. When they were about half way back they heard the wail of an infant, and, guided by it, they arrived at.a thick bush, where they found the child alive and unhurt. The wolf, finding that her pursuers gained upon her, had depo- sited the child there, intending to return and make a meal of it upon a more fayourable opportunity. We have had nothing to excite us within these last few days but the death and_ burial of an old curate. He died in all the odour of Sanctity three days ago, and was buried yes- terday. He was not loved or even liked, for he wanted that greatest of all gifts—charity. His situation was. worth, with offerings, six thousand francs a year,—a_ large sum in this country. , But he did not give to the poor ; he exacted from them, and_ they religiously obeyed him, no one killing a pig or anything else without a present of part of it to the curate. _When the old man was told that he could not live, the ruling passion’still governed him, He sent for a person to dispose of for him the sundry pieces of pork which he had gathered as presents, then took the extreme unction, and died. His will jis not known, but he is supposed to. be very rich, and whe- ther he leaves his wealth to some nephews, .or to support a hospital here which is at present without funds, is a question of some interest. He was buried in great parade and procession, followed by hundreds holding candles. He was dressed in his best, and every one. said that he never looked so clean or so Well in his life. He was carried on an open, brancard, with his canonical hat on his head ; the snow fell fast and settled on his face and clothes, but he felt it not.. The funeral was as cold as his charity, the thermometer being. exactly 73° below. the freezing point. IExcept. the procession of the dead curate and of a dead wolf, we have had nothing to interest us for the last ten days. But I promised. to talk about the Burmahs. There have been two or three accounts of the military movements, but there has been no inquiry or examination into the-character of the people, which, in my opinion, is of more importance than is generally supposed ; for, although the East India Company. may imagine that they have done with, the Bur- mahs, it is my conyiction that the Burmahs have not done with them, and even I may live to witness the truth of my assertion. It certainly is a point of some interest to 46 OLLA PODRIDA. ascertain, from whence the. Burmah nation originally came; that they are not aborigines L think most certain. They are surrounded by the Cochin Chinese, the Chinese, and the Hindoos,..all -races. of inferior stature and effeminate in person, with ‘little or no. beard. Now the Burmahs) are a very powerful race, very muscular in their limbs, possessing great strength, and energy; generally speaking, I should say that they, are: rather, taller than . uropeans., They have the high cheek bones of the ‘Tartar, but. not. the, small eyes; they have strong hair and beards, and certainly would remind you of a cross between. the Jew and the Tartar. This is.singular, and it gave the idea.to, some. of those, who are. fond. of indulging in theory, that; they might be the remnants. of that portion. of the Jews who, when permitted to leave Babylon; instead of going east with the others, bent their. course to the westward, and. were never. spoken of afterwards, . But the only props they had to this argument were the appearance of the people, the weight,.in silver being called .the tekel, or shekel, and the great pagoda having the name of the Dagox pagoda. At least I heard of no more to support. the argument but those three, which can hardly. be \suffi- cient, although the comecidence ofthe two words is singular, The Burmahs are semi-barbarous ; but this term, must,.be used in the most favourable light, .because,,. surrounded: on every side by people who are wedded to their own customs, the Burmahs have a liberality and.a desire to Improve, Which is. yery remarkable. I. never met with any Burmah, not even a lad, who could not, read ,and), write ;.. they. allow any form of religion to be made use of, and churches of any, description to ‘be built by foreigners, but. they do not like. missionaries making converts of their own people ; for, ‘as the king is the head:of the religion, conversion 1S. a breach of allegiance. One of the. mis- sionaries had an audience with the king, and demanded permission to. make proselytes. The king replied that the missionary might convert as.many as, he pleased,:-but that he would cut all.their.heads off afterwards...The missionary, had not much trouble, when this answer was.made known, in counting the heads of his proselytes. In their,own religion, which is. Buddhism, the: Burmahs appear.to be very relax; it is too absurd for the energy of their minds, ‘Those who enter the priesthood wear a yellow dress; but if;a priest any time feels disposed to. quit his profession, he is.at liberty so to do, All he has to do is to throw off his yellow garment; but at the same time he can never resume, it., The, Burmahs, are. super- stitious about charms, ‘but are not supersti- tious on religious points. In fact, there isDIARY ON.THE CONTINENT. 4 very little religion among them, and had we, at the close of the war, instead of demanding a crore of rupees, insisted that they should embrace Christianity, the king would have given the order; and the whole nation would have nominally been Christians., I. once asked a Burmah’ soldier what was his idea of a future state. His idea of bliss was singular : ‘I shall be turned into a buffalo, ‘and shall lie down in a meadow of grass higher than my head, and eat-—all-day long, and there ‘won't be a single mosquito to annay me.’ While on the subject of iveligion, I may here observe, that at the capture of Rangoon I entered a Chinese temple, the altar-piece, if I may use the term,),was the Ganesa of the Hindoos, not seated on the lotus leaf, but on the Chinese rat. On each side of this were two little candelabra, formed of the 1 an ibis, holding. the, oil cups) in its beak, I also found the Hounyman, or monkey god of the Hindoos, and Buddhist figures. I once observed some sepoys playing and laughing at a bronze image they had picked up at the pagoda of Syriam, and, on examining it, I was surprised to find that it was a figure of the,Egyptian Isis, with her hand raised, and’ her person in, the positi described as the correct one when blessing the world. . The art of embaiming appears to be known to the Burmahs, and. is occasionally practised by the priests. At the capture of the old Portuguese fort at Syriam, I found, not far from. it, ja sort. of canopied, shed, decorated with carving, cut paper, and tinsel, and supported by four pillars, like a bedstead. ‘Below, lay the body of a priest, embalmed and gilt. L intended to have brought this home, but, before I arrived there, I found one of my marines, a graceless, dog without religion or any other good quality, very busy hammering the mummy, to pieces with the butt end of his musket... L was-very angry, and. ordered him to désist.. In excuse he replied that it was an abominable. molten image, and it was, his duty, as a good Christian, to destroy it—the only evidence of Christianity ever witnessed on that fellow’s part-. On. examination, I found that the body had. been wrapped. in sundry clothes, and, like) the ark of Noah, pitched within and without; over the clothes was a coat of damma, then of chunam,.and lastly it was. gilt ; the head of the mummy was fictitious, and formed of a cocoa-nut, the real skull being where, inthe mummy, would have appeared to have been the breast of the body., It did not smell much, but there were a great, many small scarabei inside, and it was so mutilated that I did not remove it... The Burmahs are cleanly in their houses, which generally, are, raised from the ground a. few feet, so as to allow the pigs, which are the a scavengers of the town, to walk under. They have houses of brick, or stone and mortar, such as the custom-house at Rangoon, and one or two others ; but the most. substantial houses are: usually built of thick teak plank. The smaller houses and cottages are built of bamboo, the floors and walls being woven like -wicker-work. The cleanliness and the beauty of these houses; when new: are very remarkable, and, what is still: more so, the rapidity with which they are built.. I have known an officer order a house to be built of three rooms, with doors and windows to each, and: of a comfortable size, and three or four 3urmahs will complete this houseina day, and thatch the roof over. In another point, the Burmahs show a_ degree of. ‘civilization which might be an example to the northern Athens—to every house ithere.is a very neat and clean cloaca. The government, like all in.Asia, is most despotic; and the people have the faults which are certain to be generated by despotism— but not to that degree which might be ex- pected. They have their hereditary nobility, and the orders of it are:very clearly defined. They consist of gold chains, worn round the neck, with four plates or chased bosses divid- ing them; the lowest order wears the bosses linked, together by three chains, the next highest in degree with six, the next nine, and the last and highest order has twelve; the king only wears twenty-four chains. The use of gold and silver,.as drinking cups, &c., is only permitted .to [the nobility... They are very clever in chasing of metals, and, they have a description, of work in glass and, enamel, quite their own, with which they decorate the temples, houses, of the. priests, and coffers containing the, Sacred volumes. Their orna- mental writings,in the Pali language, a variety of the Sanscrit; known only to the priests, are also very beautiful—especially that upon long leaves. of ivory.. Upon the whole, their ma- nufactures are superior to all around them, except perhaps the Chinese. ‘The women are'small, and delicately formed, in proportion to the men; they-are not shut up, but go, where they please ; their dress is becoming; they braid the hair with flowers, and they are much fairer than would be sup- posed. Those who keep much within doors are nearly. as white as Europeans. They have a singular custom of putting a patch of white chunam on, the cheek bone, something in op- position to the black patches which used, for- merly to be worn by our belles; and it is in- tended to show how near they approach to white. Indeed, when the men of the lower class, who are exposed :all. day to the snn, remove their garments, it is singular to wit- ness how many shades lighter they are in thatpart of their bodies which is covered up. Usually, the men have but one wife, but oc- casionally there are supernumeraries. The laws of the Burmahs appear to be good, but, as in all despotic countries, they are not acted upon unless it pleases the ruler. Slavery of a certain species is allowed. Should one man be in debt to another, he is summoned before the chief; if he states his inability to pay, he is asked how many chil- dren he has, and according to the debt, so are his children given in bond slavery to his debtor, who writes oft acertainsum every year untilthey are free. Ifhe has no children, his wife, or him- self perhaps, will be bonded in the same man- ner. But in this case, where ill-treatment can be proved, the bondage will be removed > and further, any person so bonded, may at his or her wish remove to the service of another master, provided they can. find one who will pay to the debtor the amount still due, and thus finish the time of servitude under one whom they like better. ‘These bonds are all in writing, and must be produced. Some of our military officers released several of the young women from their slavery. Siting down in your presence is, among the Burmese, a mark of respect, [every poor man who is sent for, immediately drops down on his hams in the corner of the room, or at the portal. The use of the cocoa, or betel nut, is universal among the men, but not so common with the women until they grow old. ‘The consequence is, that the teeth of the men are quite black and decayed while those of the young women are very good. The most remarkable feature in the charac- ter of the Burmahs is their good temper, I think they are the most even tempered race I ever met with. ‘They are always gay, always content under any privation. I had, as will be seen hereafter, more opportunities of seeing into the character of this people than others had, for we mixed with them in amity for some weeks. They are very fond of marionettes and puppet playing, and are very amusing mimics. ‘They work very hard, and with the greatest cheerfulness. They have a high re- spect for the English, or the white faces, as they callus ; and the superiority of our war- like instruments, and our ships, was a subject of wonder, and, at the same time, of most careful examination. ‘They perceive how far they are behind us, and are most anxious to improve. From this reason, joined to others, it was a pity that we ever made war with the Burmahs ; they had made an easy conquest of those around them, and were satisfied with their supposed superiority, but now they are not, for they are active and enterprising, fond of war, and will not be content until they have improved their system, ‘Twenty years 48 OLLA PODRIDA. hence we shall find the Burmahs a much more formidable nation than they are at present, for they have every quality necessary to become the first nation in the East : indeed, when we consider with what weapons they defended themselves, and the nature of the warfare, it is not a little to their credit that they held out for nearly three years against the power of Great Britain. CHAPTER XXV. February, 1836. THE Burmahs are decidedly a brave nation : the government being despotic, their rulers are cruel, but the people are not. [state this, as cowardice and cruelty usually go hand in hand. Good temper and generosity are the prominent features in their character—excel- lent materials to work upon in judicious hands. I witnessed acts of courage at the early part of the war, before the Burmahs found out how impossible it was to cope with our superior arms, Which were most surprising, and which excited our admiration. ‘They are peculiarly a warlike nation ; indeed, they are fond of war. ‘Every man ‘is ‘4 soldier, and when ordered out to join the ranks, obeys without receiving any pay, providing his own arms. This fact, at once, establishes that they are inclined to war. Their arms generally consist of a double-handed sword, a Weapon of great force, and very large spears; but every one will possess a musket if he can, and if it has not a lock, he will fire it with a match. It is in this point that the Burmahs are so deficient in arms: we used to consider it a very coura- geous act to venture to fire off a Burmese musket, they were in such a wretched condi- tion : and to crown all, every man makes his own gunpowder. Now it may be easily ima- gined what stuff this must be ‘ as, previous to an expected combat, each Burmah sits down and composes the article to the best of his knowledge and belief. The consequences are, that when these muskets do go off (and it is ten to one they do not), it is again ten to one that the bullet falls short, from the inefficacy of the powder. There is another singular fact, and one which proves that they have been used to muskets but a short time: it is, that they have no bullet-moulds or leaden bullets. All their bullets are of iron, ham- mered as round as they can hammer them at the forge; of course the windage produced by this imperfect shape, occasions it to deviate much from its intended direction. The guns on their stockades and war-boats are equally defective from bad powder, and the hammered iron bullets. It is difficult toDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. know where they could have collected such a curious assemblage. Sometimes you will fall in with a small brass piece of exquisite Spanish manufacture, at others you will find them of the strangest forms that can be conceived. [ rather think they were purchased, or taken as a part of the duties on vessels trading to Ran- goon. T[ recollect once at the first taking of a stockade, we knocked off the trunnions of an old iron gun, and left it there as useless. The Burmahs reoccupied the Stockade, and we had to take it a second time, when we found that they had most ingeniously supplied the want of trunnions with iron hoops and riveis, and the gun was firéd at us before we entered. At another time we entered a stock- ade which had kept up a brisk fire for a few minutes, and to our surprise found that they had made wooden guns very well bound and braced with iron hoops. Of course these guns would not fire more than two or three shots each, as the touch-holes became inflamed, and were soon so large as to render the guns unserviceable; but [ mention these points, to prove the perseverance of these people, and the efforts they made in their own defence. After the first campaign it is true that they deserted, and the levies were made by force; but the reason of this, for I inquired into it, was not that they had any objection to fight, but that, fighting without pay, they wanted to go home and put the seed into the ground, as otherwise their wives and families would starve. ‘The Burmah war-boats are very splendid craft, pulling from eighty to one hundred oars ; the Burmahs manage them very dexter- ously, and will pull them from seven to eight miles an hour. ‘They have a war-boat dedi- cated to the Deity, which brought intelligence that saved the nation at the time of the war with the empire of Pegu, in a space of time so short, as almost to appear incredible. As I before observed, the gun mounted on the boat’s bow is of little effect, but their spears are really formidable. At a night at- tack upon some of our vessels, anchored off a stockade which they wanted to regain, I had an evidence of the force with which they are thrown. ‘The sides of the vessels were covered with them, sticking out like porcupine’s quills, and they had entered the plank with such force, that it required a very strong arm to pull them out again. We lost some men by them; the effect of a hundred spears hurtling through the air at the same time was singularly appalling to our men, who were not accus- tomed to the sound, especially during the night. I heard several of the sailors observe afterwards that they ‘did not like that at all,’ and [ am sure they would have infinitely pre- ferred to have been met with firearms. Some 49 of these spears were sixteen feet long, with an iron head, sharp at both sides, weighing from twelve to fourteen pounds. I haveseen bows and arrows in the possession of the Burmahs, bnt never have observed that they used them in their conflicts with us, They appeared to despise them. ‘The system of warfare and de- fence pursued by these people, is undoubtedly excellent for the peculiarities of the country. Their stockades are usually built of any thick teak timber, or rather squared trees, which are much too strong to be penetrated by any other than battering cannon, and, in consequence, were invariably carried by escalade. Some of them are built of b aboos, running froma foot to two feet in diameter. These are equally strong, with the peculiarity that if you fire cannon at them the bamboos yield, admit the shot, and then close again. If these stockades are not close to the river side, they usually have a deep ditch round them, and are further protected by what was more serious to us than the escalading, which were abbatis of pointed bamboos, stuck ina slanting direction in the ground. The slight wounds made by these bamboos brought on lock-jaw, and too often terminated fatally. In the attacks upon us at Rangoon they made their approaches with some degree of military skill, throwing up trenches as they advanced. Their fire-rafts on such a rapid river were also formidable. They have wells of petroleum up the couniry: their rafts were very large, and on them, here and there, were placed old canoes filled with this inflammable matter. When on fire it blazed as high as our maintop, throwing out flames, heat, and stink quite enough to drive any one away. I have mentioned their mode of warfare and their deficiencies, to prove that if the Burmahs had been as well provided with every species of arms equal to our own, the country would not have been so soon subjugated as it was. ‘Their system of defence was good, their bravery was undoubted, but they had no effective weapons. I strongly suspect that they will, now that they have been taught their inferi- ority, use every means to obtain them ; and if so, they will really become a formidable na- tion. As one proof of their courage, I will mention, that at every stockade there is a look- out man, perched on a sort of pole, about ten feet or more clear of the upper part of the stockade, ina situation completely exposed. I have often observed these men, and it was not till the cannonade had fairly commenced on both sides, that they came down, and when they did, it was without hurry ; indeed, I may say, ina most leisurely and indifferent manner. Of their invulnerables and their antics I have already spoken. In countries governed despotically, life is50 not so much valued as it is in others. The very knowledge that it may be taken in a mo- ment at the will of the rulers, renders even the cowardly comparatively indifferent. Hay- ing been accustomed from our earliest years to, anticipate an’ évent, when it actually arrives we meet it with composure and _ indif- ference. ‘The lad in Mngland, who is brought up to thieving, and who is continually re- minded by his parents, that he mest de hung before he is twenty, goes to the gallows when his turn comes with much Sang ‘froid. . So it is in a despotic, country, where the people witness the heads of their companions roll on the ground, and surmise how soon their own turn will come. I had more than one evidence of this during my stay. In one in- stance I wished to obtain information from a prisoner, but could extract none. He had been sitting between the carronades on deck for twenty-four hours, and some of the men or officers had given him a bowl of grog and a couple of cigars, with which he Wwas,busy when I interrogated him. As he professed ignorance, I told him that if he would not give me the desired information, I should take his head off; and I sent for the serjeant of marines, who appeared, With two of his party, and with his drawn sword, We called him out from between the guns, but he begged through the interpreter to be allowed to finish his BF) to which I consented: when that was done, he was again ordered out, but re- quested eave to finish about an inch of cigar which remained in his mouth. ‘To which I also acceded, not being in a particular hurry to do that which I never intended to do. During all this the man was perfectly com- posed,.and did not show the least alarin at his approaching fate. As soon as the cigar was finished, he bound his long hair up afresh, and made reparation. I again asked him if he would tell, but he pleaded ignorance, and stepped forward, went down.on his knees and took off the cloth from about his loins, which he spread on. the deck to receive his head, and then putting his hands .on the deck, held it in the position to be cut off. Not a muscle rembled, for’I watched the man carefully. He was of course remanded, and the sailors were so pleased with him, that he went on shore with more grog and more tobacco than he had probably ever seen in his life. The Burmahs have, extracting information from spies, &c., which I never saw practised by them, although it was borrowed from them by us. It was in our own quarter-master-general’s office that I witnessed this species of torture, So simple in its operation, and apparently so. dreadful in its effects. It consists of giving one single blow upon the region of the he: iru. SO ay tO OLLA. PODRIDA. however, a means of stop for some seconds the whole circulation. The way by which this is effected is as fol- lows :—the man—the Burmahs are generally naked to the waist—is made to. sit down,on the floor ; another man stands behind him, and Jeaning over him, takes.a very exact aim with his sharp bent elbow at the precise spot over his heart, and then strikes a blow which, from its being, propelled so very,mechanically, descends with increased force, The effect appears dreadful ; the dark hue of the sufferer’s face turns to a deadly white ; the perspiration bursts out from his forehead, and he trembles in every limb. JI never wit- nessed such apparent agony. . These blows repeated three or four times, will unman the most resolute, and they will call for death. as a favour. There is one point which must not be over- looked by the Indian government, and which, connected with what. Ihave already, men- tioned, makes the Burmese nation more for- midable; it is, the great contempt they have for the sepoys. And what is equally true, the fear which the sepoys have of.them. ‘The Burmahs are only afraid of the white faces, as I shall very soon establish, ‘They despise the sepoys, although they are so well. armed. Now, that the sepoys are good. troops; there can, be no doubt ; they have DTONEG it often; but at the same fme they a are, not, as some of the Indian officers have asserted in my: pre- sence, the best troops in, the world, and pre- ferable to Europeans. ‘That they are much easier to control, and that they excel in dis- cipline, I grant, because they are never intoxi- cated; but they haye, in the first place, very little stamina, and are, generally speaking, a small and very effeminately built race. Still they have fought well—very well; but they never fought well against the Burmahs ; and for this simple reason,—that superstition is more powerful than courage, and subdues it. The sepoys are very superstitious, and had the idea, which was never eradicated, that the Burmahs were charmed men, and. they never went out against them willingly, even. when they were headed by the English troops, As for the Burmahs’ contempt of them, it was notorious. I have myself seen; one of the Burmah prisoners at Rangoon lift HP a piece of timber that six of the sepoys could, hardly have, moved, and throw. it.down,. So. as to make it roll at the feet of the sepoy guard who watched him, making them all retreat severa paces, and then laugh at them in derision. But we had many more decisive proofs. The Burmahs had stockaded themselves about seven miles from Rangoon, and.it was deter- mined to dislodge them. Colonel S—, who was very partial to the native troops, was ordered on this service, and he requested par-DIARY ON Tit. CON ticularly that he might have no troops but the sepoys. Sir A. Campbell did not much like to consent, but, as the stockades were not higher than. breastworks, and the Burmahs not in very great force, he eventually yielded tothe Colonel’s arguments, . Fifteen hundred Sepoys were ordered out, and the Colonel vent on his expedition.. The Burmahs. had good intelligence that there were no European troops, and when the sepoys arrived, they did not, wait to be attacked, but attacked the sepoys, and put them completely to. the rout. One half of the sepoys were said to be killed ; the others came back to Rangoon in parties of ten or twelve, and in the utmost.consternation and ‘confusion. ,. Sir A. Campbell was, of course, much annoyed, and the next daya Iguropean force was.,despatched against the Burmahs. On their arrival they witnessed a dreadful and. disgusting scene. Along avenue had been cut in the wood, and on each side of, it were hung. by the heels, at equal, distances, shockingly mutilated, the naked bodies of the seven hundred and fifty sepoys killed. _The Burmahs did not, how- ever, attempt to. resist the European. force, but after.a few shots made their retreat. Now, this isa very important fact::. and it is a fact which cannot be denied, although it has not been made known....In India, there is a nominal force of three hundred thousand men, but they are scattered..over. such a vast extent of territory, that, allowing they could be made disposable, which they could not, it would require many months before they could be'collected, and if the Burmahs despise the sepoys, and the Sepoys dread the Burmahs, the only check against the latter will be the European troops ; and, of them how many can be called out. Not ten thousand, at the very utmost ; and the difficulty of collecting them was well; known at the commencement of the Burmah war... Vhere certainly isa great dif- ference, between attacking others in their own territories, and, defending ourselves; but if the Burmahs could hold out against us, as they did for nearly three years, without arms to cope with us, what might be the consequence if they were supplied with arms and officers by any other nation? . We have now a footing in the country, and it must be our, object to pre- vent the ingress of any other,,and to keep the 3urmahs as quiet and as, peaceable as we,can. But our very intercourse will. enlighten..them by degrees, and we have more to dread .from that quarter than from all the hordes ,of Russia or Runjeet Sing, and the whole. dis- affection of India. As I have more to say relative to. the. Bur- mahs, I will, in my next chapter, enter into a short. narrative of the expedition to Bassein. It was a bloodless one, although very impor- INENT, o tant tn 1ts:results : and circumstances occurred in it which will throw much light upon the character of the nation, CHAPTER oxy I: IT was not until many months. after the war 1ad been carried on, that Sir Archibald Campbell found himself in a position. to pene- trate into the heart of the-Burmah territory, and attempt the capital. He wanted almost everything, and among the rest reinforcements of men; for the rainy season had swept them off by thousands. At last, when determined to make the attempt, he did it with a most inadequate force ; so small that, had the Bur- mahs thought of even trenching up and barri- cading the roads at every half mile, he must have been compelled, without firing a shot, to have retreated. Fortunately, he had an acces- sion of men-of-war, and his river detachment was Stronger than he could have hoped for. I do not pretend to state the-total force which was embarked on the river or that which pro- ceeded - by. land, communicating with each other when. circumstances* permitted, as the major part.of the provisions of the army were, I believe, ,carried up by water. The. united river force was commanded. by Brigadier Cotton, Captain Alexander,. and. Captain Chads; the land forces, of course, by, Sir; As Campbell, who had excellent officers with him, but whose tactics. were of no use in this warfare of morass, mud, and jungle. It will be proper to explain why. it .was idered necessary to detach a part of the > Bassein. The Rangoon -river joins the. Irrawaddy on the left, about one, hun- dred and seventy miles from its flowing into the ocean. On. the right of the Irrawaddy is the river of Bassein, the: mouth of it about one hundred, and fifty miles from that of the Irra- waddy,.and running up the country in an angle towards, it until it joins it about four hundred miles up in the interior. The two rivers.thus enclose a large delta of land, which is the most fertile and best peopled of. the Burmah_ provinces, and it. was from -this delta that Bundoola, the Burmah_ general, received. ul his supplies of men. | Bundoola was in-the strong fortress of Donabue,; on the Bassein side, of the river, about half way be- tween where the Rangoon river joined it on the left, and the Bassein river communicated with ita long way farther up on. the right. Sir A. Campbell’s land forces were on. the left of the river, so that Bundoola’s communica- tion with the Bassein territory was quite open ; and as the river forces had to attack Donabue on their way up, the force sent to ccba OLLA PODRIDA, Bassein, was to take him in the rear and cut off his supplies. “This was a most judicious plan of the General’s, as will be proved in the sequel. Major S—, with four or five hundred men in three transports, the Larne, and the Mercury, Hon. Company's brig, were ordered upon this expedition, which sailed at-the same time that the army began to march and the boats to ascend the river. On the arrival at the mouth of the river we found the entrance most formidable in appear- ance, there being a dozen or more stockades of great extent; but there were but two manned, the guns of the others, as well as the men, having been forwarded to Donabue, the Burmahs not imagining, as we had so long left that part of their territory unmolested, that we should have attempted it. Our pas- sage was therefore easy ; after a few broad- sides, we landed and spiked the guns, and then, with a fair wind, ran about seventy miles up one of the most picturesque and finest rivers I was ever in. Occasionally the right lines of stockades presented themselves, but we found nobody in them, and passed by them in peace. But the river now became more intricate, and the pilots, as usual, knew nothing about it. It was, however, of little consequence ; the river was deep even at its banks, over which the forest trees threw their boughs in wild luxuriance. The wind was now down the river, and we were two or three days before we arrived at Bassein, during which we tided and warped how we could, while Major S— grumbled. If the reader wishes to know why Major S— grumbled, I will tell him-—-because there was no fighting. He grumbled when we passed the stockades at the entrance of the river because they were not manned ; and he grumbled at every dis- mantled stockade that we passed. But there was no pleasing S—; if he was in hard ac- tion and not wounded, he grumbled ; if he received a slight wound, he grumbled because it was not a severe one; if a severe one, he grumbled because he was not able to fight the next day. He had been nearly cut to pieces in many actions, but he was not content. Like the man under punishment, the drum- mer might strike high or strike low, there was no pleasing S—: nothing but the coup de grace, if he be now alive, will satisfy him. But notwithstanding this mania for being carved, he was an excellent and judicious officer. I have been told he iS since dead; if so, his majesty has lost one of the most de- voted and chivalric officers in his service, to whom might most justly be applied the words of Hotspur—‘ But if it be a sin to covet ho- nour, | am the most offending soul alive.’* * He is alive and well, and has since gained great distinction and honour. As I before observed, the branches of the trees hung over the sides of the river, and a circumstance occurred which was a source of great amusement. We had a little monkey, who had been some time on board, and was a favourite, as usual, of the ship’s company. The baffling winds very often threw us against the banks of the river, near which there was plenty of water ; and when this was the case, the bows of the trees were interlaced with the rigging of the ship. This unusual embracing between nature and art gave Jacko the idea of old times when he frolicked in the woods, and unable to resist the force of early associations, he stepped from the top-sail yard to the branch of a large tree, and when the ship had hauled off clear, we found that Jacko had de- serted. We lamented it, and ten minutes afterwards, thinking no more about him, we continued our course up the river. About an hour had elapsed, during which we had gained upwards of a mile, when again nearing the bank on that side, we heard a loud chattering and screaming. ‘That's Jacko, sir, said one of the men, and others expressed the same opinion. We manned the jolly-boat, and sent it on shore towards the place where the noise was heard. ‘The monkey did not wait till the bow of the boat touched the shore, but spring- ing into itwhen some feet off, he took his seat very deliberately on the stern, and was pulled on board, where immediately he flew up the side, caressing every one he met. The fact was, that Jacko had found several of his own race in the woods, but, like all wild animals, they immediately attacked one who had worn the chains of servitude, and Jacko had to fly for his life. We very often interlaced the rigging with the boughs after that, but the monkey remained quiet on the booms,' and showed not the slightest wish to renew his rambles. I think it was on the third day that we arrived below the town of Naputah, which was defended by a very formidable stockade, commanding the whole reach of the river. The stockade was manned, and we expected that it would be defended, but as we did not fire, neither did they; and we should have passed it quietly, had not S— grumbled so much at his bad luck. “The next day we ar- rived at Bassein, one of the principal towns in the Burman empire. Here again the major was disappointed, for it appeared that, on hearing of the arrival of the expedition at the entrance of the river, the people had divided into two parties, one for resistance, the other for submission. This difference of opinion had ended in their setting fire to the town and immense magazines of grain, dismantling the stockades, and the major part of the inhabit- ants flying into the country. The consequenceDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. Was, that we took possession of the smoking tuins without opposition. _ It was soon observed that the people were tired of the protracted war, and of the desola- tion occasioned by it. They wanted to return to their wives and families, who were starving. But up to this time the chiefs had remained faithful to Bundoola, who had amassed stores and provisions at Bassein, intending to retreat upon it, should he be driven out of the fortress of Donabue; and as long as he held that fortress, receiving from Bassein his supplies of men and of provisions. The Burmahs were so unwilling to fight any longer, that they were collected by armed bands, and made prisoners by the chiefs, who sent them up as required ; and many hundreds were still in this way detained, enclosed in stockaded ground, and watched by armed men, in several towns along the river. An expedition was first despatched up the river, to its junction with the Irrawaddy, as there was a town there in which was the dockyard of the Burmahs, all their war boats, and canoes of every de- scription being duz/¢ at that place. ‘They ascended without difficulty, and, after a little skirmishing, took possession of the place, burnt all the boats built or building, and then returned to Bassein. Of course, we had then nothing to do: Major S—’s orders were to join Sir A. Camp- bell, if he possibly could ; which, with much difficulty, he ultimately effected. We must now return to the Irrawaddy expedition sent up at the same time that Sir A. Campbel marched by land, and our expedition went up the Bassein river. This force arrived at Donabue before we had gained Bassein. It found a most for- midable fortress, or rather, three fortresses in one, mounting a great number of guns, and, as I before observed, held by Bundoola, the commander of the Burmah forces, in whom the Burmah troops placed the greatest confi- dence. I speak from hearsay and memory, but I believe I am correct when I state that there were not less than ten thousand men in Donabue, besides war elephants, &c. Now the river force did not amount in fighting men certainly to one thousand, and they were not in sufficient strength to attack a place of this description, upon which every pains had been taken for a Jong while to render it im- pregnable. ‘The attack was however made, and the smaller stockade of the three carried ; but when they had possession of the smallest stockade, they discovered that they were at the mercy of the second, and in a sort of trap. ‘The consequence was, defeat—the only defeat experienced by the white troops during the whole war. The troops were re-embarked, and the boats were obliged to drop down the 22 river clear of the fire of the fort. I believe two hundred and fifty English troops were left dead in the stockade, and the next day their bodies, crucified on rafts, were floated down among the English boats by the triumphant Bundoola. In the meantime a despatcl: had been sent to Sir A. Campbell, who was in ad- vance on the banks of the river; stating that the force afloat was not able to cope with the fortress, the real strength of which no one had been aware The consequence was, that Sir A. Campbell retraced his steps, crossed the river, and attacked it in conjunction with the flotilla, Sir A. Campbell taking it in the rear. After some hard fighting, in which the elephants played their parts, the troops gained possession, and Bundoola having been killed by a shell, the Burmahs fled. Now it was very fortunate that the expedition had been sent to Bassein, for otherwise the Burmahs would have failen back upon that place, which held all theirstores, and would thus have been able to continue in the rear of Sir A. Camp- bell, as he advanced up the river. But they had heard of the destruction and capture of Bassein, and consequently directed their flight up the river towards the capital. We were in possession of all these circumstances shortly after we had taken possession of Bassein; and although the death of Bundoola and taking of Donabue had dispirited the Burmahs, yet there were many chiefs who still held out, and who, had they crossed with their troops to the Irrawaddy, would have interrupted the sup- plies coming up, and the wounded and sick who were sent down. We had, therefore, still the duty of breaking up these resources if possible. Having ascertained who the parties were, we sent a message to one of the weakest to say, that if he did not tender his submission, and come in to us, we should attack him, and burn the town to the ground. The chief thought it advisable to obey our summons, and sent word that he would come in on the ensuing day. He kept his promise ; about noon, as we were sitting in the verandah of a large Sammy house (a sort of monastery), which we had taken possession of, we were in- formed that he had arrived. The token of submission on the part of the Burmahs is, presenting the other party with wax candles, If a poor man has a request to make, or favour to ask of a great man, he never makes it without laying a small wax candle at his feet. Neither do they approach the Rayhoon and Mayhoon without this mark of respect. Some time after this, one of the chiefs who had submitted took up his quarters at Bassein ; and his little daughter, about eight or nine years old, was very fond of coming to see me, as I generally made her little presents. She became very much attached te me, but she of,54 never appeared without a little wax candle, which she dropped at my feet before she threw herself into my lap. In the present instance, the chief first made his appearance, and having come within a few feet, sat down. as a mark of respect... Hewas followed by six more, who each carried about two pounds of wax candles, tastefully arranged in a sort of filigree work of coloured papers. Aiter these came about fifty men, carrying large baskets full, of vegetables and fruit, which they poured: out;on the floor before us, and then walked away and squatted at a dis- tance. A few words of ceremony were then exchanged, and the friendship cemented over a bottle of brandy and some wine; which, notwithstanding the use of spirituous liquors is against their religion, and forbidden by. the government, they did not object to; Before he left I made him a present in return, and he went away delighted with the gift. Several more of the minor chiefs afterwards came in, and the same formalities were gone through ; but there were three of the most important who would not make their appearance ; one, the chief of Naputah, the town which we had passed, which did not fire at us from the stock- ades, and two others down at another large arnr of the river, who had many men detained for the seryice of the army if required, and who were still at open defiance. All these three. were gold, chatta chiefs, that. is, per- mitted to have a gold umbrella carried over their heads when they appeared in public. After waiting a certain time for these pe ople to send in their submission, we sent word down to the chief of Naputah, that we should visit him-the next day, threatening him with the consequences of not complying with our request., Accordingly we weighed in the Larne, and dropped down the river till we were abreast of the town and stockade, which was about thirty miles distant from Bassein. Our broadside was ready ; but.as we were about to fire, we. perceived that boats were manning, and in about five minutes the chief of Naputah, in his own war-boat, accompanied by about twelve others, and a great many canoes, pulled off from the shore and came alongside. He made his submission, with the usual accompaniments, and we were soon very good friends. We gave him a beautiful little brass gun, which ornamented our poop, and he went away very well pleased. We here had’ an opportunity of witnessing the dexterity with which they handle their boats. They really appeared to be alive, they darted through the water with such rapidity. . Many of the Burmahs remained on board, examining every pait of the vessel, and her equipment ; and soon they were on the best of terms with }e the seamen and the few troops which I had OLLA PODRIDA. on board to assist us, for we were very short Manned. We had gained intelligence that there were some guns. sunk in a_ creek, about three miles from Bassein, and we had despatched a boat to look for them, having the assurance, of a chief. who was at Bassein, that the people were peaceable and well-dis- posed. .By some mistake, the boat went up the wrong creek, and pulled many miles into the country, without finding the spot pointed out by marks, given. At night they were at the mercy of the Burmahs, wha came to them to know what they required. The Burmahs told them that they had mistaken the creek, but were very kind to them, giving them a good supper, and passing the night among them, playing their marionettes. The next day they showed them. their way, and when they came to. the guns, the Burmahs dived, and made ropes fast, and_brought them up for them, sending a message that they would come and see the Great Water-dog (meaning me) the next day. We remained two days at anchor; off the town of Naputah, waiting for this boat, as it Was our intention to go down the. river, and attack the two other gold chatta chiefs, if they did not send in their. submission. _On the second day the Naputah chief came on board to ask us if we would attend a Nautch which he gave. that evening in compliment to us; but requested that we_would_not bring all our. people, as it would frighten his own. Although it was not pleasant to trust ourselves on shore in the night, in the midst of so large a force, yet, anxious to make friends with him, we thought it advisable to accept the invitation in the manner he desired. I replied, ‘that I would only bring on shore a few officers, and my usual attendants of six marines withoutarms.’. At eight o'clock some of the officers-and I went on shore: it was quite dark, but we found the chief at the Jand- ing-place ready to receive us. . The. marines had. their bayonets, and the. officers had pistols concealed in case of treachery, and the first lieutenant kept a good look-out, with the broadside of the ship all ready at the first flash of a pistol, but .these precautions. were unnecessary ; the chief took me by the hand and led me up to his house, in front of which had been erected.a Sort of coveted circus, brilliantly lighted up with oil in cocoa-nut shells, and round which were squatted several bundred Burmahs. He took. us all to the raised verandah of the house, which was fitted up for the ceremony, where we found his wife, and all his attendants, but not his daughter, who was said to be very handsome. As soon as we had taken our seats the Nautch com- menced. About twenty men struck upa very barbarous kind of music, in which the bellsnd drums made the most noise. gw minutes of discordant sound, After a the play be- aan. Theactors were in asort of costume, nd appeared quite at home in their Paap The story consisted in the attempts of < young prince to obtain’ the hand of a young princess ; and the dialogue was constantly in- ita by ‘an actor who appeared to be a looker-on, but who made his remarks upon what assed so as to excite bursts of laugh- ie from’ the audience. He was the Jack Pudding, or wit of the piece, and several of his jokes were not very delicate. Atall events, he was the Liston of the company, for he never spoke nor moved without creating a laugh. ‘The play ended very curiously ; aiter the prince had gained the ees they had a procession, in which they made an imitation of a’ship, out of compliment to us ; and then built a little house-on the stage with singular rapidity, to the door of which they conducted the youthful couple, closed it, and then the play was’over. In the meantime pickled tea (which is a great compliment and excessively nasty) was handed round to us, and we ail partook of it, taking it out with our fingers ; but we could not swallow it, so it remained like a quid of tobacco in our cheeks until we had an opportunity of getting rid of it. The purser had had the foresight to put'a couple of bottles of wine, and one of brandy, in the pockets of the marines, which were now produced, while the band continued to play, and wrestling was introduced. We asked the chief to join us, but he refused; he handed down a sort of picture, in which was repre- sented the white elephant, pagodas, &c., and told us that he was not only the war chief, but the head of the religion at’ Naputah, and that it would not be right ‘that he should transgressing the laws. In a meantime his daughter, who did not come Oout'to us, was very anxious to know what sort of people we weré, and she sent for one to be brought in to her. My clerk was the favoured party. She examined him very closely, pulled his dress about, made him bare his’ legs, to see how white they were, and then‘dismissed him. The clerk reported her as very handsome, and quite as white as he was; splendidly dressed’; and with an air of command, which showed that she was aware of lier importance. We stayed about two hours longer, and then we rose to go away. The chief walked with us down to the boats, and we were not sorry to find ourselves on board again; for the population was much more numerous than we had imagined, and had any treachery been attempted, we must have fallen a sacrifice, ye seen by his people DIARV ON THE CONTINENT CHAPTER XXV21. EXPEDITION ‘TO BASSEIN CONTINUED, i May, 1836. ALTHOUGH on friendly terms with the chief of Naputah, he was a person of sach weight in that part of the country, that it was advisable, if possible, to identify ha m with us, so that he should never again fall off, and oppose us, in the contingency of'a’ reverse, on the -Irra- waddy.. The next day we sent for him, in- forming him that it’ was to ee him a pre- sent in return for his civility the day before. But before we handed the pital to him, we stated our intention of dropping down the river to reduce the two gold chatta chiefs who still held out ; and that, as we did not exactly know where their towns were situ- ated, we wished for some of his people to go with me. To this first proposition, after some hesitation, he consented. We then pointed out that our men were not accus- tomed to work in the sun, and were often ill; that, as we were now friends, we wished him to allow me some of his boats to assist the ship in the river. ‘To this also he consented. In fine, we brought forward our last proposi- tion, which was, that he should supply us with six or eight war-boats, well manned, and that we would pay the men and officers at the same rate per day as we paid our own men; stating the sum we would give, and that, if he was really sincere in his friend- ship and good-will, we expected not to be re- fused. Now, among the Burmahs who were with him, there were many whose relations were detained to join the army ; a consulta- tion ensued ; the chief was pressed by his own people, and, at last, gave his consent. We then presented him with the piece of plate, upon which his eyes had constantly been turned, and he went away, promising’ us that the men and boats should be alongside by daylight the next morning. This chief adhered to his promise, and we weighed anchor the next day, and made sail down with the war-boats, and three or four despatch-canoes, pulled by four or five men. ‘These little canoes, when: put to their speed, dashed. through the water at such a rate, that they threw off from each bow one continued little fan-shaped jet-d’eau, which had a very beautiful appearance, the sunbeams forming them into rainbows. As for our Burmah force, they were at one time pulling against the vessel sai iling ; at others, hanging cn, and the people climbing about the rigging, and ascending the mast-head of the vessel ; but they soon all congregated to the stand of muskets, for that was the great object of at-traction. In the afternoon we had _ ball practice with the small arms; and the Bur- mahs were, much to their delight, permitted to fire. It is surprising how exact they were in their aims, considering the little practice they must have had. Bad as all the muskets are which are served out te the ships of war, I really believe that there was not a Burmah who would not have laid down everything he possessed, except his life, to have obtained one. One of them, when he was permitted to take a musket, looked proudly round, and said, witha smile of joy, ‘Now I'ma man !’ The next day we arrived at the branch of the river where one of the chiefs held out. At daylight our own boats were manned, and with the Burmah boats ranged in line, made an imposing appearance, which was very necessary, for at that time we were. so short- handed, that we could not send away more than forty men—-a force so small, that, had the Burmahs opposed to us seen it advance, they would probably have tried their strength with us. As it was, we pulled into the stock- aded town in’a line, the despatch-boats flying across us backwards and forwards like por- poises before the bows of aship running down the trades: not that they had any messages to carry, but merely to show their own dex- terity. When we had advanced to withina quarter of a mile, a boat came out and com- municated with one of the despatch-boats, saying that the Burmahs would not fight if we did not attack them, and that they would deliver up the men detained, and their chief as a prisoner. We agreed to these terms, landed, took possession of the chief with his gold chatta, correspondence with Bundoola, «c., and took him on board. On this occasion, we would not trust the Burmahs employed with muskets; it was too soon; they had only theirown swords and spears. The chief was a fine tall man with a long beard. Like all Burmahs, he took his loss of liberty very composedly, sitting down between the guns with his attendants, and only ex- pressing his indignation at the treachery of his own people. We were very anxious to know what had become of the guns of the disman- tled stockade, which were said to be in his possession, but he positively denied it, say- ing that they had been despatched in boats across to the Irrawaddy. Whether this were true or not, it was impossible to say, but, at all events, it was necessary to make some fur- ther attempts to obtain them, so we told him, that if he did not inform us where the guns were, by the next morning his head would be taken off his shoulders. At this pleasant in- telligence he opened his betel-bag and renewed his quid, ‘The next day he was summoned <6 OLLA PODRIDA, forth to account for the said guns, and again protested that they had been sent to Donabue, which I really believe was false, as they were not taken out of the stockade until after Donabue was in the possession of Sir A. Camp- bell : it was therefore judged proper to ap- pear to proceed to extremities ; and this time it was done with more form. A file of marines was marched aft with their muskets, and the sergeant appeared with his drawn. sword. Sand was strewed on the deck in front of the marines ; and he was led there and ordered to kneel down, so that his head, if cut off, would fall where the sand was strewn. He was again asked if he would tell where the guns were concealed, and again stated that they were at Donabue ; upon which he was desired to prepare for death. He called one of his attendants and gave him his silver betel- box, saying, ‘Take this to my wife,—when the sees it she will know all.’ I watched him very closely ; his countenance was composed, but, as he bent forward over the sand, the muscles of ‘his arms and shoulders quivered. Mowever, as it is not the custom to cut off people's heads on the quarter-deck ot his Majesty’s ships, we very magnanimously _re- prieved him, and he was afterwards sent a prisoner to Calcutta. But that he had the guns, we discovered afterwards, which adds to his merit. Having succeeded in this attempt, we made sail for the stockade of the other chief, and arrived there that evening. As he was sup- posed to be greater in force than the other, we decided upon an attack in the dark, when he would not be able to distinguish of what our force: was composed; and this time we gave muskets to our Burmah comrades. The attack was successful, we obtained possession, and the chief fled, but our Burmahs pursued him nearly two miles, made him prisoner, and brought him aboard. As he immedi- ately tendered his submission, which the other would not do, he was released the next day. We had done all our work, and having employed the Burmahs for a few days more in destroying the stockades at the entrance of the river, ‘they were paid and discharged from his Majesty’s service. They would not, how- even, Guill US > but, so long as we remained in the river they continued to hang on to the ship, and discovered three guns which had been sunk, which they weighed and_ brought on board. I have entered into this short narrative, as it will give some idea of the character of these people. The government is despotic, cruel, and treacherous, but the people are neither cruel nor treacherous: on the contrary, I think they would make most excellent andDIARY ON THE CONTINENT ey faithful soldiers; and it is singular to find, surrounded by natives who have not the slightest energy of mind or body, a people so active, so laborious, and so enterprising as the Burmahs. The English seamen are particu- larly partial to them, and declared they were “the best set of chaps they had ever fallen in with.’ They admitted the Burmahs to their messes, and were sworn friends. I forgot to Say, that when the chiefs sent in their submis- sions, at first, among other presents, they sent Slaves, usually females, which was rather awkward. But not wishing to affront them, I begged that the slaves sent might be chil- dren, and not grown up, as we had no accom- modation for them. The consequence was, that I had quite a young family when I left the river, which I distributed at Rangoon and the presidencies on my return. For if they were only bond-slaves, which I suppose they were, it was a kindness to have them educated and taken care of. We lost one little fellow, that was a great favourite with the men; he was about three years old, and could speak English’. He had been christened by the sailors Billy Bamboo, and was quite as amus- ing asthe monkey. The poor little fellow died very suddenly, and was much regretted by all on board. I certainly do think that we may eventually find the Burmahs to be the most powerful enemy that we shall have to contend with in India ; and at the same time, I cannot help giving my opinion as to the ridiculous fear we entertain of the Russians ever interfering with us in that quarter. That the extension of the Russian empire has been a favourite ob- ject through many of her dynasties, is true: but it is so no longer: they have discovered that already their empire is too extensive ; and hardly a year passes but they have outbreaks and insurrections to quell in quarters so remote that they are scarcely heard of here. That Russia might possdly lead an army through our Indian possessions, I admit ; but that she never could hold them if she dié do so, is equaily certain ; the con- quest would be useless to her, after having been obtained at an enormous sacrifice. ‘The fact is, the Russians (with the exception of the Emperor Paul) never had any intention of the kind, and xever will attempt it: but they have discovered how very alive we are to the possibility, and how very jealous and anxious we are on the subject, and it is possible that they have made demonstrations in that direc- tion to alarm us ; but I think myself, that the great object of Russia in these advances has been to force a channel for trade, which in her present situation she is, to the south of her extensive empire, nearly deprived of. Not- withstanding the outcry which has so often v been raised against the Russian empire, it has always appeared to me that our natural ally is Russia ; as for an alliance with I’rance it is morally impossible that two rival nations like us can continue very long at peace; our interests are separate and conflicting, and our jealousy but sleeps fora moment. We have been at peace with France many years, and have not yet succeeded in making a satisfac- tory commercial treaty with her ; neither will any of the other Continental powers permit our manufactures to enter, with the exception of Russia, who. not only takes them but returns to us what is most valuabie for our marine. Why, then, this outcry against the ambition of Russia? Nothing but tirades against Azs5- sea ambition. Does France show no ambi- tion? Does America show no ambition? Have we no ambition ourselves? Why this constant suspicion and doubt against a power whose interest it is to be closely allied to us, and who can always prove a valuable aid in case of emergency? Simply because Russia wishes to have an opening to the Black Sea. And this is very natural ; her northern ports are closed nine months in the year, and there- fore her navy and mercantile marine are almost useless. She has no outlet, no means of raising either. Does she, then, ask too much? Isa great empire like Russia fo be blocked up, her commerce and navy for the want of an outlet ? crippled, She does require the opening of the Black Sea; it is all that she requires. She never will remain quiet until she obtains it, and obtain it sooner or later she certainly will ; and, in my opinion, she is perfectly justified in her attempts. What would be the consequence if she suc- ceeded ?—that, if we were wise enough to continue on terms of amity with Russia, who has invariably extended the hand of friend- ship to us, and has, I believe, never failed in her treaties, we should have a balance of power to us very important. Whose navies shall we in future have to contend against ?— those of France and America, for it is certain that, whenever we go to war with France, America will back her, and their navies will be united. At present the navy of America is not very large, but it can soon be made so; and we should not be sorry to have the navy of Russia cn our side, to balance against the two which will always be opposed to us. It is, therefore our interest to assés¢ Russia in the object she has in view, and to keep upa firm alliance with her. It is the interest of France to excite jealousies between Russia and this country, and her emissaries have been but too successful, at the very time that France has, contrary to all treaty, and ex- claiming against Auss¢an ambition, seized56 OLLA PODRIDA. upon Algiers, and is now playing her game, so as if possible to command the whole of the Mediterranean. The very strides) which France has made in that quarter should point out to us the propriety of opening the Black Sea for Russia, so as to restore the balance of power in that future site of contention. I re- peat that we are blind in every way to our own interests in not uniting ourselves firmly by an alliance, offensive and defensive, with Russia ; and that by so doing we should: be the greatest gainers, for with Trance we must never expect more than a hollow truce, con- cealing for the time her jealousy and thirst for revenge,-—a truce during which her-.secret efforts to undermine us will be still carried on as indefatigably as ever, and which must only be considered as a mere feint to recover her breath, before she again renéws her frenzied efforts to humiliate England, and obtain universal dominion. CHAPTER: XXVIII. London, June, 1837. To one who has visited foreign climes, how very substantial everything appears in Eng- land, from the child’s plaything to the Duke of York’s column! To use a joiners phrase, everything abroad is comparatively seamp- work. ‘Talk about the Palais Royale, the Rue Richelieu, and. the splendour of the Parisian shops—why, two hundred yards of Regent Street, commencing from Howell and James's, would buy the whole of them, and leave a balance sufficient to buy the remainder of the French expositions. But still, if more substan- tial and massive, we are at the same time also heavy. We want more space, more air, more room to breathe, in London; we are too closely packed ; Wwe want gardens with trees to absorb the mephitic air, for what our lungs reject is suitable to vegetation. But we can- not have all’ we want ‘in this world, so we must do without them. What wealth is now pouring into the country ! and, thank God, it 1s now some- what better expended than it was in the bubble mania, which acted upon the plethora certainly, but bled us too freely and uselessly. The railroad speculators have taken ‘off many millions, and thé money is well employed; for even allowing. that, in some instances, the expectations of the parties who speculate may be disappointed, still it is spent in ‘the coun- try ; and not only is it affording employment and sustenance to thousands, but the staple produce of [England ‘only is consumed, In these speculations—in the millions required and: immediately produced, you can witness the superiority of England, Undertakings from which foreign governments would shrink with dismay are here effected by the meeting of a few individuals. And now for my commissions. . What a list ! And the first item is—two Canary birds, the last having been one fine morning found dead, nobody knows how !» There was plenty of seed and water (put in after the servant found that they had been starved by his neglect), which of course proved that they did not die for want of food. I hate what are called pets; they are a great nuisance, for they will die, and then) such a lamentation over them. In the ‘ Fire Worshippers” Moore makes his Hinda say— ‘J never nursed.a dear gazelle, To glad me with its soft black eye, But when it came to. know me well And love me—it was stre to die.’ Now Hinda was perfectly correct, except in thinking that she was peculiarly unfortunate. Every one who keeps pets might tell the same tale as Hinda. TI recollect once a canary bird died, and my young people were in great tribulation; so to amuse them we made them a paper coffin, put the defunct therein, and sewed on the lid, dug a grave in the garden, and, dressing them out in any remnants of black we could find for weepers, made a_pro- cession to the grave where it was buried. This little divertissement quite took their fancy. The next day one of the youngest’came up to me and said, ‘Oh, papa, when will you die ?}—A ‘strange question, thought I) quite forgetting the procession of the day before.— ‘“Why.do you ask, my dear ?}—‘ Oh, because it will be such fun ‘burying you.’-—*Much obliged to you, my love.’ There is much more intellect in birds than people suppose. An instance of that occurred the other day, at a‘slate quarry belonging to afriend; from whom I’ have the narrative. A thrush, not aware of the expansive ‘properties of ‘gunpowder, thought! proper to build’ her nest on a ridge of the quarry, in the very centre of which they were constantly blasting the rock. At first she was very much discom- posed by the fragments flying in all directions, but still she would not quit her. chosen locality ; she soon observed ‘that a bell rang whenever a train was about to’ be fired, and that, at the notice, the workmen retired’ to safe positions. In a few days, when she heard the bell, she quitted her exposed situation, and flew down to where the workmen shel- tered themselves, dropping close to their feet, There she would remain until the explosion had taken place. and then return to her nest. The workmen, observing this, narrated it totheir employers, who ‘came to view the quarry. The visitors naturally expressed a wish to W1ItNess So curious a specimen of intellect; but, as the rock could not always ‘be ready to be blasted when visitors caine, the bell was rung instead, and, for a few times. answered the same purpose. ‘The thrush flew down close to where they stood, but she perceived that she was trifled with, and it interfered with her process of incubation ;the consequence was, that afterwards, when the bell was rung, she would peep over the ledge, to ascertain if the workmen did ‘retreat, and, if they did ‘not, she would remain where. she Was, probably saying, to herself, ‘No, no, gentlemen’; *T'm not to be roused off my eges merely for your amusement,’ Some birds have a great deal of humour in them, particularly the raven. ‘One that be: longed to me was the most mischievous and amusing creature I ever met with. He would get into the flowtr-garden, fo to the’ “beds where the gardener had sowed a great variety of seeds, with sticks put in the ground with labels, and then he would amuse himself with pulling up every stick, and laying them in heaps of ten or twelve on the path.’ This used to irritate the old gardener very much, who would drive him away. The raven knew that he ought not to do it, or he would not have done it. He would soon return to his mis- ciulef, and when the gardener again chased him (the old man could not walk very fast), the raven would keep just clear of the rake or hoe in his hand, dancing back before him, and singing as plain as a man could; ‘ Tol de rol de rol, tol de rol de rol!” with all kinds of mimicking gestures. ‘The bird is alive now, and continues the same meritorious practice whenever he can find an opportunity. CHAPTER XXIX. June, Steamboat Princess Victoria. IT certainly appears that the motion of a steam-vessel produces more nausea than that of.a sailing-vessel, and people appear to suffer in some degree in proportion ‘to the power of the engines. ‘This maybe accounted for by the vibration of the vessel increasing in the same ratio. We are now in a vessel of two hundred and fifty horse power, and the consequence is that the passengers are as sick as two hundred and fifty horses. Ihe effect of the vibration of the after-part of the vessel amounts to the ridiculous. When dinner was put on the table, we had DIARY. ON. THE CONTINENT. and it was also told to visitors arrived at Ghent, and could not make his 59 no occasion for a bell to announce it, for every glass on the table was dancing to its own jingling music. And when the’ covers were taken off it was still more absurd —everything in the dishes appeared to be infected with St. Vitus’s dance.’ The boiled leg of mutton shook its collops of fat at a couple of fowls which figured ina sarabande round ‘and round their own dish—roast beef shifted’about with a slow and stately movement—a ham glisséed croisée from one side to the other—tongues wagged that were never meant to wag again —bottles reeled and fell over dike drunken men, and your piece of bread constantly ran away, and was to be pulled back into its proper place. It was a regular jig-a-jig—a country-dance of pousette, down the’ middle, and right and left. The communication of motion was Strange ; the whole company seated on long forms were jig-a-jigging up and down together—your knife jigged and your fork jigged—even the morsel which was put into your mouth gave one more jump befcre it could be seized. However, we jigged it to some purpose, for, in eighteen hours anda half, we passed from London to Antwerp. The English are naturally great voyageurs ; the feeling is inherent from our’ insular posi- tion. I have been reflecting whether I can recollect, in my whole life, ever to have ‘been three months in one place, but I cannot; nor do I believe that I ever was—not even when sent to school, for I used to runaway every quarter, just to see how my family were ; an amiable weakness, which ‘even flogging could not eradicate. And then I was off to sea.; there I had my wish, as Shakspeare says, borne away by ‘ the viewless winds, and blown with resistless violence about the pen- dent world,’ north, south, east, and west * one month freezing, the next burning ; ‘all nations, all colours,—white, copper, brown, and black ; all scenery, from the blasted pine towering amidst the frost and snow, to the cocoa-nut Waving its leaves to the sea-breeze. Well, ‘homekeeping youths have homely wits,’ says the saine author, and he has told more truth than any man who eyer wrote. I certainly did hear of one young man who did not gain much by travelling; he was a banker’s clerk, and obtained three months’ vacation to go on the Continent. He landed at Ostend, and the next day found himself in the track-shuyt that is towed by horses, from Bruges to Ghent. The cabins were magnificent, velvet and gold ; the down cushions luxurious, the dinner and breakfast sumptuous, the wine excellent, the bedrooms comfortable, and the expense mode- rate. Moreover, the motion was impercep- tible. What could a man wish more? He60 OLA POUDKIDA:. mind up to quit this barge; so he returned in her to Bruges, and then back again to Ghent ; and thus he continued between the two towns, backwards and forwatds, until the three months’ leave had expired, arid he was obliged to return to the desk. I have never yet made up my, mind whether this personage was a Wise man or a fool. But, until the opening of the Continent, the Ienglish were only voyageurs, not travellers ; and that, after having been so long cebarred, they should be desirous of visiting the various portions of Europe, is not only natural but praiseworthy ; but that they should make the Continent their residence—should expatriate themselves altogether, is, to me, a source of astonishment as well as of regret. The excuse offered is the cheapness. It is but an excuse, for I deny it to be the fact: I have visited most places, with and without a family ; and I will positively assert, not for the benefit of others who have already expatriated themselves, but as a check to those who feel so inclined, that they will discover too soon that, at less expense, they can command more good living and substantial comforts in Eng- land, than in any part of the Continent they may fix upon as their habitation. Let us enter a little into the subject. First, as to the capitals, Paris, Brussels, &c. Let it first be remembered that we have no longer war prices in Ingland, that almost every article has fallen from thirty-five to fifty per cent. It is true that some trades- people who are established as _ fashionable keep up their prices; but it is not absolutely necessary to employ them, as there are those equally skilled who are more moderate. But even the most fashionabie have been obliged, to a certain degree, to lower their prices ; and their present prices, reduced as they are, will most assuredly die with them, Everything will, by degrees, find its ievel but this level is not to be found at once. Should. peace continue, ten years from this date will make a great alteration in every article, not only of necessity, but of luxury : and then, after having been the dearest, Eng- land will become the cheapest residence in the world. House rent in the capitals abroad .is certainly as dear, if not dearer, than it is in England. There are situations more or less fashionable in every metropolis ; and if you wish to reside in those quarters you pay ac- cordingly. It is true that, by taking a portion of a house, you to a certain degree indemnify yourself—a first, second, or third story, with a common staircase loaded with dirt and filth ; but is this equal to the comfort of a clean English house, in which you have your own servants, and are not overlooked by your neighbours? If they were to let out houses in floors in England as they do in Paris and else- where, a less sum would be demanded. You may procure a handsome house in a fashion- able quarter, well furnished, in London, for 3oo/. per annum. Go to the Place Vendome, or those quarters styled the English quarters, at Paris, and which are by no means the most fashionable quarters, and you will pay fora handsome front floor 700 francs per month ; so that for one floor of a house in Paris you will pay 336¢. per annum, when in London you will obtain the whole house for 300/, ‘The proprietor of the Paris house, therefore, re- ceives much more by letting his floors separate than the English do. The common articles of necessity are as dear, if not dearer, abroad ; the octroi duty upon all that enters the barriers raising the price excessively. Meat at Paris or Brussels is as dear as in London, and not so good; it is as dear, because they charge you the same price all round, about 5d. per pound, independent of its inferiority and the villanous manner in which it is cut up. Our butchers only butcher the animal, but foreign butchers butcher the meat. Poultry is as dear; game much dearer; and so is fish. Indeed, fish is not only dear, but scarce and bad. Horses and carriages are quite as dear abroad, in the capitals, asin London. Clothes are in some respects cheaper, in others dearer, especially articles of English manufacture, which are more sought after than any others. Amusements are said to be cheaper; but, admitting that, the places of amusement are oftener resorted to, and in consequence as much money is spent abroad as in England. It is true that there are an immense number of theatres in Paris, and that most of them are very reasonable in their charges for admission ; but be it recollected that there are not above three of them which are considered fashionable, if even respectable ; and there the prices are sufficiently high. If people went to Sadler's Wells, the Coburg, Victoria, Queen's Theatre, Astley’s, and other minor theatres in London, as they do to the Théatres St. Martin, Gym- nase, et Variétés et Paris, they would find no great difference in the prices. What then is there cheaper? Wine. I erant it ; and, it is also asserted, the education of children. We will pass over these two last points for the present, and examine whether living is cheaper on the Continent, provided you do zo# live in any of the capitals. ‘That at Tours and other places in the South of France, at Genoa, at Bruges, in Belgium, you may live cheaper than in London, I grant; but if any one means to assert that you can live cheaper than in the country in England, I deny it altogether. People go abroad, and select the cheapest parts of the Continent to live in. If they were to do the same in EngsDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. land, they would find that they could live much cheaper and much better ; for instance, in Devonshire, Cornwall, and Wales, and, indeed, in almost every county in England. The fact is, it is not the cheapness of the living which induces so many people to reside abroad. There are many reasons ; and as I wish to be charitable, I will put forward the most favourable ones. In England, we are money-making people, and we have the aristocracy of wealth as well as the aristocracy of rank. It has long been the custom for many people to live beyond their incomes, and to keep up an appearance which their means have not watranted, Many, especially the landed proprietors, finding their rentals reduced from various causes, have been necessitated to retrench. They were too proud to put down their carriages and establishments before the eyes of those who had perhaps looked upon them with envy, and whose de- rision or exultation they anticipated. They therefore have retired to the Continent, where a Carriage is not necessary to prove that you are a gentleman. Should those return who have emigrated for the above reasons, they would find that this striving for show is hardly perceptible nowin England. Those who have remained have either had sense enough, or have been forced by circumstances, to reduce their expenditure. Another cause is the easy introduction into what is called good society abroad on the Continent, but which in reality is very bad so- ciety. Certainly there are a sufficient number of counts, viscounts, and Marquesses to associ- ate with; but in France high birth is not proved by titles, which are of little or no value, and do not even establish gentility. This society may certainly be entered into a much less expense than that of Eng especially in the metropolis; but, di upon it, there is a species of society dear: any price. With respect to education of children, that boys may receive advantage from a Conti- nental education I admit ; but woe be to the mother who intrusts her daughter to the ruin ofa French Pension / In England there are many excellent schools in the country, as cheap and cheaper than on the Continent; but the schoolmasters near London, generally speaking, are ruining them- selves by their adhérence to the old system, and their extravagant terms. The systent of education on the Continent js certainly su- perior to that of England, and the attention to the pupils is greater ; of course there are bad schools abroad as well as in England ; but the balance is much in favour of those on the Continent, with the advantage of being at nearly one-half the expense, A great 61 alteration has taken place in modern educa- tion; the living languages and mathematics have been found to be preferable to the classics and other instruction still adhered to in the English schools. I have always considered, and have reason to be confirmed in my Opinion, that the foundation of all education is mathematics, Everything else may be obtained by rote, and Without thinking ; but from the elements of arithmetic up to Euclid and Algebra, no boy can work his task without thinking, [| never yet knew a man who was a good mathema- tician who was not well-informed upon almost every point ; and the reason is clear—mathe- matics have prepared his mind to receive and retain. In all foreign schools this important branch of education is more attended to than it is in England; and that alone would be a sufficient reason for me to give them the pre- ference. In point of morals, I consider the schools of both countries much upon a par; although, from the system abroad of never debasing a child by corporal punishment, I give the foreign schools the preference even in that point. I consider, then, that boys are better edu- cated abroad than in England, and acquire much more correctly the living languages, Which are of more use to them than the classics. So much I can Say in favour of the Continent ; but in every other respect I con- sider the advantage in favour of England. Young women who have been brought up abroad I consider, generally speaking, as un- fitted for English wives: and that in this opinion I am not singular, 1 know well from conversation with young men at the clubs and elsewhere. Mothers who have returned with their daughters full of French fashions and ideas, and who imagine that they will inevi- tably succeed in making good matches, would be a little mortified and surprised to hear the young men, when canvassing among them- selves the merits of the other sex, declare that ‘such a young lady may be very handsome and very clever—but she has received a Con- tinental education, and that won't do for them.’ Many mothers imagine, because their daughters, who are bold and free in their man- ners, and talk and laugh loud, are surrounded by young men, while the modest girl, who holds aloof, is apparently neglected, that their daughters are more admired; but. this is a great mistake, Men like that boldness, that coquetry, that dash, if I may use the term, because it amuses for the time being ; but although they may pay every attention to women on that account, marrying them is quite another affair. No, the modest retiring girl, who is apparently passed by, becomes the wife ; the others are flattered before their faces, and62 OLLA PODRIDA., laughed at behind their backs. It certainly is unmanly, on the part of our sex, to behave in this manner, to encourage young Women in their follies, and ruin them for their own amusement ; as Shakespeare says— “Shame to him whose cruel striking Kills for faults of his own liking,’ But so it is, and so it will be so long as the world lasts, and mankind is no better than it is at present. If, then, as I have asserted, there is so little to be gained by leaving a comfortable home, what is the inducement which takes so many people abroad to settle. there? ‘ Tam afraid that the true reason has been given by the author whom I now quote. Speaking of the French metropolis, she says— ‘T have been lately trying to investigate the nature of the charm which renders Paris so favourite a sojourn of the English. ‘In point of, gaiety (for gaiety read dissipa- tion) it affords, nothing comparable with that of London. A few ministerial fétes every winter may perhaps exceed in brilliangy the balls given in our common routine of things ; but for one entertainment in Paris at. least thirty take place chez nous. Society is. esta- blished with us on a wider and. more splendid scale. The weekly soirées, on the other hand, which properly represent the society of this place, aré dull, meagre, and formal to the last degree of formality, “There is no brilliant point of reunion as at Almack’s—no theatre uniting, like our Italian Opera, the charm of the best company, the best music, and the best dancing. Of the thousand and = one theatres boasted of by thé Parisians, oniy three are of a ‘nature to be frequented by people of consideration, the remainder being as much out of the question as the Pavilion or the Garrick. “Dinner. parties there are none ; water parties none; déjefinerS, unless given by a foreign ambassadress, none. A thousand accessories to London amusements are here wanting. In the month of May, I am told, the public gardens and the Bois de Boulogne become enchanting. But what is not charming in the month of May? Paris, perhaps, least of all places ; for at the com- mencement of the month every French family of note quits the metropolis for its country seat, or for sea or mineral bathing. Foreign- ers and the mercantile and ministerial classes alone remain. What,’ then, I would fain discover, constitutes tHé peculiar merit of in- ducing persons uninstigated by motives. of economy to fix thenfselves in the comfortless and filthy city, an call it Paradise? Alas! my solution of the problem is far from ho- nourable to the taste of our absentees, /z2 Paris people are far, less amenrlle than tn London to the tribunal of public opinion, Or, as a lady once very candidly said to me ‘‘ One gets rid of one’s jriends and relations.” ’ Indeed, there are so many petty annoy- ances and vexations of life attendant upon residents abroad, that it must require some strong motives to‘induce them to remain, Wherever the English settle they raise the price of everything, much to the annoyance of the rentiers and respectable people of | the place, although of advantage to the country generally. ‘he réally highbred and _aristo- cratic people will not associate with the Eng- lish, and look upon them with any feeling but good will. . With regard to servants they are invariably badly served, although they pay: two or three times the wages that are paid by the inhabitants, who, in most places, have made it a rule never to take a domestic that has once lived in.an English family; the consequence is that those engaged by the English are. of tle worst description, a sort of arzahs among the community, who extort and* cheat. their employers without. mercy. If notpermitted so to do, they leave them atthe minute's warning ; and you cannot go. to any foreign colony of English people without listening to very justified tirades of the villany of the ser- vants. Upon the same principle, there are few places abroad where the tradespeople have not two prices ; one for the English, and the other for the inhabitants. I was in company. with an English. lady_of title, who gave mea very amusing instance of the insolence of the Belgian servants...She had a large family to bring up on.a limited income, and had taken up her abode:at.Brus- sels, It should be observed that, the Belgians treat their servants like dogs, and yet it.js only with the Belgians, that. they will behave well, This lady, finding her expenses very much exceeding her means, SO, SOON .as she had been some time in the country, attempted a reformation.» Inquiring of some. Belgian families with whom she was.acquainted what were the just proportions allowed by them to their servants, she attempted by, degrees to introduce the same system. ‘The first articie of wasteful expenditure was bread, and she put them upon an allowance, The, morning after she was awoke with a loud, hammering in the saloon below, the reason of which. she could not comprehend ; but on going, downto breakfast she-found .one of ,the.,long loaves made in the country nailed up with tenpenny nails over the mantelpiece. She sent to in- quire who dad done.it, and one of the ser- vants immediately replied that she had nailed it there that my lady might see.that the bread did not go too fast. There is another point on which the EnglishDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. 6 Go abroad haye long complained, and with great yesterday, who has lately left the country, that Justice, ~which is, that in every litigation or the'Popé is so glad of an excuse to keep here- petty. dispute, which May appear. before’a fics out of his dominions, that: hevhas never smaller or more important tribunal, from the taken’ off the quarantine: so that, undér apy Juge de Paix to the Cour de Cassation, the cirétinstances, we must vegetate ‘in ‘some verdict invariably is given against them. ‘I frontier hole for a fortnight before we can be never keard an instance to the Contrary, al- admitted; a circumstance in itself sufficiently though there may have been some. Th no'case deterring, in my opinion. Besides» which, can an Huglishman obtain justice : the deten- what with the perplexity of the coinage, and tioa of his property without just cause, all the constant attempt at pillage which we that he considers as law and justice in his own’ have already met with, and Which, lam tol country, 1s overruled : he is obliged to submit” is quadrupled on the other side of the Alps, to the greatest insultS, of consent to the gréat-"' such a counterbalance exists to any of the est, imposition: . This is peculiarly observable | enjoyments of travelling, that I am heartily at Paris. and Brussels, and it is ‘almost ajour weary’ of the ‘continual skirmishing and de féte to a large portion of the inhabitants warfare’ lam subjected’ to 1 werfare in- when they hear that an Englishman has been - deed, as. at Cologne I was called ‘out. The thrown into prison. . It must, however, -be story is too good to be lost, so I will tell it for acknowledged that most of this arised not only. your amusenient and’ that of our friends at from the wish’ of the rentiers, or those’ who Brussels ; moreover that you may’ caution live upon their means (who have these means every one against ‘Mons. Disch, “of the Cour Crippled by the concourse of English raising Imperialé’:—We had marchandéed «with the price of every article), that the English Madaine Disch for rooms, who at last agreed should leaye and return to their own country 5. to gr terms; but’ when’ the: bill: came “she but also from the number of bad charactére charged her‘oz. We remonstrated, and the who, finding their position in society no longer ’ bill was"altered ; but Mons) Disch made his tenable in England, hasten abroad, and, by appearance before I could pay it, insisting on their conduct, leave a most unfavourable ii. the larger sum, saying his wife had no busi- pression of the English character, which, when ness to make a bargain for hin I remon- Englishmen only travelled, stood high, but, strated in vain, “and iMrsyddecs « commenced now they reside to economize, is at its lowest Inost eloqtiently to ‘state the case ; ‘He “was; ebb; for the only charm which the I"nglish’ however, déaf to reason, argument, eloquence, had in the eyes of needy foreigners Was their. and beauty. AtYast I said)‘ Dornot waste lavishing their, money as they passed through’ words on the matter, I will pay the fellow and the country. enriching a portion“of the’ com. have done with him, taking care’ that neither munity without increasing the prices of con” I nop my friends will ever come to his house sumption to the whole, again,’ atthe same time snatching the bill Asa proef of. the insolence to which the” from “his hand: when he demanded) in a English are subjected, I will give the reader 4 great fury, what I meant by that’; exciaiming, verbatim copy of a letter sent to me bya friend” “Pam ‘Gernaatis gentlemans,—you ‘English not more than ayear ago. I have heard of gentlemans, I challenge you, I challenge you.” such a circumstance taking place in France, Although somewhat wroth before’ this) T° was but then the innkeeper was'a chevalier of the’ soamused that ,I laughed in the’ rascal’s face, Legion of Honour ; but this case is even more. which doubled. his rage, and he reiterated his remarkable. Depend upon it, those who mortal defiance: adding;—~"* I was in Loudon travel will find inany a Monsieur Disch before last year ; they charge me twelve—-fourteen they are at the end of their journey. I will shillings for my dinner at coffee-house, but I vouch forthe veracity of, every word in the too much gentlemans to.ask them take offone letter :— farding. I challensSe you—I Challenge you,” I then said, ‘‘ Hold your tongue, sir ; také your * Wiesbaden, Jaly3}'1836. money and be off.”” ‘‘ Me take money !’’ re- ‘My DEAR,——, As you kindly said that plied he ; ‘“‘meé take money! No, my servant you, would be glad_.so_ hear. of Our; progress take money ; I too much gentlemans to take when any opportunity offered of writing you a) money,’ Upon zg which the” waiter swept letter, I now avail myself of some friénds'pass~ the cash’ off the table, handed . it to his ing through, Brussels to let you know that thus ! master, Who" immediately sacked: it and far we have; proceeded in health and safety; walked off. but whether we shall complete our project of : wintering, in, Italy seems. more and more I certainly have myself come-to the conclu- doubtful, as I believe the cholera to be doing its | sion’ that the idea of going abroad for economy work pretty actively in some of the states we ismdst erroneous, ' As I have before observed, propose to visit; and a gentieman told me’ the only article, except education, which: is d,64 OLLA PODRIDA. cheaper, is wine : and Iam afraid, consider- ing the thirsty propensities of my countrymen, that is a very strong attraction with the nobler sex. If claret and all.other French wines were admitted into England at a much lower duty, they would be almost as cheap in Ing- land as they are in foreign capitals ; and, as the increased consumption would more than indemnify the government, it is to be la- mented that it is not so arranged. Formerly we shut out the French wines, and admitted those of Portugal, as our ancient ally ; but our ancient ally has shown anything but good-will towards us lately, and we are at all events under no further obligation to support her interests. Let us admit French wines in bottles at a very low duty, and then England will be in every respect as cheap, and infinitely more comfortable as a residence than any part of the Continent. The absentees who are worth reclaiming will return ; those who pre- fer to remain on the Continent are much better there than if they were contaminating their countrymen with their presence. How true is the following observation from the author I before quoted on her return from abroad :— ‘Home, home at last. How clean, how cheerful, how comfortable! I was shown at Marthieu the shabby, dirty-looking lodgings where the —— are economizing, in pen- ance for the pleasure of one little year spent in this charming house! Poor people! How they must long for England ! how they must miss the thousand trivial but essential con- veniences devised here for the civilization of human life! What an air of decency and re- spectfulness about the servants! what a feel- ing of homeishness in a house exclusively our own! The modes of life may be easier on the Continent,-—but it is the ease of a beggar's ragged coat which has served twenty masters, and is twitched off and on till it scarcely holds together, in comparison with the decent, close-fitting suit characteristic of a gentleman.’ CHAPTER XXX. Brussels. AuTHORS, like doctors, are very apt to dis- agree. Reading, the other day, a very amusing publication, called the ‘Diary of a Désen- nuyée,’ some passages in it induced me to fall back upon Henry Bulwer'’s work on France. Among his remarks upon literary influence in that country, he has the following :— ‘A literary Frenchman, whom I met not long ago in Paris, said to me that a good- natured young [english nobleman, whom I will not name, had told him that dancers and singers were perfectly well received in English society, but not men of letters. « «Ft il possible qu’on soit si barbare chez vous?” ’ He subsequently adds :— ‘To be known asa writer is certainly to your prejudice. ‘First, people presume you are not what they call a gentleman ; and the grandfather who, if you were a banker or a butcher, or of any other calling or profession, would be left quiet in his tomb, is evoked against you.’ Mr. Bulwer then proceeds with a variety of argument to prove that literary men are not Macenased by either the government or aristo- cracy of Great Britain. He points out the ad- vantages which the French literati have from their Institute, the ennoblements, the decora- tions, and pensions which they teceive ; and certainly makes out a strong case. The author of the ‘ Diary’ would attempt to deny the statements of Mr. Bulwer; but, in the very denial, she admits all his points but one—to wit, that they are not so well received by the aristocracy in England as they are in France. she says— “What does Henry Bulwer mean by the assertion that literary men are more eagerly welcomed in society here than in England ? ‘They occupy, perhaps, a more indepen- dent and honourable position, are less ex- posed to being lionised by patronising dow- agers, and more sure of obtaining public pre- ferment: but, with the exception of Mignet and Mérimée—who are courted for their per- sonal merits and official standing rather than for their literary distinctions—I have scarcely met one of them. To the parties of the mini- sters of the Grand Referendaire, avd other public functionaries, artists and men of letters are admitted as part of a political system , but they are not to be found—like Moore, Rogers, Chantrey, Newton, and others—in the bou-’ doirs of the élite, or the select fetes of a Devon- shire House. ‘The calling of ‘un homme de lettres” is here, however, a profession bearing its own rewards and profits, and forming an especial and independent class. In common with the artists they look to ennoblement in the Aca- demy, and under the existing order of things have been richly endowed with places and pensions.’ It appears then, in France, that to the par- ties of ministers, &c., they are admitted as a part of the political system , and further, that they have been fostered by the government, by being ennobled and richly endowed with places and pensions. Therefore, upon hisDIARY ONVERE, CONTINENT. opponent's own showing, Henry Bulwer has made out his case. In another part of the same work there is the following amusing passage, in advice given by a lady of fashion to her protégée upon entering into London society. ‘© Pore over their books as much as you please, but do not so much as dip into the authors,” said she, when I proposed an intro- duction to one of the most popular authors of the day. ‘‘ These people expend their spirit on their works—the part that walks through society is a mere lump of clay, like the refuse of the wine-press after the wine has been ex- pressed.’’ In conyersing with aclever author you sometimes see a new idea brighten his eye or create a smile round his lip; but for worlds he would not give it utterance. It belongs to his next work, and is instantly booked in the ledger of his daily thoughts, value 3s. 6d. ’The man’s mind is his mine ; he can't afford to work it gratis, or give away the produce.’ If we are to draw any inference from this extract, it is, that although some noblemen do extend their patronage to literary men, at all events the general feeling is against them. I must say that I never was more amused than when I read the above sarcasm. There is much truth in it, and yet it is not true. In future when I do say good things, as they call them, in company, I shall know the precise value of my expenditure during the dinner or evening party by reckoning up the three-and- sixpences. One thing is clear, that if an author say half a dozen good things, he fully pays for his dinner. In the ‘Student,’ Edward Bulwer makes some remarks which range in opposition to the author of the above ‘ Diary.’ In arguing that most authors may be known by their works, he says— ‘Authors are the only men we really do know ; the rest of mankind die with only the surface of their character understood.’ It appears, then, that people have no ex- cuse for being disappointed in authors ; when they meet them in company they have but to read their works, and if they like the works they must like the authors. Before I proceed I must be permitted to make a remark here. An author's opinion given as his own will allow the public to have an insight into his character and feelings, and the public are justified in forming their opinions of an author upon such grounds. But it too often happens that the public will form their opinion of an author from opinions put by him into the mouths of the characters drawn in a work of fiction, forgetting that in these instances it is not the author who speaks, but the individuals which his imagination has conjured up ; and that the opinions expressed by these creatures of his brain, although perfectly in keeping with the character, and necessary to produce that vraisemblance which is the great merit of fiction, may be entirely opposed to the real sentiments of the author. The true merit of fiction, and that which is essential to its success, is the power of the author’at the time that he is writing to divest himself, as it were, of himself, and be for the time the essence of the character which he is delineating. It is therefore a great injustice to an author to accuse him of being an infidel because his infidel character is well portrayed, particu- larly as, if he is equally fortunate in describing a character which is perfect, the public do not ever give him the credit for similar perfection. That is quite another affair. Again, Edward Bulwer says, in opposition to the poverty of the wzne -— ‘A man is, I suspect, but of a second-rate order whose genius is not immeasurably above his works,—who does not feel within him an inexhaustible affluence of thoughts, feelings, and invention, which he never will have leisure to embody in print. He will die and leave only a thousandth part of his wealth to posterity, which is his heir.’ I like to bring all in juxtaposition. ‘There is excitement in making mischief, and that is the reason people are so’fond of it. Still, the question at issue ought to be fairly decided ; and, as in case of arbitration, when the dis- putants cannot agree, a third party is called in by mutual consent, I shall venture to take upon myself that office, and will fairly argue the point, as there is more dependent upon it than, upon the first view, the question may appear to merit. If we turn back to the last century, in what position do we find authors ?—looking up to patrons among the aristocracy, and dedicating their works to them in panegyrics, fulsome from their obsequiousness and flattery. At that period the aristocracy and the people were much wider apart than they are at present. Gradually the people have advanced ; and, as they have advanced, so have the authors thrown off the trammels of servitude, and have attacked the vices and follies as well as the privileges of those to whom they once bowed the knee. The advancement of the people, and the lowering of the aristocracy, have both been effected through the medium of the press. The position of authors has been much altered. Formerly we behold such men as Dryden, Otway, and many others (giants in their days), humbling themselves for bread. Now we have seldom a dedication, and of those few we have the flattery is delicate. The og66 authors look to the public as their patrons, and the aristocracy are ‘considered but ‘as a part.and portion of it. These remarks equally hold good with respect to the government. Authors are not to. be so easily purchased as formerly; they. prefer writing in conformity with public opinion to writing for government, because they are better remunerated. « Now, if it will be recalled to mind that mm the rapid march of the people, in their assertion of their right to a greater share in the government of the country,,in the pointing out and correct- ing of abuses, and in the breaking down of all the defences which have gradually yielded in, so many. years, it is the authors and the press who have led the van, and that in these continual inroads the aristocracy have been the party attacked, —it is no wonder that there has arisen, unwittingly perhaps on the part of the aristocracy,.a feeling against the press and against authors in general. The press. has been, and will probably for a long while continue to be, the enemy of the aristocracy. ;.and_ it is hardly reasonable’ to expect thatthe aristocracy should admit the enemy within its camp. For, be it observed, whether a man write a political pamphlet or a novel, he, has still the same opportunity of expressing. his sentiments, of flattering the public by espousing their opinions; and asa writer. of fiction, perhaps, his opinions have more effect than as a pamphleteer.’ In the first instance,. you are prepared to expect a political partisan ; in the latter you read for amusement, and unconsciously receive the bias. For one who reads a political pamphlet (by-the-by, they are generally only read by those who are of the same way of thinking as the author),.there are hundreds’ who read through a work of fiction, so that the opinions of the latter are much more widely dissemi- nated, Now, as most works are written for profit as well as reputation, they are naturally so worded as to insure the good-will of' the majority, otherwise they would not have ‘so extensive a sale. The ‘majority ‘being de- decidedly liberal, every work that now appears more or less attacks the higher orders. When, therefore, a gentleman who has been well re- ceived in the best society ventures upon writing a work, it is. quite sufficient to State’that he is an author (without his book being read) to occasion him. to ‘Jose caste’ to a certain degree. Authors have been the enemies of the higher classes. You have’ become an author, consequently you have ranked your- self with our enemies, Henry Bulwer, there- fore, is right when he asserts that, “to be known as an author is to your prejudice among. the higher classes.’ Having made these observations to. pomt out that the aristocracy and the press are at OLLA’ PODRIDA. variaricey! let us now examine into the merits of authors, as mixing in society... And here I think ‘it will'be proved; that. itis more their misfortune than -their fault that there should bea prejudice against them,; They are over- rated before they are seen, and under-rated aftetwards. You read| the works of an ,author—you are pleased’ with them; and); you-wish to become acquainted “with the man!; You anticipate ereat pleasure+you -expect from: bis lips, in impromptu, the same racy remarks, the same chain of reasoning}»the same life and vigour which’ have:cost:him-so many hours. of labour and reflection; sor which have been elicited in his happiest moods,,and, this. from;a_ person who comes, perhaps, almost a total stranger into a large)company. © Is this fair or; just to him? 'Did*yourfind any. of,your. other friends, at first meeting, play the fiddle to.awhole company of strangers ?-Are;not authors. as reserved and shy-as other. people--even more so? And yet you ask them, as 1f,.they were mountéebanks or jugglers withra,certain set of tricks, ‘to: amuse the company. .; The. very circumstance of being aware that this is ex- pected of him»makes. the man silent, and_his very anxiety to come up to your expectations takes away from his power. The’ consequence ‘is, that you are. disap- pointed,! and» so aré. the company, to whom you have: announced ‘that ..‘,Mr.,So-and-So? is to meet them. »Had) you become intimate with the person,’ you.-would, ;perhaps have found the difference; and that he whom. you pronounced as’a great failure: would. haye turned out equally amusing. At the same time, there is some truth in the remarks o1 “the Désennuyée’ that ‘some authors will not ‘let° out their new- ideas,’ because. they require’theni for ‘their books.’ But, as Bulwer observes, they must be but second-raters, as the majority:of authors are. In’ many instances they,are punsters ;. but punning isnot a standard.of authorship ; or, perhaps,° there may be, ether .second-rate authors present, and, if so, they know that they are in the company of literary pickpockets. To prove that this; remark of the ‘ Désen- nuyée cam only apply to second-rate authors, let us examine into the conyersational powers of those who are first-rate,, And here I can only speak of those whom, I, have known— there’ may be many others.. Where. could you find ‘such conversationists. as, Coleridge, Charies Lamb, Sir-John Malcolm,.and many others, who vare. now, gone? And among those in existence, J, have but to mention Croker, Theodore Hooke,. Professor Wilson, Bulwer, “Inockhart,: the Smiths, and, in the other sex, Lady Blessington,..luady Morgan, Mesdames Somerville; Austin, and Jameson,DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. Now these;are all first-rate authors in their various styles; and I can challenge any one to bring forward an equal number out of the whole mass who are so powerful or delightful in society, And there is still more to be said in favour of authors. I know many whose conversation is superior to their writings; I will not name them, as they, perhaps, would not. consider this to beac iment ; but it fully tends to disprove the remarks. of the ‘ Désennuyée,’ as to authors of talent reserving their thoughts for their books, for, on the ntrary, when in company, they generally take the lead.,.,Still,* there is a difference arising . from .the variety of temperament : some, accustomed to mix constantly in society, will be indifferent whether they are acquainted with the parties present or not; others, more retiring, require to feel at their ease, and it is only in small coteries, and among friends, that their real yalue can be appreciated. ‘Theodore Hooke is a proof of the former, the late Charles Lamb was of the latter... Some-shine most when they have no competitors ; others are only to be brought out when other men of talent, are in company, and, like the flint and steel, their sparks are only to be produced by collision. “If I might be permitted to offer an opinion to the authors themselves, it would: be, not to mix in general. company, but confine them- selves, to. their own: friends, They would stand much higher in. reputation if they them adhered to this plan; above. all, let avoid what the author, of the ‘ Deésennuyée’ terms;those ‘ Skinnerian lion feeds,’ given by those who have no talent to appreciate, and who..to fill their menagerie, will mix you up with foreign swindlers and home-bred ruffians. This is most humiliating, and has certainly injured the fraternity. I have .but. one more remark to make. Authors in England have little to expect from the government and the aristocracy. Pensions and honours have been given, but, until Sir Robert Peel set a more worthy example, they vere bestowed for the, support of. political opinions, not as a reward of talent. That the aristocracy, with, but a few exceptions, have not fostered.talent,,is most true; and they are now. .suffering from their want of judgment. .They have. shut: their doors to authors, and the authors have, been gradually undermining their. power;. To.what,.extent this may be carried, it is impossible to say ; but one thing is certain, that the press is;more powerful than either. king:or. lords, and that, if the conflict continue,-the. latter must yield to the influence of the former, who will have ample retaliation forthe neglect to which they have been subjected. What a superiority there is. in England over France, and évery;other nation,'in the period- ical and daily ‘press, especially inthe latter. Take up the ‘ Constitutionnel;’ or “Journal des Débats!;at Paris, and then look at the broad'double: sheets of the ‘Times’ and other morning papers, with the columins of informa- tionoand original matter which they contain. Compare the flimsy sheets, bad printing, and general paucity of informatiow of the Conti- nental daily press, with the cleat types, rapid steam, power called into: action): the outlay, enormous expenditure, and rapid information obtained by our leading journals from all quarters of the globe. I have’ looked with astonishment and admitation at the working of the ‘Times,’ hewspaper by its beautiful steam-engine ; it is one ofthe most interesting sights that can be beheld. Nothing but’ the assistance of steam could, indeed, enable. the great: daily newspapers to accomplish their presentrtask. » When’! the reader calls to mind that the «debates in the House are kept up till. two or three o'clock in the morning ; that the reporters, relieved every twenty minutes, have to carry all their com- munications to the office ; that allthis matter has to be arranged, put in type, and then worked. off, and that, notwithstanding this, the double sheet of matter ison thousands and. thousands. of -tables by nine o'clock the xt morning, it is really wonderful how it can complished.) Saturday night appears to the only night on which: thosé ‘connected with these immense undertakings can be said to have any repose from year’s end''to year's end, What a life of toil !* What an unnatural life must theirs: be, who thus cater during the hours of darkness: for the information and amusement: of the mass: who! have slept soundly through the night, and rise’to be instructed, by the labour of their vigils. It can be effected in no other country in the world, | It is another: link in-the great chain of miracles, which proves the ‘greatness’ of England. The; editors of these papers must’ have ‘a most onerous task.! It is not the writing of the leading article itself, but the obligation to write that article every day, whether inclined or, not, im sickness or in health, in affliction, distress of mind, winter and summer, year after year, tied down to one task, remaining in one spot. It is something like the walking a thousand miles in a thousand’ hots. ©] have a fellow-feeling for them, for I know how a monthly periodieal-will. wear down one’s existence. In itself it appears nothing—the labour is not manifest : noris it the labour— it is the continual attention which it requires, Your life becomes, as it were, the magazine, One monthis no-sooner corrected and printed than on comes» the other. It is the stone of 3—268 Sisyphus—-an etdless repetition of toil—a constant weight upon the mind—a continual Wearing upon the intellect and spirits, de- manding all the exertion of your faculties, at the same time that you are compelled to do the severest drudgery. To write for a maga- zine is very well, but to edit one is to con- demn yourself to slavery. Magazine writing, as it is generally termed, is the most difficult of all writing, and but few succeed in it ; the reason of which is obvious —it must always be what is termed ‘up to the mark.’ Any one who publishes a work in one, two, or three volumes, may be permitted to introduce a dull chapter or two: no one remarks it; indeed, these dull chapters allow the mind of the reader to relax for the time, and, strange to say, are sometimes favourable to the author. But in magazine-writing these cannot be per- mitted; the reader requires excitement, and whether the article be political or fictitious, there requires a condensation of matter, a pithiness of expression (to enable you to tell your story in so small a space), which is very difficult to obtain. F-ven in continuations the same rule must be adhered to, for being read month after month, each separate portion Must be considered as a whole and indepen- dent of the other; it must not therefore flag for one minute. A proof of this was given in that very remarkable production in ‘ Black- wood’s Magazine,’ styled ‘Tom Cringle’s Log.’ Every separate portion was devoured by the public—they waited impatiently for the first of the month that they might read the continuation, and every one was delighted, even to its close, because the excitement was so powerful. Some time afterwards the work was published in two volumes, and then, what was the consequence?—people complained that it was overcharged—that it was too full of excitement—gave no repose. This was true; when collected together it had that fault—a very good one, by-the-by, as well as a very uncommon one ; but they did not per- ceive that until it was all published together. During the time that it came out in fragments they were delighted. Although, in this in- stance, the writing was overcharged, still it proved, from the popularity it obtained when it appeared in the magazine, what force and condensation of matter is required in writing for periodicals. CHAPTER XXXI, I AM grave to-day; it is the birth-day of one of my children—a day so joyful in youth, in more advanced life so teeming with thought OLLA PODRIDA. and serious reflectioiis. How happy the child is—and it is its happiness which has made me grave. How changed are our feelings as we ad- vance in life !—Our responsibility is increased with each fleeting year. In youth we live but for ourselves—self predominates in everything. In mature age, if we have fulfilled the condi- tions of our tenure, we feel that we must live for our children. Fortunately, increase of years weans us from those selfish and frivolous expenses which youth requires, and we feel it little or no sacrifice to devote to our children the means which, before, we considered so important to the gratification of our pride and our ambition. Not that we have lost either our pride or our ambition, but they have become centred in other objects dearer tous than ourselves—in the race springing up—to whom we shall leave our names and worldly possessions when our own career is closed. Worn out with the pursuit of vanity, we pause at a certain age, and come to the con- clusion that in this life we require but little else than to eat, drink, prepare for a future exist- ence, and to die. What a miserable being must an old bache- lor be !—he vegetates, but he cannot be said to exist—he passes his life in one long career of selfishness, and dies. Strange, that chil- dren, and the responsibility attached to their welfare, should do more to bring a man into the right path than any denunciations from holy writ orholymen! How many who might have been lost, have been, it is to be hoped, saved, from the feeling that they must leave their children a good name, and must provide for their support and advancement in life! Yes, and how many women, after a life so frivolous as to amount to wickedness, have, from their attachment to their offspring, settled down into the redeeming position of careful, anxious, and _ serious-minded mothers ! Such reflections will rise upon a birth-day, and many more of chequered hopes and fears. How long will these flowers, now blos- soming so fairly, be permitted to remain with us? Will they be mowed down before another birth-day, or will they be permitted to live to pass through the ordeal of this life of tempta- tion? How will they combat? Will they fall and disgrace their parents, or will they be a pride and blessing? Will it please heaven to allow them to be not too much tempted, not overcome by sickness, or that they shall be severely chastised ? Those germs of virtue now appearing, those tares now growing up with the corn—will the fruit bring forth good seed ? will the latter be effectually rooted up by precept and example? How much to encou-DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. tage! and how much to check! Virtues in excess are turned to vice—liberality becomes extravagance—prudence, avarice — courage, rashness—love, weakness—even religion may turn to fanaticism—and superior intellect may, in its daring, mock the power which granted it. Alas! what a responsibility is here. Aman may enjoy or suffer when he lives for himself alone; but he js doubly blest or doubly cursed when, in his second stage, he is visited through his children. What a blessing is our ignorance of the future! Fatal, indeed, to all happiness in this world would be a foreknowledge of that Which is to come. We have but to do our duty and hope for the best, acknowledging, however severe may be the dispensation, tbat whatever is, or is to b is right. How strange, although we feel in the midst of life we are in death, that mortals should presume to reduce it to a nice calculation, and speculate upon it! I can sell] my life now to an annuity-office for twenty years’ purchase or more, and they will share a dividend upon it. Well, if ever I do insure my life, I hope that by me they will lose money, for, like everybody else in this world, I have a great many things to do before I die. There was but one man I ever heard of who could lie down and die, saying, ‘Now, Lord, let thy Servant depart in peace.’ I have no warning yet, no screw is loose in this complex mechan- &y ism ; and yet, this very day, a chimney-pot may fall on my head, and put an end to all my calculations. It is right that the precarious tenure of our existence should not be wholly forgotten, but certainly was never intended that it should be borne on the mind, for, if we had ever in our memory that we may die this very hour, what a check there would be to all energy, and enterprise, and industry. Who would specu- late with the anticipation of large returns upon some future day, if he did not calculate upon living to receive them? We should all stop fo say, Cui bono? If it were not that our hopes support us, not only support us in all reasonable, but even unreasonable calcula- tions, the world would be at a stand-still. No, no! we have our duty to perform towards our God ; but weare also enjoined to perform our duty towards our neighbour. The uncer- tainty of life is to be remembered as a check to our worldly passions, but not asa drag- chain to our worldly career, COAPTER-XXXTr. En route, August, 1837. THERE isa great art in packing property, and in it our profession are fortunately adepts. A midshipman, for instance, contrives to put everything at the bottom of his chest. No very easy matter to pack up and arrange a Carriageful of children, two birds, anda spaniel puppy—in all, twelve living beings with all their appendages, down to the birds and dogs’ tails, S for packing up a dog, that is impos- sible ; the best way is to pack it off. Canary birds travel very well in the carriage lamps, in the summer time, when they are not lighted ; and I mention this as a hint to those who travel with such indispensable append- ages. Independent of their being out of the Way, their appearance behind the glass is a source of great amusement to those who are standing by where you change horses, Stopped at St. Frond, and asked what was to be seen. Nothing here but churches and monks. One of the little girls, three years old, looked with avidity at the Virgin Mary, three feet high, in gold brocade. The old verger observing this, led her nearer to it, ascribing her admiration probably to piety, when, to his horror, she screamed out, ‘ Quel jolie poupée !’ Solomon says, ‘Out of the mouth of babes shall ye be taught wisdom.’ The old man dropped her hand, and looked as if he would have lighted the faggots had she been bound to the Stake, as she, in his opinion, deserved. The perseverance of Belgian beggars is most remarkable, and equally annoying. The best Way is to take out your purse, and pretend to throw something over their heads ; they turn back to look for it ; and if you keep pointing farther off, you distance them. On the whole, I consider that it is much more advisable not to give to beggars, than to relieve them. Begging is demoralizing, and should be dis- countenanced in every country. If children are brought up to whine, cry, and humiliate themselves as in Belgium, ‘that feeling of pride and independence in early youth, which leads ta industry in after-life, is de- stroyed. And yet, the aged and infirm would appear to be proper objects of charity. In many cases, of course, they must be; but-to prove how you may be deceived, I will state a circumstance which occurred to me some years ago. I was driving up the road with a friend. He was one of the pleasantest and most honest men that nature ever moulded. His death was most extraordinary : of a nervous tempera- iment, ill health ended in aberration of intel- lect. At that time Lord Castlereagh had ended79 OLLA PODRIDA: his life of over-excitement by suicide; the de- tails in the newspapers were read by him, and he fancied that he was Lord Castlereagh. Acting precisely by the accounts recorded in the newspapers, he went through the same forms, and actually divided his carotid artery, using his penknife, as had’ done the unfortu- nate peer. Peace be with him! To proceed. I was driving. in a gig, a distance of about forty miles from town, on the Northern Road, when, at the bottom of a steep hill, we fell in with a group who were walking ‘up it. It consisted of a venerable old man, with his gray locks falling down on his shoulders, dressed as a countryman, with a bundle on a stick over his shoulders; with him were a young man and woman, both heavily bur- dened, and five children of different sizes. The appearance of the old ‘man was really patriarchal, and there was a placidity in his countenance which gave a very favourable impression. Fora Short time they continued breasting the hill on the pathway : when about one-third up, the old man crossed the road to us, aS our horse was walking up, and taking off his hat, said, ‘Gentlemen, if not too great a liberty, ‘may I ask how far it is to ———? mentioning a town about twelve miles off. We told him, and he replied, ‘That’s a Jong way for old legs like mine, and young legs of tired children.’ He then informed us that they had lost their employment in the coun- try, and that, with his son and daughter, and their children, he had gone to town to procure work, but had been unsuccessful, and_ they were’ now on. their return. ‘God's will be done!’ continued he, after his narrative, ‘and thankful shall we be to find ourselves at our cottages again, although twelve miles is a weary bit of road, and I Have but a few half- pence left; but that will buy a bit of bread for the poor children, and we must do as we can, Good-morning, and thank. ye kindly, gentlemen.’ Now there was no begging here, certainly, except by implication. ‘The effect, however, of his narrative was to exttact a crown out of our pockets, which was recéived with a shower of blessings on-our heads. ‘We drove off, ob- serving how difficult it was to know how to select real objécts of charity, and flattering ourselves that alms in this instance were worthily bestowed. My readers will agree with me, I have no doubt. It so happened ‘that, ‘about’ teh days after- wards, T'was driving on the Dover Road, in the same gig, and in company with the same gentlenien, when we came to the bottom of Shooter's ‘Hill: Who should we fall in with but the very same party, the venerable old man, the young people, and the children, trudgingup the pathway? The same plan of proceeding ,was .observed, for, although we recognized them immediately, it appeared that they did not. recognize us. We allowed the old fellow to tell his tale, as before; it was just the same. He first took off his hat, and inquired the distance to ———; and _ then entered into the same narrative, only changing the place of abode, and ending with his few halfpence to buy bread for the children. I let him finish, and then I did not, as before, give him a crown, but I gave him a cut across his face with the whip, which made him drop his bundle, put his hands up to it; and we left him, stamping with pain in the middle of the road, till we were out of sight. A young rogue I can easily pardon, but an old one, on the verge of the grave, isa proof of hardened villany, which admits of no extenuation. After giving him this cut direct, we never met again, To return to St. Frond.—In. the last church we visited we had_a Scene. ; A woman was in the confessional ; the priest with a white hand- kerchief up to conceal his face, and prevent what he said being. overheard, attracted the attention of the children, who demanded an explanation. Children ask so many questions. “Do you think she has been. very wicked? Will he forgive her?’ Before I could offer my opinion upon this important subject, the wo- man gave a loud scream, and fell back from the confessional ina fit. ‘The priest rose, the handkerchief no longer concealed his face, and he appeared to be burning with indigna- tion. She was carried out of the church, and the priest hastened up the aisle to the vestry. What had she done? At all events, something for which it appeared there was no absolution. Aix-la-Chapelle—alas! What did we care for the tomb of Charles the Great, and his extensive dominions, his splendour and power? We had lost something to us of much more importance—a carpet bag; not that the carpet bag was. of much value, for it was an old one, nor the articles which it contained, for they were neither new nor of much worth; but we lost in that carpet bag an invaluable quantity of comfort, for it contained a variety of litle absolute necessaries, the loss of which we could not replace until our arrival at Cologne, to which town all our trunks had been de- spatched..The children could not. be brushed, for the brushes were in the carpet bag ; they could not be combed, for the combs were in the carpet bag; they were put to bed without night-caps, for the night-caps were in the car- pet bag; they were put to bed in their little chemises, reaching down to the fifth rib or thereabouts, for their night-clothes were in the carpet bag: not only the children, but every one else suffered by this carpet bag being ab- sent without leave, My boots burst, and myothers were in the carpet bag ; my snuffbox Was empty, and the canister was in the carpet bag ; and the servants erumbled, for they had smuggled some of their things into the carpet bag. It would appear that everything had been crammed into‘ this unfortunate receptacle. Had we lost a jewel-case, ‘or a purse full of money, it would have ‘been a trifle compared to the misery occasioned by this jumble up of every-day conveniences of little value, show ing how much more comfort depends upon the necessaries than the luxuries of life. I may add, now that I read what I have written, that this ‘carpet’ bag increased “in dimensions to a most extraordinary compass for'several weeks afterwards. Everything that was missing was declared by the servants to have been in the carpet bag, which, like the scape-goat of the Jews, wandered in the wilderness, bearing with it all the sins of all the nurses and every other domestic of the family. On our road, the landlord of an inn put the following printed document into my hands, which I make public for the benefit of those who “are sportsmen ‘without being‘ land: holders :— ‘ Comfortable Inn.—The proprietor of the Red House, at Burgheim, on the road from Aix-la-Chapelle to Cologne, pleasantly situated in the middle of the town, Opposite the Post- Office and Post-House, has the honour of recommending himself to travellers, ‘The ‘‘Galignani’s Messenger” and other news- papers are taken in. ‘The English, German, and French languages spoken. Having ex- cellent preserves of game in the néighbour- hood, he is happy to inform travellers that He can provide them with good sports in wild boar, deer, and hare hunting, and wild duck and partridge shooting. Horses and car- riages of all descriptions supplied for excur- sions in the neighbourhood. et LONG. Prussia.~-T fear that our political econo- mists are running after a shadow, and that their reciprocity system will never be listened to. It is remarkable, that, after subsidizing this and other powers to break up the Conti- nental system established by Napoleon for the expulsion of English manufactures and the consequent ruin of England, now that the world is at peace, these very powers who, by our exertions and our money, have been liber- ated from their thraldom, have themselves established the very system of exclusion which we were so anxious to prevent. “A Tittle re- flection will prove that they are right. The government of a country ought never, if pos- sible, to allow that country to be dependent DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. rd 7t upon any other for such resources obtain by its own industry. We, ourselves, acted upon this principle when we established the silk manufactories in Spitalfields ¥+and it is the duty of every government to do“the same. The indigenous productions of the soil may fairly he admitted ona system of reciprocity and exchange, but nét articles of manufac- ture, of which the raw material is to be obtained by all. For instance, the lead, and iron, and tin of Great Britain, the wines of other countries, are all articles to be exchanged or paid for by those who have not mines of those metals, or do not possess vineyards. Further’ than ° this reciprocity cannot go, as it can without, being injurious to one, if not to both Parties. Three’ of the carriage-wheels defective ! Add to this the carpet-bag, and people will agree in the trite observation that misfortunes never come single. This is not true; they do come single very often, and, when they do, they are more annoying than if they come in heaps. You growl at a single mishap, but if you find that fortune is down upon you and attempts to overload you, you rise up against her with indignation, snap your fingers, ana laugh at her. The last mishap brought con- solation for all the others; if we had not’ so fortunately found out the defects in the wheels we might have broken our necks the next day, especially as some amateur took a fancy and helped himself to our sabot. TI only wish he may be shod with it for the remainder of his days. It is curious how the ignorant and suxple always rise or depreciate othets, whatever their rank may be, to their own levels, when they talk of them. I listened to one little girl telling a story to another, in which kings, queens, and princesses were the actors.. “And So, said the queen to ‘the princess, “what 4 pretty doll that, is of yours!’ “Yes, your majesty ; papa bought it for me at the bazaar, and gave 58. 6d. for it,’ &c. This reminded me of the sailors telling stories on board of a man-of-war, who put very different language into the mouth of royalty. ‘ Well,’ says the. king, ‘blow me tight if I’ll stand this. You must buckle to as fast. as you please, Mrs. Queen.” ‘T’Il see you hanged first, and your head shaved too,’ answered her majesty in a rage, &c., &c. What queens may say in a Tage it is impossible to assert; but to the seamen this language appeared to be perfectly regal and quite correct. Some people form odd notions of gentility, A cabman took up a well-dressed female, who made use of expressions which rather stertled him, and he observed to a friend of Se ey hackney coachman, that he had no idea that2 OLLA PODRIDA. the higher classes used such_ language. ‘Pooh! pooh!’ replied the coachman, ‘she warn't a lady.’ ‘I beg your pardon,’ replied the cabman, ‘a real lady, hat and feathers Cologne.—This is a regular Golgotha—the skulls of the Magi, par excellence, and then the skulls of St. Ursula and her 11,000 virgins. I wonder where she collected so many! St. Ursula brought a great force into the field, at all events, and, I presume, commands the right wing of the whole army of martyrs. I went into the golden chamber, where there are some really pretty things. The old fellow handed us the articles one after another, but I observed that there were many things which I had seen when here before which were,not presented to view, so I looked into the cabinet and found them. They were crystal vases, mounted with gold and precious stones. One had the thigh-bone of St. Sebastian ; another, part of the ulna of St. Lawrence ; and a third a bit of the petti- coat of the Virgin Mary. I handed them out to the ladies, and asked him why he did not show us those as he used to do before. ‘The old man smiled and turned the corners of his mouth down, as if to say, ‘It’s all humbug!’ Relics are certainly at a discount, even among the Catholics. I question whether the Bridge of Boats at Cologne don’t pay better than any other in the whole world, although by no means the hand- somest ; the stream of passengers on it all day is as strong and as wide as the Rhine itself. As for Cologne, the best thing that could happen to it is to be burnt down. Nar- row streets, badly ventilated, badly drained ; your nose is visited with a thousand varieties of smell as you pass along; and the Eau de Cologne in the gutters is very different in savour from that which you buy in the bottles, We had a pleasant passage from Cologne to Coblentz, and from thence to Mayence, because we had pleasant company. It is singular, but it is a fact, that you go on board a steamboat to avoid fatigue, and each night you are more tired than if you had travelled by land. You go to avoid dust and heat ; the first is exchanged for blacks out of the funnel, and you are more dirty than if you had_ tra- velled twice the distance; and the heat is about the same ; in these points you certainly gain nothing. ‘The expense of these Rhine steamboats is very great. By a calculation I made—to travel by post, five persons in a carriage, from Cologne to Strasburg—you will expend 200 and odd francs less than by the steam conveyance. In time you certainly lose by steam, as you are four days and a half going to Strasburg, and by land carriage it is half the distance, being only forty-five posts. Neither do you save trouble, for, the steam- boats being changed every evening, you have to take your luggage on shore, shift it from one to the other, and, at the very time that you are least inclined to do anything, inde- pendent of an enormous expense which you ought not to pay, but cannot well resist. Now, as you really gain nothing in the above points, it is at least to be supposed that you gain in the picturesque ; but this is not the case; and I have no hesitation in assert- ing that those who go up the Rhine are generally disappointed, although they do not like to say so. They expect too much. The vivid descriptions, the steel engravings, have raised their anticipations too high; and they find that the reality is not equal to the efforts of the pen and pencil. Several of the pas- sengers acknowledged to me that they were disappointed; and I must confess that I hardly knew the Rhine again. When I travelled up the Rhine by land I thought it beautiful ; but in a steam-boat it was tame. This was observed by others, besides my- self, who had ascended both by steam and by the road running close to the banks ; and the reason was simple. When you travel by land you have the whele breadth of the Rhine as a foreground to the scenery of the opposite bank, and this you lose by water ; and the bank you travel on is much more grand from its towering above you, and also from the sharp angles and turns which so suddenly change the scenery. Abruptness greatly assists the picturesque. The Rhine loses half its beauty viewed from a steam-boat. I have ascended it in both ways, and I should recom- mend all travellers to go up by land. The inconveniences in a steam-boat are many. You arrive late and find the hotel crowded, and you are forced to rise very early (at Mayence at three o’clock in the morning), which, with a family, is no trifle. The only part of the Rhine worth seeing is from Cologne to Mayence ; below Cologne and above Mayence it is without interest ; and although between these two places the steam-boats are well served, above Mayence everything is very uncomfortable, and you are liable to every species of exaction. If I were to plan a tour up the Rhine for any friends, I should advise them not to go by the Rotterdam steamer; it is a long voyage and without interest, and with many inconveniences ; but start in the steamer to Antwerp, go up to Brussels by the rail-road ; from thence you will start for Cologne by the route of Namur and Liége through Waterloo; and I rather expect that many will prefer the banks of the j/ewse to the Rhine. I know nothing more beautiful than the road from Namur as far as Chaude Fontaine, although compared to the Rhine it is on a miniatureDIARY ON THE CONTINENT 73 scale. From Liége to Aix-la-Chapelle, and from thence to Cologne. Go up the Rhine by land as far as Mayence, and then you may do as you please. When you are coming back, descend by the steam-boats, for then you go with the stream and with great rapidity, and arrive in good time at the towns where they stop. You will then have seen the Rhine by land and by water. At present the bubble is at its height ; but it will burst by-and-by. The English are lining the banks of the Rhine with gold, and receive insult and abuse in exchange. I have been much amused with a young countryman who has come up in the steamer with me. Not able to speak a word of French or Ger- man, he is pillaged every hour of the day; but if he could speak he has no idea of the value of his money. He pulls out his purse, and the waiters help themselves—very Alenti- fully, J may safely add. What he has come for, it is difficult to say: not for the pictu- resque, for he slept the whole time between Cologne and Mayence—that is, all the time that was not occupied by eating and drinking. His only object appears to be to try the Rhenish wines. He has tried all upon the Wein Presen. He called fora bottle of the best ; they gave him one not on the carte, and charged him exactly one pound sterling for the bottle. He is a generous fellow ; he sits at the table with his bottle before him, and invites every man to partake of it. And he found plenty on board who were willing to oblige him. ‘ Capital wine, ain’t it?’ said he to a French- man who drank his wine, but did not under- stand a word of English. * ‘A votre santé, monsieur,’ replied the Frenchman, ‘I say, what wine do you call it ?’ ‘C'est exquis, monsieur,’ replied the French- man. ‘Exkey, is it ? You, waiter, bring us an- other bottle of exkey.’ CHAPTER XXXII. To continue.-—Should travellers think it ad- visable to proceed upon the Rhine, so far as Mayence, let them be careful how they ven- ture to proceed farther. I did so, out of curi- osity to know what the features of the Rhine were, after it had lost its character for mag- nificence; and I will now detail my progress. At Mayence you are shifted into a smaller steamer, with less power, upon the principle that there being but a few passengers, their comforts do not require so much attention ; for, as the Rhine becomes more rapid as it narrows, upon any other principle the power of the engine should have been greater. 1 must caution the reader not to believe what is told them by the steam-packet company. Barbers were once considered liars par ex- cellence, but I am inclined to give the prefer- ence to these new associations. ‘The features of the Rhine change immediately that you leave Mayence ; the banks are low, and the river is studded with numerous islands, all of which, as well as the greatest proportion of the banks, are covered with osiers. Still, there is a great beauty in the Rhine even there ; the waving of the osiers to the strong breeze, the rapidity of the current, the wind- ings of the river, the picturesque spires of the village churches, or the change of scenery when the river pours through forests, lining each bank as the vessel slowly claws against the rapid stream, are by no means uninterest- ing ; of course we did not arrive at Leopold- shaffen at the hour stated by the people at the office, but we did arrive lateat night, and took up our quarters at a small auberge in the above village, which is not marked down in the maps, but which has post-horses and diligences to convey passengers to Carlsruhe. Notwithstanding the assertion at the packet- office, that we were to be in one day to Leo- poldshaffen, in one day more to Strasburg, we found there was no steamer until the day after the morrow, and that. we must wait one day more if we did not choose to go to Carlsruhe. The females, being fatigued, preferred re- maining where they were. We sauntered about and amused ourselves quietly. The next day, we found the steamer had arrived, and that instead of her ascending in one day to Strasburg, it would take a day and a half, and that we must pass the night aboard without the least accommodation—not very pleasant, with a carriageful of young children. We embarked on board the steamer, which was a miserable small vessel, with an engine of bad construction, and very small power ; and with this we were to oppose the most rapid part of the Rhine. In every other point the vessel was equally ill found : they had a very small stock of provisions, bad wine, and none of those comforts provided for the passengers in the other vessels. To crown all, another family with children (of whom more _ here- after) had taken their passage. ‘The steward told us, that never expecting so many people on board going up to Strasburg, he was totally unprepared ; and so it eventually appeared. We started, and soon found out that the power of the engines was quite disproportion- ate to the object in view. The Rhine now as- sumed a more desolate character. For miles and miles not a village or even a solitary town to be seen; the Hartz mountains forming ablue oqaque mass in the distance ;. the stream rapidly passing through narrow. and deep channels, leaving one half of the bed of the river dry... At times we passed*yery dangerous Straits, where the waters boiled and eddied Over reefs of rocks, and were often obliged to force our way by keeping within a foot of steep and muddy banks, where trees torn up, and hanging by the roots, proved how violent must be the current when the tiveris increased by the melting of the mountain snow. Our progress was, ,as it may be imagined, most tedious; at no time did we advance above a mile and.a half per hour: sometimes weidid not gain a hundred yards jn the same time, and Occasionally we were swept back by the current, and had to lose stil] more ground, while they increased the power of the engine at the risk of explosion. ‘The consequence was, that when the day closed, the conducteur gave his opinion, that instead of being at Strasburg by eleven.or twelve o'clock the next day, we should not arrive till. four or five o'clock : we anchored within a yard of the bank, and prepared.to pass the night how we could. Our. party consisted of seven, with two nurses. The other party consisted of four grown-up females, one male, four boys, -an East African negro, and a cowskzz , the latter was a vety important personage, and made a great noise during the passage. The gentle- man Was apparently one of those. who deno- minate theinselves eclectic : he paid very little attention to what was going on; a peaceable sort.of man, whose very physiognomy. said “anything for a quiet life ;’ one of the ladies was his wife, and two others, virgins of. some standing, apparently his,sisters ; the other lady, a bilious-looking sort of. personage, and happy in being the mother of four very fine boys, as great pickles as ever lived ; these she kept in order with the assistance of the negro and the cowskin, the use of the latter occasioning such evident marks of astonishment and horror to our little ones, as not to be at all satisfactory to the lady in question, who appeared, not averse, had she daréd, to have given them a taste ‘of it. The youngest and the youngest but one of the boys were ' the two. sufferers ; the youngest had a regular dozen. admini- stered every half hour. The two eldest were more particularly tinder the care of the negro, who used his fists, Ppresume because they wore corduroys, and, as Hood Says, did not care for ‘cut behind.” We had not been in the vessel two minutes before there was a breeze. heard the negro expostulating as follows :~—“ You very foolish boy, what you mean ? who ever heard of putting new .cloth cap into water to catch fish? This was the first offence. I must’ say that the coercion m4 OLLA PODRIDA, aised did not, appear. to originate, drom.agy feeling of regard for the children, . for,.they were allowed sto. climb,.and push, and:run over the sky-lights, and over the engine, and I every moment expected that some of them would either be provided for either by the cog-wheels or the River Rhine, It was evident at once, not only from the above accessories, but from _ the Chinese trunks which contained. their luggage, . that they were .an Indian importation, and their behaviour subsequently proved; it, beyond; all doubt, even if they had not made it known— not by talking to us, but by talking at.us, for they evidently did not consider that we were sufficiently respectable. to be admitted into their society, even in the «short intercourse of fellow-travellers, I cannot, here help making an observation relative. to most of the people who come from India. ‘They. ave always. dissatisfied, and would gladly return, The reason is very obvious ; they at once lose their rank and con- sequence, and: sink down to. the: level. which they are entitled to in Engiish society. ,,.In India the rank of the servants of the Company takes precedence; but whatever their rank or emolument may. be «in India; they are still but servants of a company, of :merchants, and such rank is not, of course, allowed in Eng- land. , Accustomed to. unlimited sway and control over a host of fawning slaves, and to that attention as females—which,. where. fe- males are not very, plentiful, is most sedu- lously paid—accustomed to patronize the newcomers, who, of course,. feel grateful, for such. well-timed civility, and hospitality—in short, accustomed to rank, splendour, wealth, and power—it is not surprising. that, upon their return to England, when they. find themselves.shorn of all these,.and that their Station in society is far more removed from the apex, they become sullen and dissatisfied. Of. course, there are many who: have been resident in India, where family and connec- tions insure them every advantage upon their return to their native country; but it must be recollected that the greater proportion of those who return consists-ef those whe-were of low origin, and who have obtained fheir appoint- ments in reward for the exertions: of their parents in behalf of their patrons in parlia- mentary returns, &c., and of young females who have (with their face as their fortune) been shipped off to India upon a matrimonial speculation. Now, however high.in rank they may have, in the course of many. years’ ser- vice, arrived to in. India, when they return they are nobodies ; and unless they bring with them such wealth as to warrant theirbeing designated as nabobs,. their chance of admit- tance into the best society is very small indeed.DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. [have said that they ¢a/éed at us,,.and not tous, The gentleman was civil, and would have conye srsed, but he was immediately in- terrupted and jsent off on a message ; ‘and, fora quiet life, he gave it up...The system of tal King at peop ale always reminds me of the play-of the ‘ Critic,’ in.which itis asked. why, if ‘he ae all this, it is necessary to tell him again ??. Simply be e the audience do not; so, the party in question were the actors, and we were the audience to..be informed. The conyersation between, the adults ran as fol- lows|:—‘ You recollect how. polite Lord C—— was to. us, at ——-—-? ‘To be sure I do.’—‘ Lady D—— told me, so and ‘Yes, recollect it very well.’--‘ What a:nice man the Honourable. Mr. E—— is! ‘ Yes, that he is.’—-‘ How very intimate we were at —— with Lady G.’ ‘That we -were.’— And soon, during the whole of the day, much to our edification... How contemptible, how paltry is such vanity! But with. their. indul- gence of it for our amusement, the. cowskin, and a scanty dinner, we got through. the first day, during ,which. two or three occasional patronising questions or remarks were thrown at our heads, and then they reverted to their own , assumed, exclusiv The night, as may be supposed, was hing but comfort- able.to those in the cabin ;.but I. shall not dwell upon what, if fairly narrated, would be <¢ very pretty sketch of human. nature. We were to arrive the mext day at five o'clock in the afternoon, but we toiled. on; and the sun at last went down, and we found ourselves with the steeple at. Strasburg a long way off. Weagainanchored, and had to pass another night in this miserable vessel and de- lightful company. -The detention, of course, made our fellow-passengers more cross ;.and could I have obtained possession of.the co\w- skin, I. would certainly have thrown it over- ‘d.. The,captain sent.a man on shore to procure us.something .to.eat, for the steward declared himself .bankrupt: ..The next fore- noon we arrived at the bridge of boats be- tween. Kehl, and. Strasburg; and thus was finished our tedious and unpleasant voyage, of which I have given.a description as a warn- ing to all future travellers. Our fellow-pas- sengers did once condescend.:to. address, and inform us that they. had left-England (a party of ten people),only to pay a visit to some friends in Switzerland—an expensive sort of trip, and which did not appear at all, con- sistent with the fact that they were travelling without a carriage female servants... Be it as it might, .we, separated without so much as a salutation, or. good-bye being ex- changed. Much of the picturesque. on the Rhine is destroyed by the vineyards, which are, in wary SO. Lo reality, the most unpoetical things in landscape scenery, being, ranged up the sides of the mountains in little battalions like infantry. It is remarkable in how shallow and how very poor,.a. soil the vine .will, grow. ~~ At © St. Michael’s, they dig: square holes in the volcanic rocks, and the vines find sustenance. At the Cape of Good Hope the Constantia vineyards are planted upon little more than sand. I dug down some depth, and could find nothing else. The finest grapes grown in® Burgundy are upon a stratum of soil little more than a foot deep, over. schistus, slate quarries,'and the soil itself composed.chiefly of the débris of this soft.rock, We know that the vegetable creation has a sort of instinct as well as the animal; and it appears to me that there are different degre es of instinct.in that portion of nature as we il as in the other. A vine, for instance, I take-to be.a very clever, plant, and “both apple and pear-trees to be. great fools. ‘The vine ‘will always; seek its own nourishment, hunting With its roots through the soil for the aliment if requires; and if it cannot find it where it is planted, it will seek, in every direction and toa great distance, to obtain it. It is asserted that the famous vine at Hampton Court has passed its roots under the bed of theriver; and obtains aliment fromthe soil on the other side ; but an apple or pear-tree will take no such trouble—-it will not even avoid what is noxious, Plant one of these trees in the mould three. or four feet above the marl. or clay; so 1ong as the roots remain in,the mould, the tree will flourish, but so soon as the.tap root pierces; down to the marl or clay below the mould, the tree will cankér and die.” To pre- vent this, itis the custom to dig first down to the marl and put a layer of tiles upon it, which turn to the roots. of the trees from a perpen- dicular to a horizontal direction, and then they do. well ; but leaye the tree without assistance, and the’fool will commit suicide, blindly rush- ing to its own destruction ; while the vine will not only avoid it, but use every exertion to procure what is necessary for its continuing in health and. vigour. The vine is therefore certainly the more intellectual plant of the two. CHAPTER’ XXXIV, Strasbourg. THERE certainly is an impulse implanted in our natures to love something ; our affections were never intended to lie in abeyance, and if they cannot be placed upon the other sex or our own children, they still seek something as an object. ‘This accounts for old bachelorsbeing fond of their nephews and nieces, for blood relationship has nothing to do with it; and for old ladies, who have not entered into wedlock, becoming so attached to dogs, cats, and parrots. Sometimes, indeed, the affections take much wilder flights in the pursuit of an object, and exhibit strange idiosyncrasies ; but still it proves by nature we are compelled to love something. I have been reflecting how far this principle may not be supposed to per- vade through the universe, and whether we cannot trace it in the inferiors of the animal creation ; whether we cannot trace a small remnant of Paradise in the beasts who enjoyed it with man, as well as in man himself. It is well known that animals will take very strong and very strange attachments towards other animals. It is, perhaps, more apparent in domestic animals, but is not that because they are more brought together and more under our immediate eye? In some instances, as in the case when maternal feelings are roused, the strongest antipathies and habits will be controlled. A cat losing her kittens has been known to suckle a brood of young rats, but in this case I consider instinct to have been the most powerful agent; wild beasts confined in cages show the same pro- pensity. The lion secluded in his den has often been known to foster and become strongly attached to a dog, thrown into him to be devoured; but there never was an instance of a lion or any other wild beast, which had a female in the same den, or even a companion of its own species, preserving the life of any other living creature thrown in to him. This feeling occasions also the pro- duction of hybrids; which in a wild state could never take place. There is not, pro- bably, a more ferocious or ill-tempered animal than the bear when it is grown up ; it is sub- dued by fear, but shows no attachment to its keeper ; yet, the other day I fell in with a re- markable narration proving the feeling I have referred to, actuating even this animal. A proof of the bad feeling of a bear is fully esta- bished by the fact that, although Martin, as the old bear is called in the Jardin des Plantes, at Paris, had been confined in his fosse nearly twenty years, during which time not a day passed that he was not well fed by the people who amused themselves in the gardens, when a man fell into his pit, he immediately de- stroyed him. It does, however, appear that all bears are not so ill-tempered as Monsieur Martin, Leopold, Duke of Lorraine, had a bear confined by a long chain, near the palis- ades below the glacis. Some poor Savoyard boys, who had emigrated as they still do, with the hopes of picking up some money to take back with them, had taken shelter in an out- house during a severe snowstorm, One of them 75 OLLA PODRIDA. who was numbed’with the cold, thought that he would try if he could not find some warmer berth, and in seeking this, as the snow fell fast, he at last crawled, nearly exhausted, into the kennel of the bear. Instead of tearing the lad to pieces, the bear took him in his fore paws, and pressed him to his shaggy warm coat till he was quite recovered. A bear ge- nerally receives you with open arms, whatever may be his ultimate decision; but in this in- stance it was favourable. ‘The poor little boy finding himself in good quarters, went fast asleep ; the next morning he sallied forth te obtain some victuals if he could, but without success. Cold and hunger drove him again to tbe kennel of the bear, who not only was delighted to see him, but had actually laid aside a portion of his supper for the boy’s use. The amicable arrangement continued for some days, and the bear, at last, would not touch his !victuals till the boy’s return. ‘This pe- culiar friendship was at last discovered, and the story narrated to the Duke, who sent for the boy, and took care of him, admitting him into his own household. ‘The narrator ob- serves that the boy died a year or two after this unusual occurrence had taken place. I have no doubt but that many more instances might be brought forward by others to esta- blish my supposition. ‘To us, all wild animals of the same species appear to be much alike in disposition because we have not an oppor- tunity of examining and watching them care- fully, but I should rather imagine, that as we can perceive such a manifest difference in temper between individual horses and dogs and other animals who are domesticated, that the same difference must exist in the wild species, and that, in fact, there may be shades of virtue and vice in lions, tigers, bears, and other animals; and that there does exist in animals as well as in man, more or less ac- cording to their natural dispositions, a rem- nant of those affections which in the garden of our first parents were so strongly implanted as to induce the lion to lie down with the lamb. ‘God is love,’ says the Scriptures ; before the devil found his way to this earth all was love, for God only was there. Now man struggles between the two principles of good and evil. When his nature was changed, so was that of animals; but the principle not being. extinct in man, why should not a por- tion still remain with the rest of the creation, who with him were permitted to inhabit the garden of Eden, and whose savage natures were not roused until with man they were driven from that abode of peace? The most affectionate animal that I know of is the common brown Mongoose: it is a creature between the squirrel and the monkey, with all the liveliness but without any of theDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. mischief of the latter. Unfortunately they will not live in our country, or they would supersede the cat altogether: they are very clean, and their attachment is beyond all con- ception to those who have not seen them. They will leap on their master’s shoulder, or get into his bed, and coil their long bushy tails round his neck like a boa, remaining there for hours if permitted. I recollect one poor little fellow who was in his basket dying —much to the grief of his master—who, just before he expired, crawled out of his straw and went to his master’s cot, where he had just sufficient strength to take his place upon his bosom, coil his tail round his neck, and then he died. Hares and rabbits are also very affectionate. One of my little girls had one of the latter, which she brought up in the house. He grew very large, and was domesticated just like a dog, following you everywhere, in the parlour and up into the bed-room ; in the winter lying on the rug before the fire on his side, and stretching out his four legs as unconcerned as possible, even refusing to go away if you pushed him. As for the cat, she durst not go near him. He thrashed her unmercifully, for he was very strong ; and the consequence was that she retired to the kitchen, where he would often go down, and if she was in his way drive her out. The hare and rabbit, as well as the deer tribe, defend themselves by striking with their fore paws, and the blow which they can give is more forcible than people would sup- pose. One day when I was ina cover, leaning against a tree, with my gun in my hand, I presume for some time I must have been in deep thought, I heard a rustling and then a squeak on the other side of the tree; I looked round the trunk, and beheld a curious combat between two hares and a stoat. The hares were male and feniale, and had their leveret between them, which latter was not above six weeks old. ‘The stoat-—a little devil with all its hair, from the tip of its nose to the end of its tail, standing at end—was at about two yards’ distance from them, working round and round to have an opportunity to spring upon the leveret, which was the object of its attack. As it went round.so did the hares face him, pivoting on a centre with the young one be- tween them. At last the stoat made a spring upon the leveret. He was received by the hares, who struck him with their fore feet such blows as I could not have believed possible ; they actually resounded, and he was rolled over and over until he got out of distance, when he shook himself and renewed his at- tacks. These continued about ten minutes, and every time he was beaten off; but, at every spring his teeth went into the poor little leveret, at last it gave its last squeak, turned tk over on its side, and died, the father and mo- ther still holding their relative situations, and facing the stoat. The latter showed as much prudence as courage; for so soon as he per- ceived that the leveret was dead, he also walked off. The hares turned round to their young one, smelt at it apparently, pushed it with their noses, and shortly after, as if aware that it was past all defence, hopped slowly away ; they were hardly out of sight in the bushes when back came the stoat, threw the leveret, twicezas big as himself, over his shoulders, and went off with his prize at a hard gallop, re- minding me, in miniature, of the Bengal tiger carrying off a bullock. All the actors in the drama having gone off, I walked off, and shortly after both barrels of my gun went off, so the whole party,disappeared, and there’s an end of my Story. If an elephant were not so very unwieldy, and at the same time so very uncertain in his temper, he is the animal who has the most claims from affection and intelligence to be made a pet of; but an elephant ia a drawing- room would be somewhat incommodious ; and, although one may admit of a little irritability of temper ina lap-dog, weighing three pounds, the anger of an elephant, although he ex- presses himself very sorry for it afterwards, is attended with serious consequences. ‘There is something very peculiar about an elephant in his anger and irritability. It sometimes hap- pens that, at a certain season, a wild elephant will leave the herd and remain in the woods alone. It is supposed, and I think that the supposition is correct, that these are the weaker males who have been driven away by the stronger, in fact, they are elephants crossed in love; and when in that unfortunate dilemma, they are very mischievous, and play as many fantastic tricks as ever did any of the knights of the round table on similar occasions in times of yore. When I was at Trincomalee, an elephant in this situation had taken possession of the road at some leagues distant, and, for reasons best known to himself, would not allow a soul to pass it. He remained perdu in the jungle till he saw somebody coming, and then he would burst out and attack them. It is the custom to travel in palanquins from one part of the island to another, as in all parts of India. If, some officer or gentleman was obliged to pro- *, ceed to Colombo or elsewhere, so soon as the palanquin came towards him, out came the elephant ; the native bearers, who knew that it was no use arguing the point, dropped the palanquin and fled, and all that the occupant could do was to bundle out and do the same before the elephant came up, otherwise he had little chance of his life, forthe elephant imme- diately put his knees in the palanquin, and78 OLLA PODRIDA. smashed it to atoms. Havin&,done this, he would toss the fragments in the air,in every direction, at the same time carefully unfolding all the articles contained: in the palanquin. for the occupant’s use—shirts, trowsers, boots, bottles, books, undergoing a »most rigid exa- mimation, and after that being. rendered. to fragments, If the:coolie who had the charge of the bag of letters made his appearance, he was immediately pursued until he gave up the whole correspondence, official or private, The bag was opened, every letter was opened -one by one, and then torm in fragments and tossed to the winds. In this way did he keep. pos- session of the road, stopping all communica- tion for several’ weeks, until’ it. was his sove- reign will and pleasure that people might re- ceive their letters and travel across. the ‘coun- try as before. Now what an unaccountable freak was this! It was like the madness of a reasonable being. ‘If I reeollect right, it was when Captain Owen was on the east. coast: of Africa, some of his party who landed were at- tacked by elephants, who threw them down on the ground, and, instead of killing them, as might have been expected, and would have given them no trouble, they drew, up a large quantity of mud in their trunks and poured it into their mouths so as nearly to. suffocate them, and then left them. ©On another occa- sion, they put their fore feet on their limbs, so as to pinch and bruise them: severely in every part of their bodies, but avoided. their bones so as not to fracture one. Now thisiwas evi- cently two species of torture-invented by the elephants, and these elephants in’ aavild state. There certainly is something very. incompre- hensible about these animals. ‘The lion has been styled the king of. beasts, but I think he is an usurpernallowed to remain on the throne by public’ opinion and suffrage, from the majesty of his appearance. In every. other point he has no claim: » He is the head of the feline or cat species, and has all the treachery, cruelty, and wanton: love for, blood that all this class;of animals -have to excess. ‘The lion, like the>tigerandrthe eat, will not come boldly on to his prey, but springs, from his concealment. Itis; true that»he will. face his assailants bravely when wounded, but so will the tiger. In my opinion, the horse: is: the: most nob] of all animals, and, lam sorryto say, the most ill-used, at least in Englandi; for I do: not re- collect a single instance of having seen a horse ill-treated on the; Continent. © Infact; you hardly ever see a horse on the Continent that is not in good working condition :, you never meet the miserable, lame; blind, and worn-out animals that you doin England, which’ stum- ble along with their: loads behind: them, till they stumble into their graves, If any one would take the trouble to make friends with their horses, they would be astonished at the intelligence and affection of this noble animal : but we leave him to our grooms, who prefer to use force to. kindness. At the same time, I have observed, eyen in colts, very different dispositions ; some are. much more fond’ and good-tempeted than othérs; but let them be what they will as colts, they aré soon spoiled by the cruelty and want of judgment of those who have charge of them in the stable. The sympathy between the Arab and his horse is weil known : the horse will lie down in the tent, and the children have no fear of receiving a kick; on the contrary, they roll ‘upon, and with him : such is the result of kindness. And I.can now give a proof of the effects of the contrary, as it was, in this instance, what may be termed malice, prepense in the animal. The horses used in the West Indies are sup- plied from the Spanish Main; they are from the Andalusian stock originally, partly Arab and barb, These horses. are taken by the lasso from the prairies, and are broken jn as follows :—They lead them. down to the séa beach, saddle and bridle them. for the ‘first time, and mount them with a pair of spurs, the rowels of which are an inch long. So soon as the animal plunges and attempts to divest himself of his rider, he is forced into the sea, and there he is walked in and out of his depth till he is fairly worn out and exhausted. This is repeated once or twice till they are submis- sive, and then they are sent off as broke-in horses to the West India Islands. “Le vaillant coq Gaulois, Grattant sur le fumier, A fait sortirle roi Louis-Philippe Premier ;7 Qui par juste reconnoissance Le mit dans les armes de France.’ Did not sleep very comfortably this night ; there were too many of us in the bed, and all of us bits of philosophers. I'am a bit of a philosopher myself, and surely fleas eannot’be considered more than very little bits; All French fleas are philosophers, ‘it having been fairly established by a French’ punster that they belong to’ the secte—d’Epicure ‘(des pi- queurs). The English who-go up the Rhine to Swit- zerland generally proceed on the German side. Few pass through Alsace or German France,seen Ra an Dan eetia rUneiaiennsaal 80 and those who do, take the shortest route, by which they avoid Colmar. As I took the longest in preference, I shall in few, words point out the features of the country. You pass through the valley of the Rhine, which is flat and fertile to excess, the only break in the uniformity of the country being the chain of Vorges mountains, distant about eight miles on your right, and the occasional pas- sage of the dry bed of a winter torrent from the mountains. The cathedral at Colmar is well worth seeing. In outward architecture it is not very remarkable, but its painted win- dows are quite as fine as those of Strasburg ; and, in one point, it excels all the cathedrals I have seen, which is the choir, handsomely carved in oak, and with good pictures let into the panels. It is in better taste, more solid, and less meretricious in its ornaments, than any I know of. It has also a very fine pulpit, the whole of which, as well as the steps and balustrade leading up to it, is of fine marble. At Colmar, the eye will be struck with the peculiarity of architecture in some of the old buildings ; it very often is pure Saracenic. The roads being excellent, we arrived in good time at Basle. Once more in Switzerland; I have more plea- sure now in revisiting a country which has left pleasant reminiscences in my mind, than in passing through one hitherto unexplored. In the latter case, I am usually disappointed. When we revisit those spots In which our childhood was passed, how invariably do we find that the memory is true to what the place appeared to.us when children, and hardly to be recognized when our ideas and powers of mind have been developed and enlarged in proportion with our frames. Is it possible? thought I, jwhen I returned, after a lapse of fifteen years, to the house of my childhood out of mere curiosity, for my family had long quitted it. Is this the pond which appeared so immense to my eyes, and this the house in my memory so vast? Why it is a nutshell! I presume that we estimate the relative size of objects in proportion to our stature, and as, when children, we are only half the size of men, of course, to children, everything ap- pears to be twice the size which it really is. And not only the objects about us, but every- thing in the moral world as well.—Our joy is twice the joy of others, and our grief, for the moment, twice as deep: and these joys and griefs all for trifle. Our code of right and wrong is equally magnified : trifles appeared to be crimes of the first magnitude, and the punishments, slight as they were, enough to dissolve our whole frame into tears until we were pardoned, Oh dear! all that's gone, as Byron says— , OLLA PODRIDA. ‘No more, no more, O never moré on mé, The freshness of the heart shall fall like dew.’ The cathedral at Basle is nearly one thou- sand years old, which is a ripe old age, even for a cathedral. I believe that it is only in Switzerland, and England, and Holland, that you find the Protestants in possession of these edifices, raised to celebrate the Catho- lic faith. I met here a very intelligent Frenchman who has resided many years in the town. One of the first questions I put to him was the following : For more than twenty years Switzerland has been overrun with English and other visitors, who have spent an enormous sum of money in the country : what has become of all this money ? He replied that I might well ask the question. They have no banks in Switzerland ; and, although land exchanges owners, still the money does not leave the country. We have here,’ he said, ‘a few millionnaires, who do lend their money in France upon good securities ; but except these few, they do nothing with it. The interest of money is so low, that I have known it lent by one of the rich people at two- and-a-half per cent. ; and the Swiss in gene- ral, in preference to risking what they can ob- tain so small a premium for, allow it to remain in their chests. There is at this present mo- ment more bullion in Switzerland than in any other country in Europe, or, perhaps, than in all the countries in Eurepe. A Swiss is fond of his money, and he does not use it; the millionnaires that we have here, make no alter- ation in their quiet and plain state of living.’ He then continued, ‘At this moment, those who can afford to spend their money at Basle are retrenching, not from motives of economy, but from feelings of ill-will. The burghers, who have country seats, to which they retire during the summer, have abandoned them, and if any one wished to settle in this canton, they might purchase them for half their value. The reason is, that there has been a difference between the town burghers and the country people. The canton wanted a reform bill to be passed, in which they have not succeeded. They required a more equitable representation --the country people amount to about forty thousand, the town of Basle to only ten thou- sand ; and the town of Basle, nevertheless, returns two-thirds of the council, which go- verns the canton, to which the people who live in the country have raised objections. Hence the variance ; and to punish the coun- try people by not spending their money among them, the burghers have abandoned their country houses.’DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. Sr It may not, perhaps, be generally known, that at the time of the three days at Paris, there was an émeute in Switzerland, in which the aristocracy were altogether put down; and in Berne, and some other cantons, the burgh- ers’ families, who, on pretence of preventing the aristocracy from enslaving the country, had held the reins of power for so long a period, were also forced to surrender that power to those who had been so long refused participation in it. This was but the natural consequence of the increase of wealth in the country: those who before had remained quiet, feeling themselves of more consequence, insisted upon their rights ; and the usual re- sults were, that the administration of the go- vernment changed hands ; but although this might be considered as an advantage gained, still it was but a change, or rather an admis- sion of those who had become wealthy toa participation of the advantages connected with the exercise of authority ; a change bene- ficial to a few, but, to the mass, productive of no real advantage. At Berne, to be a mem- ber of the government, is considered as a cer- tain source of wealth, a convincing proof that the interests of those who hold the reins are not neglected ; and that in a republic it is as difficult to insure to the people their legiti- mate rights, as under any other form of go- vernment. And so it will be as long as the world turns round; man is everywhere the same exacting, selfish, preying creature ; and his disposition is not to be changed. The Helvetic Republic is, in fact, nothing but an aggregation of petty despotisms—leni- ently administered, I grant ; but still nothing but despotisms. ‘Those who are in power, or connected with those in power, are the only portion of the community who can amass large sums; and thus the authority is handed down from one to the other within certain limits, which it but rarely transgresses, something very nearly approximating to the corporations in England. In Switzerland, the working man remains the working man, the labourer the labourer, almost as distinct as the Indian castes : the nobles are crushed, and the haughty burgh rules with all the superciliousness of vested right. I have always held a ‘respublica’ as only to exist in theory or in name. History has proved the impossibility of its retaining its purity for half acentury. What the American Republic may be, it is impossible to say, until one has been in the country, and discovered what its advocates have been careful to con- ceal. The Americans had a great advantage in establishing this system of government ; they had nothing to overthrow, nothing to contend with. They all started fair, and their half century is now nearly complete. Time will prove whether it be possible in this world to govern, for any length of time, upon such a basis. Mr. Cooper, in his work on Switzerland, is evidently disappointed with his examination into the state of the Helvetic Republic ; and he admits this without intend- ing so to do. At Soleure I saw nothing very remakable, except a dog with a very large goitre on his neck, a sight which I never had witnessed before, during the long time that I wandered through Switzerland. On our way to Berne, to divide the day’s travelling more equally, we stopped at a small village, not usually the resting-place of travel- lers, and I there met with a little bit of ro- mance in real life, which Sterne would have worked up well, but I am not sentimental. The house, to which the sign was the appen- dage, struck me, at first entering, as not hav- ing been built for an hétellerie: the rooms were low, but large, and the floors parquette ; here and there were to be seen remains of former wealth in pieces of marqueterie for furniture, and clocks of or molu. There were some old prints, also, on the walls, very supe- rior to those hung up usually in the auberges of the Continent, especially ina village auberge. When the supper was brought up, I ob- served that the silver forks and spoons were engraved with double arms and the coronet of amarquis. I asked the female who brought up the soup, from whence they had obtained them? She replied, rather brusquement, that she supposed they had been bought at the silversmith’s, and left the room as if not wanting to be questioned. ‘The master of the auberge came up with some wine. He was a tall, fine, aristocratical-looking man, about sixty years of age, and I put the question to him. He replied that they belonged to the family who kept the inn: ‘ But,” said I, ‘if so, it is noble by both descents? ‘ Yes,’ replied he, carelessly, ‘but they don’t think anything of that here.’ After a few more questions, he acknowledged that they were the armorial bearings of his father and mother, but that the family had been unfortunate, and that, asno titles were allowed in the country, he was now doing his best to support the family. After this disclosure, we entered into a long discussion relative to the Helvetic Re- public, with which I shall not trouble my readers. Before I went, I inquired his name from one of the servants, and it immediately oecurred to me that I had seen it in the list of those twenty-six who are mentioned as the leaders of the Swiss who defeated the Bur- gundians, and whose monument is carved in the solid rock at Morat. Two engravings of the monument were in the rooms we eS ieee a a82 OLLA, PODRIDA, ,occupied, and I..had amused myself with important -matters, others travelling for amuse- preading, over, the names.; 1 am.no aristocrat ‘ment. . You are unfortunate if you do not fall rmyself, heaven knows ! and if a country could in with one clever man at least, and you are be -benefited, .and liberty obtained, by the quite sure to meet with a. fool, which is almost overthrow of the aristocracy, the sooner it is as amusing. When I Survey ja table d'héte done the, better; but when we see, asin I often think of the calenders who had all Switzeriand, the aristocracy reduced. to keep- come to spend the Ramadhan at Bagdad. and ing village inns, and their inferiors, in every their histories ; and- I haye thought that point, exerting .that very despotism of which Grattan might make a very good series of they complained, and to free the people from Highways and Byways if he could obtain the which, was their pretence for a change of history of those who. méet. at this general government, I cannot help feeling that if-one rendezvous. The tables d’hdéte in Germany is to be governed, let it be, at all events, by are excellent, properly supplied, and very those who, from the merits of their. ancestors moderate. I Cannot say so of those in Swift- and. their long-held possessions, have the zerland. The fondness of the Swiss for money most, claim. ‘Those who are. born to power betrays itself. in everything, and, instead of are not so likely to haye.their heads turned by liberality at the table d’héte, we have mean- the, possession of it as those who obtain it ness. The dinner ‘itself. is “dearer than in unexpectedly ; and those who are above Germany, and not half so good ; but what is - money-making are less likely to be corrupt the most unexcusable part of our host's con- than those who seek it.. The lower the class duct is, that he half serves his guests, as that,.governs, the worse the government will Sancho was served.at Barrataria ; for instance, be, and. the greater the despotism. . Switzer- as fs usually the case, the viands are put on land. is no longer a patriarchal land. Wealth the table, and then removed to be caryed ; has rolled into .the country, and the time will two ducks will make.their appearance at one come,when there, will be a revolution in the end, two chickens at the Other; they are republic., Nothing can prevent. it, unless all removed, and only one of each is cut up and the..cantons .are vested. into, one. central handed round, the others are sent away whole government, instead of so, many petty, oli- to be re-dressed for some great man who dines garchies, as at present, and which will even- in his own room, This has been constantly tually tire out the patience of the people. the case since I have been here. It may be I parted from. my noble host, and will do asked why we do not remonstraté. In’ the him the justice to say that his bill was So first place, I prefer watching .my_ host’s moderate,, compared to the others paid in mMmanceuvres; and in. the next, although I Switzerland, that L almost wished that all the might get my duck, my host would charge me inns in. the cantons were held by the nobility the whole value of it when he sent in his bill. —that is, provided. they -would. follow his The French Ambassador could not have example, ..His; wine was excellent, and I taken a better step to bring the Swiss to their suspect was laid in long before the sign was senses than threatening them with ablockade. hung up.at the door, ft would have been ruin to them. All the From,Soleure to Berne the whole road was golden harvests would have been over, their lined with parties of troops ordered in-that country would have been deserted, and their direction; every man of them was drunk, Ranz des Vaches would have been listened to cheering and hooting, and hallooing at usas. only by the cows. As the French minister we passed. As for the peasant girls they met expected, the councils fumed and Vvapoured, on the road, I really pitied them. At last we the officers drew their swords and flourished have .arrived at. Berne, The Bernese have them, and then—very quietly pocketed the chosen, a most, appropriate symbol in their affront that they might not bé out of pocket. heraldic crests of the bear, and, as if they had What a pity it is that’a nation so brave and not a sufficient quantity inside of their towns, with so many good Sterling qualities, should they keep four in the ditch outside. be, as it would appear, SO zxnately mercenary. What a difference between the tables d’héte There never Was a truer saying than * Point in;Germany and in Switzerland! | always d’argent, point de Suisse.' prefer the table d’héte when jit is respectable, for nothing is more unpleasant than remaining in, an, hotel shut up) in your own room ; the Jatter may be more dignified and aristocratic, CHAPTER. XXXVI but it is not the way to see the world ; one mightas well be in England, and, indeed, had Geneva. much, better. A table.d'hdte is,a microcosm: I'WENTY years have made a wonderful alter- you.meet there all nations, people of all Pro- ation in the good. sober puritanical, city. of fessions—some idle, some busy travelling on Geneva, .The improvement from the newDIARY ON FTHE CONTINENT. buildings which have béen erected is so great, that I could hardly recognize the old city of Geneva in her dress. It was an old friend with a new face, for, as you enter the town, all the new buildings and streets meet your view, As far as it has proceeded (for there is much left yet to be finished), the new portion of Geneva is finer than any portion of Paris, upon an equal space of ground. But what surprised me more was to read the affiches of the Comédie. .A theatre in Geneva! When I was last here, a theatre was considered by the good people as criminal to the highest degree. _I inquired where the theatre was to be found, and it was all true—there was a theatre. 1 then made more inquiries. It appeared that Mammon had seduced the puritans.of Geneva. People would not winter at Geneva ; it was so dull—no amusements ; and, as soon as the snow Aas knee deep at Chamouny, they all orderéd horses and flew away to Paris. or Italy. This affected the prosperity of .the. good citizens, and they talked among themselves; but no one of the Town Council would, propose a theatre, until it was discovered, by. private communication, that they were unanimously agreed,-—then the proposition was. started and carried. But there are many concomitants..attending a theatre, and with the theatre’ many other innovations have crept in ; so. that in a few years Geneva will, be no better than Paris. J NVhen I was last here, Science was the order ‘There were many celebrated men ne to Natural of the day. residing in the town, but_they are all their forefathers. Every, branch of History had cits savant; but, above all, Mineralogy was the most in vogue. But Mineralogy has been superseded lately by her eldest sister Geology, who, although not so pretty, has. been declared more interesting and profound. Still Mineralogy is the more scientific, although Geology is the more spe- culative. In, the education of children, I know no study which so eniarges the mind or gives a habit of research and application, as that of Natural History; it is amusement and instruction so happily blended that it. never tires. Perhaps the natural, cupidity of our natures assists, as the knowledge of every new specimen is for the most part accom- panied by the Zossesston of the specimen and an addition to the collection. Moreover, it is a tangible study; not a nomenclature of things, but each substance is in your hand to be examined. The arrangement and classifi- cation give a habit of neatness and order, and. children are taught to .throw nothing away until its value is known. .Every child should be made acquainted with Natural His- tory; and where the-specimens can be ob- tained and there is room, for them, they 83 should be allowed to have a collection, such as minerals, .corals, shells, and plants; for these sciences, amusing in themselves, will gradually impel them to the’ others’ more abstruse, as every branch of Natural: Philo- sophy is intimately connected. with them. The mind will ever be active, and, if not interested in rational pursuits, it will fly off to the sensual. They have a very excellent plan in Switzer- land, in many of the’ boys’ schools, of all the scholars setting off together on a pedestrian tour of some \ You will meet a whole school, of thirty or,.forty urchins, with their knapsacks on their shoulders, attired in blouses, trudging away from town to town, and from mountain to mountain, to visit all. the remarkable peculiarities. of the country. Thisis a most excellent method of relaxing from study, and invigorating the mind at the same time that it is allowed to repose. Nei- ther is it So expensive as people would imagine, One room will hold a great many school-boys, where the mattresses are spread over the floor; and I saw them make a.very hearty breakfast upon bread and cheese and three bottles of wine, among about forty of them. Why should not the boys about London set off on a tour to the lakes or elsewhere, in the same way—every year changing the route? Then they would see something of their own country, which few do .*before they. are launched in life, and have no time to do after- wards. I have never seen the lakes ; in fact, I know nothing of. my country, although I have scoured the world'so long. I recollect. that my father, who' had never seen the Tower of London, was determined every year that he would go and see it ; but he never could find time, it appears, for he died without seeing it at last. I did, however, make the observation that, if Geneva had _ backslided so far as to permit a theatre, there was a feel- ing that this innovation required being care- fully opposed. ,When I was at Geneva before, there was no theatre, but neither were there shops. which dealt exclusively in. religious tracts and missionary, works. . I observed on this, my second arrival, that there were a great many to serve.as a check to the increas- ing immorality of the age. [ have referred to the change. of twenty years, but what:a change has been effected ‘in about three hundred years in this very coun- try. . Read what took. place in these cantons at about the date which I have mentioned. I have been reading the chronicles. Observe the powers assumed by the bishops. of that period. They judged not only men but brutes, and it must be admitted that there was some show of justice, as the offeuding parties, being BIS.84 OLLA PODRIDA. dumb themselves, were allowed lawyers to learn in England, and must not be ashamed plead for them. to profit from our neighbours. One horse How the lawyers are paid is not handed will do more work on the Continent, especially down, and it appears that the judgments were in France and Switzerland, from the scientific sometimes easier pronounced than carried into principles upon which their vehicles are built, execution, and the loads are put on, than three horses At Basle, in the year 1474, it appears that will accomplish in England. The inquiries a cock was accused of the enormous crime of of the committee might be extended much if having laid an egg ; he was brought to trial and they went to the Agricultural Association at condemned to be burnt alive, as a warning to Berne ; they would discover many things which all cocks not to lay eggs, from which it is well have not yet entered into their philosophy. I known would have been hatched a cockatrice doubt very much whether the four-course shift or basilisk, of Norfolk, where farming is considered the In 1481, cockchafers committed great most perfect, is not more expensive and more ravages in the Grisons. ‘The Bishop of Coire exhausting to the land than the other systems condemned them all to transportation, and a resorted to on the Continent > that Is, that it barren valley was assigned to them as their is not that which will give the greatest pos- future residence. Whether the cockchafers sible returns at the minimum of expense. I obeyed his lordship’s orders is not handed have before observed how very seldom you down to posterity. see a horse out of condition and unfit for work Some years afterwards the River Aar was on the Continent ; one great cause must be infested with leeches, who spoilt all the from their not being racked and torn to pieces salmon. ‘The Bishop of Lausanne excommu- by overloading ; and notwithstanding which, nicated the whole tribe of leeches in a solemn the loads they draw are much heavier than procession to the river; and it is dreadful to those in England. | have seena load of many reflect that this excommunication remains tons so exactly poised upon two wheels, that upon their heads even unto this day. Also the shaft horse neither felt his saddle nor his next door, in France, in 1386, a sow was belly-band. arraigned for having eaten a young child, and One great cause of the ill usage of horses condemned to be hanged; to add to the dis- in England is the disgraceful neglect of the grace of her punishment, she was dressed zz public conveyances of all kinds. If an altera- man's clothes. tion was to be made in the regulations of About the same period rats were extremely hackney coaches and cabs, we should no mischievous, and in consequence were sum- longer have our feelings tortured by the spec- moned to appear before my Lord the Bishop. tacles of horse misery which we daily meet But the rats had a good lawyer, who first with. There are plenty of commissioners for asserted that the rats, being dispersed in all hackney coaches, and it is a pity that they had the neighbouring villages, had not had time not something to do for the money they to collect together, and make their appear- receive, or else that they were abolished and ance ; and that asecond anda third summons their duty put into the hands of the police. would be but an act of justice. They were, It May appear a singular remark to make, therefore, again summoned after the perform- but I cannot help thinking that there would ance of mass on Sunday-in each parish. Not- bea good moral effect in the improvement of withstanding the three: summonses, the rats hackney coaches. There are a certain class did not appear in court, and then their of people in London, to whom these vehfcles defender asserted, that in consequence of the are at present of no use. I refer to those who affair having been made so public by the three have asufficient independence, but who cannot summonses, all the cats were on the look-out, afford to keep their carriages, and who, by and therefore his clients dare not make their the present system of social intercourse, are appearance without all the cats were de- almost shut out of society, or are inclined to stroyed, ‘The consequence of this difficulty spend more money than prudence would dic- was, that the rats were not punished for con- tate. In all other capitals the hackney coaches tempt of court. are clean and respectable, and in some in- I have often thought that it is a great pity stances as good as a private carriage ; and that agricultural associations in England do besides that, they have a superior kind of not send over a committee to examine into carriage for evening parties, which renders the principle upon which they build and load the expense of a private carriage unnecessary. carts and waggons on the Continent. There certainly may be some excuse made It is a point on which we are very unen- for those who dislike hackney coaches pulling lightened in England, The waste of wood in up at their doors, when we look at the dis- the building, and the wear and tear of horses, gusting turn-outs of the London stands, at is enormous, We have yet many things to one time filled with drynken men and women,DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. 85 at others carrying diseased people to the hos- pital, or dead bodies to the Surgeons’ Hall. An English hackney coach is a type of misery, as regards the horses’ outsides, and a cloaca within ; you know not, when you step into it, whether you are not to encounter disease and death. It may be said that there are such vehicles as glass coaches, as they are termed ; but those are only to be hired by the day, and become very expensive. The arrangements of these vehicles should be under the police ; every coach and cab should be examined, at the commencement of the year, as to its appearance outside as well as its cleanliness inside. ‘Fhe horses should be inspected, and if not in fair working condition, and of a certain height, the licence should be refused. And there should be a superior class allowed at certain stands, who are entitled to demand a higher fare. ‘This would not only bea boon to the public, but a much greater one to the poor horse, who would not drag out his lengthened misery as he does now. When there was no longer any means of selling a poor brute, to whom death was a release, he would be put out of his misery. It would also be a great improvement if the Numbers were put inside instead of out, as they are abroad ; and if every description of vehicle, if well fitted, were licensed. CHAPTER XXXVII. Tue Hotel des Bergues is certainly a splendid establishment ; many people winter at this hotel in preference to going to a pension, which is, with the best arrangements, dis- agreeable, for you are obliged to conform to the usages and customs, and to take your meals at certain hours, hungry or not hungry, as if it were a pension of school-boys and girls, and not grown-up people. ‘The price demanded is the same as at the pensions, viz., 200 francs, or £8 per month, which in- cludes everything but wine and fuel. The establishment is certainly very wel! conducted. There is a salon, next to the table d’héte, large enough to hold 200 people, well warmed and lighted, handsomely carpeted, with piano, books, prints, newspapers, card-tables, &c. Indeed, there is everything you wish for, and you are all independent of each other. I was there for two or three days, and found it very pleasant ; I was amused with a circumstance which occurred. One of the company, a Russian, sat down to the piano, and played and sang. Every one wished to know who he was, and, on inquiring, it was a Russian prince, Now a prince is a very great person Jo where princes are Scarce, as they are in England, although in Russia a prince, where princes are plenty as blackberries, is about on a par with an English baronet. He was a very honest, off-hand sort of per- sonage, and certainly gave himself no airs on account of his birth and rank. Nevertheless, the English ladies, who were anxious that he should sing again, made a sort of deputation to him, and begged the honour of his high- ness favouring them with a song, with every variety of courtesy and genuflexion. ‘Oh, yes, to be sure,’ replied his highness, who sat down and played for an hour ; and then there was so much thanking, compli- mentary acknowledgment of condescension on his part, &c., and the ladies appeared so flat- tered when he spoke to them. ‘The next day it was discovered that a slight mistake had oc- curred, and that, instead of being a prince, he had only come to Geneva along witha Russian prince, and that the real prince was in his own room upstairs ; upon which not only he fell himself at least 200 per cent., but, what was really too bad, his singing fell also ; and many who had been most loud in his praises began to discover that he was not even a prince of musicians, which he certainly was. We had a good specimen of the independ- ence and familiarity of Swiss servants on the occasion of this gentleman’s singing; they came into the salon, and mixed almost with the company that they might listen to him ; and had they been ordered out, would, in all probability have refused. An American, with whom I was conversing, observed that in Aes country such conduct on the part of servants, notwithstanding what had been said by Eng- lish travellers on the subject, would never have been permitted. I have fallen in with some odd characters here. First, what would be considered a curiosity in England—a clergyman of the Church of England with mustachios ! What would the Bishop of London say ?—and yet I do not see how, if a clergyman choose to wear them, he could be prevented. He has good authority to quote ; Calvin wore them, and so, I believe, did Luther. Secondly, with a personage who is very pe- culiarly disorganized when he drinks too much, His wife, a most amiable quiet lady, is the party whose character is attacked. As soon as Mr. —— is in his cups, he immediately fancies that his wife is affected with the liquor, and not himself, and he tells everybody in a loud whisper his important secret. ‘ There now, look at Mrs, ——, one of the best wo- men in the world ; an excellent wife and mo- ther, and at most times as lady-like as you would wish to see: but look at her now—you see she’s quite drunk, poor thing ; what a pity,cee aR MAAR 86 OLL'A PODRIDA. isn't it, that she cannot get over her unfortu- nate propensity ; but Iam afeard it's no use. I've reasoned with her. It’s asad pity, anda CHAPTER XXXVIII. great drawback to my happiness, Well, hang sorrow—it killed a’ cat. Don't notice what I’ve told you, and pass the bottle.’ I believe that the English are better. ac- quainted with geography than other nations. I have been astonished at the ignorance on this point I have foundin foreigners who otherwise were Clever and well informed men and women. When.the Marquis de Claremont Tonneére was appointed to the office of Minister of the Ma- rine and Colonies, upon the restoration of the Bourbons, a friend of mine had an audience With him, and it was not until a very angry discussion, and a reference to the map, that he could persuade the minister that Martinique was an zsland. However, in this instance we had nearly as great an error committed in our own Colonial office, which imagined that the Dutch settlement of Demerara upon the coast ] 1 of South’ America, and’ which liad fallen into our hands, was an island ; indeed, in the official papers it was spoken of as such. A little before the French Revolution, a princess who lived in Normandy determined upon a visit to her relations in Paris : and having a sister married to a Polish nobleman, she de- termined to take Poland in her way. To her astonishment, instead of a day to two, her voyage was not completed under four months, I have ‘heard it often asserted, that you should not build your house so as to look at a fine prospect out of your windows, but so as to walk to view it at a short distance. This may be true with the finest prospects in other countries, but not so in Switzerland, where the view never palls upon the eye, from the con- stant changing which occurs in the tinting. of the landscape. You may look upon the Lake of Geneva every day, and at no one day, or even portion of the day, is the effect the same. The mountains of Savoy are there, and change not their position : neither does the lake ; but at one time ghe mountains will appear ten miles nearer to -you than they will at another, The changing arising from refraction and. re- flection is wonderful. Never. did | witness anything finer than the Lake of Geneva at the setting of yesterday's sun. The water was calm and glossy as a mirror, and it reflected in broad patches, like so many islands. dis- persed over it, every colour of the rainbow, I cannot attempt to describe it ; the effect was heavenly, and all I could Say Was, with the Mussulman, ‘God is great ! IN this world we are so jealous of any diss covery being made, that innovation ‘is. im mediately stigmatized as quackery, I say innovation, for improvement is not the term, The attempt to improve is innovation, the success of the experiment makes if an im- provement. And yet how are we to improve without experiment? Thus we have quackery in everything, although not quite. so severely visited as it formerly was by the Inquisition, who would have burnt alive him who asserted, that the sun did not go round the earth, but the earth round the sun. In medicine: quackery is the most frequently stigmatized, We know but little of the human frame as far as medicine is to act upon it. We know stil] less of the virtues of various plauts which will effect a cure. Weare acquainted with a few, but there are hundreds equally: powerful, the properties of which we areignorant of. Could we add to medical science the knowledge of the African negroes and Indians, which they so carefully conceal from us, Our pharmas copceia would be much extended. When metallic medicines were. first. introduced into general use by a physician, an ancestor. of mine, and the wonderfui effects of them esta- blished by the cures, the whole fraternity was up in arms, and he was decried as a quack; notwithstanding which, the works he wrote have gone through twenty-five editions, and the doses prescribed by him are to this day made use of by the practitioners. The factis, that although the surgical know- ledge of the day is very perfect, the medical art is still in its infancy. Even the quackeries which fail should not be despised, for they have proved something, although they could not be perfected... Animal magnetism for in- stance : it failed, but still it discovered some peculiar properties, some sympathies of the human body, which may hereafter give a clue {O more important. results.. The great proof of the imperfection of medical science is the constant change made by the profession itself, One medicine is*taken into favour, it is well received everywhere, until the faculty are tired of it, and it sinks into disgrace. Even in my time I have seen many changes of this sort, not only in medicine, but in diet, &c. What medical men would have thought. of prescribing fat bacon for delicate stomachs twenty years ago? Now it is all the vogue; breakfast bacon is sold in every quarter of the metropolis, Either this is quackery, to use their own term, or twenty years ago they were very ignorant, for their patients receiyed posi- tive injunctions to ayoid all fat and greasy sub- stances,DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. _y Lhus do.the.regular practitioners chop and change, about, groping in the dark’: but. the only distinction. is, that all changes.made,by sthe faculty are orthodox: but any alteration proposed out of the pale of M.D., is an inno- vation and a quackery, That we have’ everywhere ignorant men, who are de facto quacks, I admit ; but still that term has been liberally applied to the at- tempt.of scientific and clever persons to im- prove the art of medicine. _ Even homeeopathy must not be totally rejected until it has hada fair trial. . It,has;one merit. in it, at all events, that you take less physic. I consider the continual appearance of new quacks on the horizon a sure proof of the low state of. our medical, knowledge. .: The more so as these quacks, although they kill; do effect very remarkable cures... Do not.regular prac- titioners, kill also? or, rather, do. not. their prescriptions fail? Ifa quack cures, they will tell you, that it was by mere accident... I sus- pect that there is more of accident in the practice than the faculty are ready. to admit; and HWeaven-knows, they so change about themselves, that it is clear that they feel no confidence in the little that they do know; and it.is because medicine is so imperfect that every half century we have a; new quack, as he is termed, rising up, and beating the regu- lar practitioners out of the field. I could tell a story about Morrison’s pills which would sur- prise not a little, and all the parties, are now alive to prove it; but instead of that, I will tell another which occurred in France, in which a quack medicine had a most. wonder- ful and unusual effect, for it was the means of the total destruction of a Banditt:, who had defied the Government of the country for many years. .About twenty years ago—I.am not. sure whether he still lives—there was an irregular practitioner in France of the name of Le Roi. He was, by all accounts, the king of all empirics, and the emperor of all quacks. He was more potent than the sovereign, and the par l ordre du Roi of Government was in- significant, compared to the par lordre da Roi of this more potent personage. He did not publish his cures in pamephéets, but in large guartos. Ihave seen them myself, larger in size than an Ainsworth’s dictionary. It so happened that an Englishman, who was afflicted with the zzdescribables, was recom- mended from every quarter to buy the medi- cines of Mons. le Roi. _He did so, and _ his unknown complaint was removed. ‘The con- sequence was that the Englishman swore by Le Roi; and as he was proceeding on to Spain, he took with hima large supply of the doctor's medicines, that he might be prepared in case his complaint should return, All quack gentlemen take care that their medi- 87 cines shall be palatable: no unwise precau- tion. I do not know a better dram than Solomon’s Babmrof* Gilead, » Old Solomon, by-the-by, lived near Plymouth, and was very partial-to the navy. He kept an excellent table, and was yery hospitable. : l recollect one day after the, officers had drunk a very sufficient quantity of his claret and champagne, being a little eleyated, they insisted upon Solomon .bringing them. out some Balm.of Gilead as a finish, and they cleared off about two-dozen one-guineabottles. The old gentleman: made no objection to pro- vide it as often as they called for more, and they separated ;-but the next day he sent them all their bills in. for the said Balm of Gilead, observing, that, although, they were welcome to his wine.and table, that he must be paid for his medicine. _ But to proceed. The Englishman travelled with, the king's messenger ; most of his baggage had. been sent on, but he would not part with his medi- cine, and this was all in the vehicle with him- self. As they passed the Pyrenees they were stopped by the banditti, who dragged them out of the carriage, after shooting, the pos- tilion, and made them lie with their faces on the ground, with guards over them, while they rifled the carriage. They soon came. to the packages of medicine, and observing that Le Roi was upon. all the bottles,.and knowing that they had possession of.a king’s messen- ger, they imagined that. this was some liquor sent.as a present to the King, of Spain ; they tasted it, and found that, like other quack medicines, it was very strong and very good. Igach man took his bottle, drank the king’s health, and mirth.and reyelry took place, until they. had consumed all that the Englishman had brought with him. . Now theres a great difference between. taking, a, table-spoonful, and Six or seven bottles per man; and so it proved, for they had - hardly finished the; last case before they found that the medicine acted very powerfully as a cathartic; the whole banditti were simultaneously attacked with a most violent cholera; they disappeared one sy one;.at last..the guards could contain themselves no longer, and they went. off too, ‘Phe two prisoners, perceiving this, rose from the ground, mounted the horses and galloped off as fast as they could. ‘They gave notice to the authorities of the first town they arrived at, not four miles distant, and a large body of cavalry were sent out immediately. The effects of the medicine had been so violent that the whole of the banditti were found near to the spot where they had drunk the king’s health, in such a state of suffering and exhaus- tion that they could make no efforts to escape, and were all secured, and eventually hung.OLLA PODRIDA. and if we were to allow the Jews to settle here, we should soon have too large a popula- CHAPTER XXXIX, tion to support. By their customs, they may marry at any age, and they never go into the Lausanne. field, and work at the plough.’ I RECOLLECT some one saying, that in walk- ‘But may not you marry at any age, and ing out you should never look up in the air, When you please ? ; but always on the ground, as, by the former ‘No, sir; we have good laws in that re- practice, you were certain never to find any- spect, and it prevents the population increas- thing, although you might by the latter. So ing too fast. 1 belong to a commune if you will not enter into conversation, you (parish); if I wish to marry, I must first are not likely to obtain much information; prove that all my debts are paid, and all my whereas if you do, you will always chance to father’s debts, and then the commune will obtain some, even from the quarters the least permit the curé to marry me.’ promising. Iwas seated on the box of the ‘All your father's debts~as well’ as your carriage, with the Swiss voiturier—and asked own?’ him, ‘ If it were not a lucrative profession ?' ‘That is to say, all the debts he may have “It may appear so to you, sir,’ replied he, incurred to the commune. Suppose my ‘from the price paid for the horses, but it is father had been a poor man and unable to not so. All we gain, is in five months in the work, the commune would have let him want year; the seven months of winter, we have to for nothing; but in supplying him they would feed our horses without employment for them, have incurred an expense, that must be repaid that is, generally speaking.’ by his family before any of the sons are al- ‘But have you no employment for them in lowed to marry. In the same way, when my the winter ?’ father died, although he receiyed no assist- ‘Yes, we put them into the waggons and ance from the commune, he left little or draw wood and stone, which about pays their nothing. The commune clothed and educa- expenses. If you are known and trusted, you ted me till I was able to gain my own liveli- will be employed to transport wine, which is hood. Since I have done well, I have repaid more profitable ; but that voiturier who can the debt ; I now may marry if I choose.’ find sufficient employment for his horses ‘But cannot you evade this law? during the winter to pay their keeping, con- ‘No, sir. Suppose I was at Berne, and siders himself very fortunate.’ wished to marry a woman who belonged to ‘When you do make money, what do you another commune as well as myself. ‘The do with it ?’ banns must be published three times in my ‘If we can buy a bit of land we do, but parish, three times in her parish, and three most people, if they can, buy a house, which times at Berne.’ pays better. I prefer land.’ ‘But suppose you married in a foreign ‘There is not much territory in Switzer- country ?” Jand, and land is not often for ‘sale. Every- ‘Ifa Swiss marries in a foreign country, body cannot buy land. What do the others and has no debts to prevent his marrying, he or. must write home to the heads of the com- ‘Lock the money up in their chests.’ mune, stating his intention, and his banns will ‘But do you never put your money in the then be published in the commune, and a foreign funds ?’ licence sent him to marry. But if, having « Yes, the rich do and those who under- debts of your own or your father’s, you marry Stand it. We have a few very rich people in without giving notice, you are then no longet Switzerland, but, generally speaking, the belonging to the commune, and if you come people do not like to part with their money, ., back in distress, you will be conveyed to the and they keep it by them.’ confines of the republic, and advised to seek “I was told by a Frenchman at Basle, that the parish of your wife in her country. If there was a great deal of bullion lying idle in you are out of Switzerland with your wife, Switzerland ?’ every child that you have born you must give ‘He told you very true, sir: there is an notice of by letter to the commune, that it enormous quantity of it, if collected together. may be properly registered ; and if you omit ‘Those are Jews,’ continued he, pointing toa so doing, those children have no Claim on char-4-bane passing. theirreturn.’ ‘Have you many of those in Switzerland? Such was the result of our conversation, I should think not.’ and I repeat it for the benefit of those who “No, sir, we do not allow them. One or occupy themselves with our internal legisla- two families are perhaps permitted in a large tion. town, but no more. We area small country, I have been searching a long while forDIARY ON THE CONTINENT. liberty, but I can find her nowhere on this earth : let mebe allegorical. If all the world are still in love with the name of Liberty, how much more were all the world in !ove with the nymph herself when she first made her ap- pearance on earth. Every one would possess her, and every one made the attempt, but Liberty was not to be eaught. How was it possible without her destruction ? After being harassed all over the world, and finding that she never was allowed to take breath, she once more fled from her pursuers, and, as they seized her garments, with the spring of the chamois she burst away, and bounding from the world, saved herself in Ether, where she remains to this day. Her dress was, however, left behind, and was carried home in triumph. It is, however, composed of such slippery materials as its former owner, and it escapes as it pleases from one party to another. It is this- dress of Liberty which we now re- verence as the goddess herself, and whatever is clothed with it for the time receives the same adoration as would have been offered up to the true shrine. Even Despotism, when in a very modest mood, will clothe herself in the garb of Liberty. ‘Now there is really a sort of petty despot- ism in these /ree cantons, which would be considered very offensive in England. What would an English farmer say, if he was told he could not commence his harvest without Yet such is the permission of Government? the case in Switzerland, where there is a heavy fine if any one commences his vintage before the time prescribed by the authorities. Your grapes may be ripe, and be spoiled; you have to choose between that alternative, or paying a fine, which reduces your profits to nil. ‘The reason given for this is that there are so many petty proprietors holding half and quarter acres of vineyards mixed to- gether and not separated by a wall or fence, that if one began first he would rob the vine- yard of the other—not arguing much for the Swiss honesty, which has become so prover- bial. The case of the vintage laws is peculiarly hard this season upon the small proprietors. The vintage has been late, and winter has now set in, all at once. After weather like sum- mer, we are now deep in snow, and the ther- mometer below the freezing point. Few of the small proprietors have wine-presses ; they have to wait until those who have them have got in their vintage, and then they borrow them. ‘The consequence i$, that the small proprietors are always the last to gather their grapes, and now they have been overtaken by the weather, and they will lose most of their harvest. Had they been permitted to pick their grapes at their own time, they might 89 have used the presses, and have finished before the large vineyards had commenced. From the inquiries I have made, it appears that the vineyards of Switzerland pay very badly. Land is at a very high price here, in the Canton de Vaud ; £300 or £400 per acre is not thought dear ({600 have been given) ; and in the best seasons a vineyard will not yield £10 per acre. The wine is very indif- ferent, and requires to be kept for years to become tolerable. But the Swiss are wedded to their vineyards ; and although if they laid down the land in pasture, they would gain twice as much, they prefer the speculation of the wine-press, which fails at least three times out of four. The office of public executioner or Jack Ketch of a canton in Switzerland, as well as in many parts of Germany, is very appro- priately endowed. He has a right to all ani- mals who die a natural death, with their skins, hoofs, &c., and this it is said brings in a fair revenue, if attended to. Executions are so uncommon in Switzerland, that Jack Ketch would starve if he was not thus associated with death. When an execution does take place he is well paid ; they say the sum he re- ceives is upwards of twenty pounds; but it must be remembered that he does not hang, he decapitates, and this requires some ad- dress : the malefactor is seated in a chair, not laid down with his head on the block, An execution took place at Berne when } was last in Switzerland; the criminal, after he was seated in the chair, was offered a cup of coffee, and as he was drinking it, the exe- cutioner, with one blow of his heavy sword, struck his head clear off; for a second or two the blood flew up like a fountain; the effect was horrid. An Englishman at Lausanne had a_ very favourite Newfoundland dog, which died. He was about to bury it, when the executioner interfered and claimed the skin; and it was not until he had submitted to the demands of this official gentleman, that he was permitted to bury his favourite in a whole skin. Only imagine, half-a-dozen old dowagers of Park Lane, whose puffy lap-dogs were dead in their laps, bargaining for their darlings with Jack Ketch, because they want to have them stuffed ; and Jack’s extortion raising his de- mands, in proportion to the value apparently placed upon the defunct favourites Talking about lap-dogs, one of the best sfories rela- tive to these creatures is to be found in Madame de Crequey’s Memoirs. .A4 Madame de Blot, a French dandysette, if the term may be used, who considered her own sex as bound to be ethereal, and would pr*tend that the wing of a lark was more than sufficient for her sustenance during the twenty-fourhours, had one of the smallest female spaniels that was ever known. She treated her like a human being, and when she went out toa party, used to desire her lady’s maid. to read the animal a comedy in five acts, to amuse it during her absence. It so happened that a fat priest, who was anxious for the protection of Madame de Blot, called to pay his respects, Madame de Blot made a sign to him, without speaking, to take his seat upon a large fau- teuil. No sooner had the priest lowered down his heavy carcass into the chair, than he felt something struggling under him, and a little recollection told him that it must be the little spaniel: ‘T’hat it was all over with the spaniel was clear, and that if her mistress had dis- covered his accident, it was equally clear that it was all over with him, as far as the patron- age of Madame de Blot. was concerned, The priest Showed a remarkable degree of presencé of mind upon this trying occasion, He rose himself up a little from his chair and plumped down, So as to give the poor little spaniel her coup de grace, and then entered into conver- sation with Madame de Blot. During the conversation, he contrived by degrees to cram the dog, tail and all, into his Capacious coat pockets. As soon as it was fairly out of sight, he rose, Bade .adieu to Madame de Blot, and backed out of the room. .with as great respect as if he was in the presence of royalty, much to the satisfaction. of Madame de Blot, who was delighted ‘at such homage, and little thought why the good priest would not turn his back’ to her. The Story. Says, that Madame de Blot never could find out What had become of her little dog. CHAPTER XI. Lausanne. WHAT a continual strife there is. between literary men! I can only compare, the world of authors to so. many rats drowning, in a tub, forcing each, other down. to raise them- selves, and keep their own heads above water. And yet they are very respectable, and a very useful body of men, also, in a politico-econo- mical sense of the word, independent of the advantages gained by. their labours, by the present and the future; for their Capital is nothing ev.cept brains, and yet. they contrive to find sujport for themselyes and thousands of others, It is strange when. we. consider how very few, comparatively speaking, are the number of authors, how many. people are supportec| by them. There are more than a thousand booksellers and publishers in. the. three kingdoms, all of whom rent more than a thousand houses, pay- 90 OLLA’ PODRIDA’ ing rent and taxes; support more than a thousand families, and many thousand clerks as booksellers alone. Then we have to add the. paper manufacturers, the varieties of bookbinders, printing-ink manufacturers, iron pens, and goose quills. All of which are subservient to and dependent upon these com-, paratively few heads, What a zvazz an author has ! unfortunately for him it is too long. , ‘There are too many dependent upon. him, and, like some poten- tates, the support of his state eats his whole revenue, leaving him nothing but bread and Cheese and fame. Some French writer has said, “La littérature est Je plus noble des loisirs, mais le dernier de tous les metiers ;” and soit is, for this one reason, that, accord- ing as an author’s wants are cogent, so he is pressed down by the publisher. Authors and publishers are natural enemies,. although they cannot live without each other. If an author is independent of literature, and has a reputa- tion, he bullies the publisher ; he is right ; he is only revenging the insults contumely heaped upon those whom the publishers know to be in their power, and obliged to submit. to them.- Well, every dog has his day, and the time will come. when I and Others, having Swam too long, shall find younger and fresher competitors, who will, like the rats, climb on our.backs, and. we shal] sink to the bottom of the tub of oblivion. Now. we must drive On with the stream 3. the..jworld moves on so fast, that there is no Stopping, In these times, ‘Si on n’avance pas, on recule.’ ee How the style of literature changes! Even now. I perceive an alteration creeping on, which will last fora time. We are descend- ing to the homely. truth of Tenier'’s pictures. Every work of fiction now is ' sketched from nature. ;. the palaces, the saloon, all the ele- ganeies of high life are eschewed, and the Iniddle and vulgar classes are the subjects of the pencil. But this will not last long. It is the satiety of refinement on the part of the public which for a short time renders the change palatable; I was yesterday informed. that a celebrated author wished to be introduced to me. L.was ashamed to say that I had never heard his hame,-; The introduction, took place, .and there was a sort., of patronizing air on. the gentleman’s part .which I did not approve of. I therefore told him very frankly that I was hot aware of the nature of his literary labours, and requested to know what were his works, He had abridged something, and he had writ- ten.a commentary upon another thing !—just the employment fit for some old gentleman who likes. still. to puddie a little. with ink, One could write a commentary upon. anything. One of my children is singing a nursery song,DIARY ON THE CONTINENT. now I'll write a commentary on it in the shape of notes :— Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to see the nefy queen. Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there? Hunted a titty mouse under the chair, Now fora commentary :— This simple nursery rhyme is in the familiar style of question and answer, which is always pleasing ; and it is remarkable that two excel- lent moral lessons are to be found in so few words. ‘The child -who sings it may be supposed to repeat the words without comprehending their full meaning ; but although such may be the case, still it is most important that even the rhymes put into the infantine lips should afford an opportunity to those who watch over their welfare to point out to them ona proper occa- sion the instruction which they contain. In the first line the term pussy cat may be con- sidered tautological, as’ pussy and cat both refer to the same animal; but if -so, it is allowable as pussy may be considered as the christian and cat as the surname of. the animal. It is to be presumed that the cat addressed is young, for it evidently was at play, and old cats do not play. Otherwise it would not have been necessary to repeat her name, fo call her attention to the question. The cat answers in few words, as if not wish- ing to be interrupted, that she has been to London to see the new queen. What queen of England may be referred to, it is im possi- ble to positively ascertain ; but as she says the new queen, we have a right to suppose that it must refer to the accession of a queen to the throne of England. We have here to choose between three,—Elizabeth, Mary, and Anne ; and for many reasons, particularly as the two last were married, we are inclined to give the preference to the first, the word zew having, for the sake of the metre, been substituted for virgin. Certain itis that a married woman cannot be considered as wzew, although she may not beold. We therefore adhere to our supposition that this rhyme was composed at the accession. of the great Elizabeth. And here we may observe, that the old adage ‘that a cat may look at the king’ is fully cor- roborated, for pussy says expressly that she has been to see the new queen, pointing out, that as the sun shines upon all alike, so the sun of royalty, ina Weil-administered govern- ment, will equally dispense its smiles upon all who approach to bask in them ; and that even a cat is not considered as unworthy to look upon that gracious majesty who feels that it is called torule over so many millions, for the purpose of making them happy. It would appear as if the cat continued to gt play with her ball, or whatever else might have been its amusements, after having an- swered the first question ; for, on the second question being put, her ‘attention is obliged to be again roused by the repetition of her name. She is asked what she did there, and the reply is, that she hunted a titty mouse under thechair. There is a wonderful effect in this last line, which fully gives us at once the nature and disposition of the cat, and a very excellent moral lesson.. The cat calls the mouse a 7é¢y mouse, ’a term of endear- ment applied to the very animal that she was putting in bodily fear. It is well known how cats will play with a mouse in the most graceful way; you would almost imagine, from the manner in which it is tossed so lightly and so ‘elegantly, allowed to escape and: then caught again, that it was playing With it in ail amity, instead of prolonging its miseriés and torturing it, previously to its ulti- mate destruction. It is in reference to this peculiar character of the cat, that she is made to use the fond diminutive appellation of titty mouse. The moral contained in this last line hardly needs to be pointed out to our intel- ligent readers. A cat goes to court, she enters the precincts of a palace, at last she is in the presence of royalty, not as usual in the kitchen, or the cellar, or the attics, or on the roofs, where cats do most congregate, but actually stands in the presence of royalty ; and what does she do ?: Notwithstanding the awe which it may be naturally supposed she is inspired with, not- withstanding the probable presence of noble lords and ladies, forgetful of where she is, and in whose presence she stands, seeing a mousc under the chair, she can no longer control the powerful instincts of her nature ; and forget- ting that the object of her journey was to be- hold royalty, she no longer thinks of any- thing but hunting the titty mouse under the chair. Whata lesson is here taught to the juvenile sexes that:we should never attempt to force ourselves ‘above our proper situations in society, and that in so doing we soon prove how much we are out of our place, and how our former habits and pursuits will remain with ‘us,’ and render us wholly unfit for a position to which we ought never to have aspired. \PTER XLI. Lausantie. AFTER. all, there is more sympathy in this world than we would suppose, aud it Js some- thing to find that, in the turmoil and angry war of opinion and interest, nations as well as parties can.lay down their weapons for a time,PaO AN ORGAN, MONEE acre Speen ata inion 92 OLLA PODRIDA., and offer one general and sincere tribute to be with her, although her body is not permit. genius. In these exciting times, we hear of ted to be at rest. revolutions in Spain and Portugal, deaths of The more I see of the Swiss and Switzer- crowned men, with indifference, but a shock land, the more is my opinion confirmed as to as astounding as that of an earthquake in the the strongest feature in the national character city of Peru was felt throughout Europe when being that of avarice. The country is poetry, the numerous periodicals spread the unex- but the inhabitants are the prose of human pected intelligence that the gifted Malibran existence. Not a chalet but looks as the was no more, that in the fulness of her talent abode of innocence and peace; but whether and her beauty, just commencing the harvest yon scale the beetling rock, or pause upon the ripe and abundant, produced by years of un- verdant turf which encircles their picturesque remitting labour, in which art had to perfect habitations, the demon appears like Satan in nature, she had been called away to the the garden of Eden. The infant, radiant as silent tomb, and that voice which has electri- love, extends its little hand for money ; the fied so many thousands was mute for ever. adult, with his keen gray eye, searches into Poor Malibran! she had had but a niggard you to ascertain in what manner he may Over- portion of happiness in this world, although reach you. Avarice rules over the beautiful she procured so much pleasure to others, A country of Helvetia. brutal father, from whom she received but The prevailing foible of a nation is gene- blows, who sold her toa dotard, who would rally to be found in the proverbs of the coun- have sold her again would she have consented! try and of those adjacent. ‘The Genevese ap- until her late marriage, toiling for others, pear to haye the credit of excelling the Swiss without one object in the world on whom to generally : they say here, ‘II faut trois Juifs throw her warm affections. I remember one pour faire un Baslois, et trois Baslois pour day when we were talking of sea-sickness, I faire un Géné€vois.’ observed that the best remedy was beating Again :— the sufferer : she shook her head. ‘Si un Généy ‘No,’ said she; ‘ that will not cure.it, or Je? surely I should have been cured when I crossed the Atlantic with my father.’ by a Swiss to a Frenchman, who asserted that Those who knew Malibran only as a per- the French fought for honour, and the Swiss former did not know enough of her, they for money. should have known her in society, and in do- ‘C’est vrai,’ replied the Swiss ; ‘chacun se mestic life. She was the ne plus ultra of bat pour cela que lui manque.’ genius in a woman; one moment all sun- The Swiss have abolished titles, they have shine, the next a cloud would come over her crushed their nobility; but human nature will expressive features ; changeable as the wind, prevail; and they seek distinction by other but in eyery change delightful, for she channels ; every one who has the least pre- never disguised a thought. Six weeks—but tension to education or birth looks out for em- six short weeks, and I saw her at Brussels ployment under government ; and you can at her country house, whither she had retired hardly meet with a well-dressed person in the after the fatigues of the season. How im- Streets who is not a magistrate, inspector, pressive must be her death. Had she sick- directeur, or employé in some way or the ened and died at Brussels, the shock would other, although the emoluments are little or have been great, for it is a shock when youth, nothing. The question has been brought for- beauty, and talent are so suddenly mowed ward as to trial by jury being introduced, and, down ; but she died, as it were, on the Stage. strange to say, the majority are opposed to it Admiring and applauding thousands had been as not being suitable to the Swiss. The rea- listening to her magical powers, thousands son they give is, that as all respectable people more waiting to hear her at the other festi- hold offices under government, and are there- vals ; all eyes were upon her, all expectation by excused from serving, that there will be upon tiptoe, when death, like a matador, nobody but the lower classes to sit as jurors. comes in, strikes his victim, bows sarcastically It is very difficult to obtain evidence in a to the audience, and retires. A thousand ser- Swiss court of justice; and this arises from mons, and ten thousand common deaths, could the dislike of the Swiss to give evidence ; as, net have produced so effective a moral lesson by so doing, they may make enemies, and ns the untimely fate of Malibran. There is their own interests may be injured. This is but one parallel to it, and the effect of it was completely the character of the Swiss. . When tremendous. It was that of Mr. Huskisson, I visited Switzerland in my younger days, I on the opening of the Manchester Railroad. used my eyes only, and I was delighted ; now This is the second homily read to the good that I visit it again, when years have made people of Liverpool and Manchester. Peace me reflect and inquire more, I am disap- ois se jette par la fenétre, suivez Il y aura pour gagner.’ It was, however, a very neat answer givenDIARY ON THE CONTINENT, pointed. The charm is dissolved, the land of liberty appears to me to be a land of petty tyranny in the Government, and of extreme selfishness in the individuals ; even the much- vaunted fidelity of the Swiss seems not to have arisen from any other than mercenary motives, Indeed, there is something radically wrong— however faithful they may be to their em- ployers, or however they may be brave and talented—in the hearts of those who volunteer 93 for hire and pay to kill their fellow-creatures. I could not put my trust in such men in pri- vate life, although I would in the service for which they have hired themselves. Do the faults of this people arise from the peculiarity of their constitutions, or from the nature of their Government? To ascertain this, one must compare them with those who live under similar institutions. I must go to America, that’s decided.S:W.W AND! BY We! W, Jae LITTLEBRAIN was, physically con- to box the Cems iss before he had been three sidered, as a grown, and moreoveras hand- months nibbl ing the ship’ s biscuits; further, some a boy as ever was seen, but it must be that it was very easy to get over the exami- acknowledged that he was not very clever. nation necessary to qualify him for lieutenant, Nature is, in most instances, very impartial ; as a turkey and a dozen of brown stout sent she has given plumage to the peacock, but, as in the boat with him on the passing day, asa every one knows, not the slightest ear for present to each of the passing captains, would music. Throughout the feathered race it is pass him, even if he Soh as incompetent as a almest invariably the same; the homeliest camel (or, as they say at sea, a cable) to clad are the finest songsters. Among animals pass through the eye ofa needle ; that having the elephant is certainly the most intelli igent, once passed, he would soon have him in com- but, at the same time, he cannot be considered mand of a fine frigate, with a good nursing as a beauty. Acting upon this well-ascertained first lieutenant ; and that if hedid not behave principle, nature imagined, that she had done himself properly, he would make his signal to quite enough for Jack when she endowed him come on board of the flag-ship, take him into with such personal perfection; and did not the cabin, and give him a sound horse- consider it was at all necessary that he should whipping, as other admirals have been known be very clever ; indeed, it must be admitted, to inflict upon their own sons under similar not only that he was not very clever, but (as circumstances. The reader must be aware the truth must be told) remarkab! y dull and that, from the tenor of Sir Theophilus’s letter stupid. However, the Littlebrains have been the circumstances which we are nar rating must for a long while a well-known, numerous, and have occurred some fifty years ago. influential family, so that, if it were possible When Jack was informed that he was to be that Jack could have been taught anything, a midshipman, he looked up in the mest the means were forthcoming : he w as sent to innocent way in the world (and innocent he every. school in the country; but it was in was, sure enough), turned on his heels, and vain. At every following vacation, he was whistled as he went for w: an of thought. For handed over,from the one pedagogue to the the last three months he had been at home, other, of those whose names were renowned for and _ his chier employment was kissing and the Busbian system of teaching by stimulating romping with the maids, who declared him to both ends : he was horsed every day and still be the handsomest Little ‘brain that the remained an ass, and at the end of six menths, country had ever Eee ee Our hero viewed if he did not run away before that period was the preparations made for his departure with over, he was invariably sent back to his perfect indifference, and wished everybody parents as incorrigible and unteachable. good-bye with the utmost composure. He What was to be done with him? The Little- was a har Ppy, good-tempered fellow, who brains had always got on in the world, some- never calculated. because he could not ; never how or another, by their interests and con- decided, for he had not wit enough to choose nections ;_ but here was one who might be never foresaw, although he could look straight said to have no brains at all. After many before him; and never remembered, because pros and cons, and after a variety of con- he had no memory. Th 1e line, ‘If ignorance sulting letters had passed between the various is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,’ was ‘certainly members of his family, it was decided, that as made especially for Jack ; nev ertheless he was his maternal uncle, Sir Theophilus Blazers, not totally deficient : he knew what was good G.C.B., was at that time second in command to eat or drink, for his taste was perfect, his in the ] Mediterranean, he should be sent to eyes were very sharp, and he could discover . ea under his command ; the Admiral, having in a moment if a peach was ripe on the wall; in reply to a letter on the subject, answered his hearing was cae for he was the first in that it was hard indeed if he did not lick him the school to detect the footsteps of his peda- into some shape or another ; and that, at all gogue ; and he could smell anything savoury events, he'd warrant that Jack should be able nearly a mile off, if the wind lay the Tight way.S.W. AND BY We Moreover, he knew that if he put his fingers in the fire he would burn himself; that knives cut severely ; that birch tickled, and Several other little axioms of this ‘sort which are generally ascertained by children at an early age, but which Jack's. capacity had’ not re- ceived until ata much later’ date.’ Such as he was, our. hero went to séea‘;~his stock in his sea-chest being very abundant, while his’stock of ideas was proportionably small. We will pass over all the trans-shipments of Jack until he was eventually shipped on board the Mendacious, then lying at Malta with the flag of Sir Theophilus Blazers at the fore—a splendid ship, carrying 120 guns, and nearly 120 midshipmen of different calibres. (I pass over captain, lieutenant, and ship’s company, having made mention of her most valuable qualifications.) Jack was received with a hearty welcome by his uncle, for he came in pudding-time, and was invited to dinner ; and the Admiral made the important discovery, that if his nephew was a fool in other points, he was certainly no fool at his knife and fork, Ina short time his messmates found out that he was no. fool with his fists, and his knock- down arguments. ended much disputation. Indeed, as the, French, would say, Jack ‘was perfection in the physique, although so very deficient in the morale. But if Pandora’s*box proved a plague to the whole world, Jack had his* individual tion of it, when he was summoned to dox the ipass by his worthy uncle Sir Theophilus Blazers ; who in the course of six months dis- covered that he could not make his nephew box it in the three which he had’. warranted in his letter; every day our hero’s ears were boxed, but the compass never. It required all the cardinal, virtues to teach him the cardinal points during the forenoon, and he made a point of forgetting them before the sun went down. Whenever they attempted it (and various were the teachers employed to drive the compass into Jack’s head) his head drove round the compass; and try all he could, Jack never could compass it. It appeared, as some people are said only to have one idea, as if Jack could only have one soint in his head at a time, and to that point ire would stand like a well-broken pointer. With him the wind never changed till the next day. His uncle pronounced him to be a fool, but that did not hurt his nephew’s feelings ; he had been told so too often already. I have said that Jack had a great respect for good eating and drinking, and, moreover, was blessed with a good appetite : every pe son has his peculiar fancies, and if there was anything which more titillated the palate and olfactory nerves of our hero, it was a roast goose with sage and onions, Now it so W, 95 happened,’ that having’ been about seven months on board of the Mendacious, Jack had one day received a summons to dine with fhe Admiral, for the steward had ordered’ a roast goose for dinner, and ‘knew not only that Jack was partial to it, but also that Jack was the Admiral’s nephew, ‘which always goes for something on board ofa flag-ship.” Just bez fore they were sittings down to table, the Ad- miral wishing to know how the wind was, and having been not a little vexed ‘with’ theslow progress’ of his nephew's: nautical acquire: ments,’ said, ‘ Now, Mr. Littiebrainy go up, and bring me down word how the wind is; and mark me, as, when you are sent,! nine times out of ten you make ‘a’ mistake, I shall now bet you five guinéas against your dinner, that vou make a mistake this time: so now be off and we will soon ascertain’ whether you lose your dinner or I lose my money. Sit down, gentlemen, we will not wait for Mr. Littlebrain.’ Jack did not much admire this bet on the part of his uncle, but ‘still less did-he like*the want of good manners in not waiting for him. He had just time to see the covers removed, to scent a whiff of the goose, and’ was off. ‘The Admiral. wants to know how thé wind is, sir,” said’ Jack to the officer of the watch. The officer’ of the watch went to ‘the binnacle, and setting the wind as nearly as he could, replied, ‘Tell Sir Theophilus thatcit is S!Weand by W. 2 W.’ ‘That's one of those ‘confounded long points that I névér can remember,’ cried Jack, in despair. ‘Then you'll *' get goose,” as the saying is,’ observed one of the midshipmen. ; ‘No; I'm afraid that I shan’t get any,’ re- plied Jack, despondingly. ‘’What'did he say, S,W'and ‘by, NS ES? ‘Not exactly,” rephed his‘ messmate, ‘who was a good-natured lad, and laughed heartily at Jack’s-version. “© SW. ‘and by Wig we “I never ‘can remember it,’ eried ‘Jack ‘T’m to have’ five guineas if I’do, and no dinner if I don’t; and if I stay here’ much longer, I shall get ‘no dinner at all'events, for they are all terribly peckish, and there will be none left.’ ‘Well, if you'll give me one of the guineas, I'll show you how to manage it,’ said the midshipman. ‘T'll give you two, if you'll only be quick and the goose ain't all gone,” replied Jack. The midshipman wrote down the point from which the wind blew, at full length, upon a bit of paper, and pinned it to the rim of Jack’s: hats -*‘Now,” said”he, “when you go into the cabin, you can hold your’ hat'so as to read it, without their perceiving’ you,’‘Well, so I can; I never should have thought of that,’ said Jack. ‘You haven’t wit enough,’ replied the mid- shipman, ‘Well, I see no wit in the compass,’ replied ack. ‘ Nevertheless, it's full of point,’ replied the midshipman : ‘ now be quick.’ Our hero’s eyes served {him well, if his memory was treacherous ; and as he entered the cabin door he bowed over his hat very politely, and said, as he read it off, ‘S.W. and by W. ?# W,’ and then he added, without reading at all, ‘if you please, Sir Theophilus.’ ‘Steward,’ said the Admiral,’ ‘tell the officer of the watch to step down.’ ‘How's the wind, Mr. Growler ?’ ‘S.W..and by W. # W.’ replied the officer. ‘Then, Mr. Littlebrain, you have won ycur five guineas, and may now sit down and enjoy your dinner.’ ‘Our hero was not slow in obeying the order, and ventured, upon the strength of his success, to send his plate twice for goose. Having eaten their dinner, drunk their wine, and taken their coffee, the officers, at the same time, took the hint which invariably accom- panies the latter beverage, made their bows and retreated. As Jack was following his seniors out of the cabin, the Admiral put the sum which he had. staked into his hands, observing, that ‘it was an ill wind that blew nobody good.’ So thought Jack, who, having faithfully paid the midshipman the two guineas for his assistance, was now on the poop keeping his watch, as midshipmen usually do; that is, Stretched out on the signal lockers, and com- posing himself to sleep after the most ap- proved fashion, answering the winks of the stars by blinks of his eyes, until at last he shut them to keep them warm. . But, before he had quite composed himself, he thought of the goose and the five guineas. The wind was from the same quarter, blowing soft and mild; Jack laid in a sort of reverie, as it fanned his cheek, for the weather was close and sultry. ‘ Well,’ muttered Jack to himself, ‘I do love that point of the compass, at all events, and I think that I never shall forget S.W. and by W. #.W. No I. never—never liked one before, though—— ‘Ts that true?’ whispered a gentle voice in his ear; ‘do you love “S.W. and by W. # W,” and will you, as you say, never forget her ?’ ‘Why, what's that ?’ said Jack, opening his eyes, and turning half round on his side. ‘It's me—“S.W. and by W. # W.” that you say you love,’ Littlebrain raised himself and looked round; 96 OLLA PODRIDA, there was no one on the poop except himself and two or three of the after-guard, who were lying down between the guns. ‘Why, who was it that spoke?’ said Jack, much astonished. ‘It was the wind you love, and who has long loved you,’ replied the same voice ; ‘do you wish to see me ?’ ‘See you, see the wind ?—I've been already sent on that message by the midshipmen,’ thought Jack. ‘Do you love me as you say, and as I love you ?’ continued the voice, ‘Well, I like you better than any other point of the compass, and I’m sure I nevet thought I should like one of them,’ replied ack. ‘That will not do for me; will you love only me?’ ‘I’m not likely to love the others,’ replied Jack, shutting his eyes again ; ‘I faze them all.’ ‘And love me?’ “Well, I do love you, that’s a fact,’ replied Jack, as he thought of the goose and the fiye guineas. ‘Then look round, and you shall see me,’ said the soft voice. Jack, who hardly knew whether he was asleep or awake, did at this summons once more take the trouble to open his eyes, and beheld a fairy female figure, pellucid as water, yet apparently possessing substance ; her fea- tures were beautifully soft and mild, and her outline trembled and shifted, as it were, waving gently to and fro. It smiled sweetly, hung over him, played with his chestnut curls, softly touched his lips with her own, passed her trembling fingers over his cheeks, and its warm breath appeared as if it melted into his. Then it grew more bold, embraced his person, searched into his neck and collar, as if curious to examine him. Jack felt a pleasure and gratification which he could not well comprehend ; once more the charmer’s lips trembled upon his own, now remaining for a moment, now withdraw- ing, again returning to kiss and kiss again, and once more did the soft voice put the question— ‘Do you love me?’ ‘ Better than goose,’ replied Jack. ‘I don’t know who goose may be,’ replied the fairy form, as she tossed about Jack’s waving locks ; ‘ you must love only me; pro- mise me that before I am relieved.’ ‘What, have you got the first watch, es well as me?’ replied Jack. ‘Iam on duty just now, but I shall not be so long. We southerly winds are never kept long in one place; some of my sisters will probably be sent here soon.’S.W. AND BY W. 2 W. ‘? don’t understand what you talk about,’ replied Jack. ‘Suppose you tell me who you are, and what you are, and I'll do all I can to keep awake. I don’t know how it is, but I’ve felt more inclination to go to sleep since you have been fanning me about, than I did before.’ ‘Then I will remain by your side while you listen tome. Iam, asI told you, a wind—— ‘That's puzzling,’ said Jack, interrupting ler. ‘My name is “S.W. and by W. 3 W.””’ ™ *Ves, and avery long name it is. If you wish me to remember you, you should have had a shorter one.’ This ruffled the wind a little, and she biew rather sharp into the corner of Jack's eye. However, she proceeded— ‘You are a sailor, and of course you know all the winds of the compass by name ?’ ‘I wish I did, but I don’t,’ replied Little- brain; ‘I can recollect you, and not one other.’ Again the wind trembled with delight on his lips, and she proceeded :—‘ You know that there are thirty-two points on the com- pass, and these points are divided into quar- ters; so that there are, in fact, 128 different winds.’ ‘There are more than I could ever remem- ber, I know that,’ said Jack. ‘Well, we are in all 128. All the winds which have northerly in them are coarse and ugly ; all the southern winds are pretty.’ ‘You don't say so,’ replied our hero. ‘We are summoned to biow, as required, but the hardest duty geuerally falls to the northerly winds, as it should do, for they are the strongest; although we southerly winds can blow hard enough when we choose. Our characters are somewhat different. ‘The most unhappy in disposition, and, I must say, the most malevolent, are the north and easterly winds ; the N.W. winds: are powerful, but not unkind; the S.E. winds vary, but, at all events, we of the S.W. are considered the mildest and most beneficent. Do you under- stand me ?’ ‘Not altogether. You're going right round the compass, and I never could make it out, that’s afact. I hear what you say, but I can- not promise to recollect it; [ can only recol- lect S.W. and by W. # W.’ ‘I care only for your recollecting me ; if you do that you may forget all the rest. Now you see we south-wests are summer winds, and are seldom required but in this season ; I have often blown over your ship these last three months, and I always have lingered near you, for I loved you.’ ‘Thank you—now go on, for seven bells have struck some time, and I shall be going to turnin. Is your watch out ? 07 ‘No, I shall blow for some hours longer. Why will you leave me—why won't you stop on deck with me?’ ‘What, stop on deck after my watch is out ? No, if I do, blow me! We midshipmen never do that—but I say, why can't you come down with me, and turn in my hammock ? it’s close to the hatchway, and you can easily do “Well, I will, upon one promise. You say that you love me ; now I am very jealous, for we winds are always supplanting one another. Promise me that you will never mention any other wind in the compass but me, for if you do, they may come to you, and if I hear of it Bila Dia the masts out of your ship, that I will. ‘You don’t say so?’ replied Jack, surveying her fragile, trembling form. ‘Yes, I will, and on a leeshore too ; so that the ship shall go to pieces on the rocks, and the Admiral and every soul on board her be drowned.’ ‘No, you wouldn’t, would you?’. said our hero, astonished. ‘Not if you promise me. Then I'll come to you and pour down your windsails, and dry your washed clothes as they hang on the rigging, and just ripple the waves as you glide along, and hang upon the lips of my dear love, and press him in my arms. Promise me, then, on no account ever to recollect or men- tion any other wind but me.’ ‘Well, I think I may promise that,’ replied Jack, ‘I'm very clever at forgetting ; and then you'll come to my hammock, won't you, and sleep with me? you'll be a nice cool bedfellow these warm nights.’ ‘I can't sleep on my watch as midshipmen do; but I’ll watch you while you sleep, and I’ll fan your cheeks, and keep you cool and comfortable, till I’m relieved.’ ‘And when you go, when will you come again ?: ‘That I cannot tell—when I'm summoned ; and I shall wait with impatience, that you may be sure of.’ ‘There's eight bells,’ said Jack, starting up ; ‘I must go down and. call the officer of the middle watch ; but.I'll soon turn. in, for my relief is not so big as myself, and I can thrash him.’ Littlebrain was as good as his word ; he cut down his relief, and then thrashed. him for venturing to expostulate.. The consequence was, that in ten minutes he was in his ham- mock, and ‘S.W. and by W. # W.’ came gently down the hatchway, and rested in his arms. Jack soon fell fast asleep, and when he was awakened up the next morning by the quarter-master, his bed-fellow was no longer there. A mate inquiring how the wind was, 4was answered by the quarter-master that‘they had a frésk breeze from the NvN.W.; by which Jack understood that ‘his sweetheart was no longer on duty.’= Our hero had passed such a happy night with his soft and kind companion, that he could think of nothing ‘else; he longéd’ for her to come again, and, to the surprise of everybody, was now perpetually making in- quiries as to the’ wind which "blew.” He thought of her continually ; and in fact’ was as much in love with ‘S:W. and by W. 3 .W.’ as he possibly could be. She ‘came again—- once more did he enjoy her’ delightful’ com- pany ; again she slept with him in his ‘ham- mock, and then, after a short Stay, she was relieved by another. We donot intend to accuse the wind of inconstancy, as that was not her fault ; nor of treachery, for she lovéd deatly : nor of vio- lence, for she was all softness “and mildness ; but we do say, that “S.W. and by W. 7 WS was the occasion of Jack being very often ina scrape, for our hero kept his word ; he forgot all other winds, and, with him, there was no other except his dear ‘S.W. and by W. #W.’ It must be admitted of Jack, that, at all events, he showed great perseverance, for he stuck to his point. Our hero would argue with his messmates, for it is not those Who are’ most capable of arguing who are most*fond of it ; and, like all arguers not very brilliant, he would flounder and diverge away right ‘and left, just as the flaws of ideas came into his head. ‘ What nonsense it is'your talking that way,’ would his opponent say; ‘why don’t you come to the point ?’ ‘And so I do,’ cried Jack. ‘Well, then, what is your point ?’ ‘SW? and by W. 3 W.,” replied’ our hero. Who could reply to this? But in every in- stance,‘and through every difficulty, our hero kept his promise, until his uncle Sir Theophilus was very undecided, whether he should send him honie'to be locked’ up in’a Lunatic Asy- lum, or bring him on in the service to’ the rank of post-captain. Upon mature conside- ration, however, asa man in Bedlam is a very useless member of society, and a tee-total non- productive, whereas a captain in the navy is a responsible agent, the Admiral came to ‘thé conclusion, that Littlebrain’ must’follow up his destiny. At last, Tack was set down as the’ greatest foolin the ship, and was pointed’ otit'as such. The ladies observed, that such might possibly be the case, but'at all events he was the hand- somest young man inthe Mediterranean fleet. We believe that both parties were correct in their assertions. Time flies—even a midshipmian’s -time, 98 OLLA PODRIDA, which does not fly quite so fast as his money “and the time came for Mr. Littlebrain’s examination. Sir’Theophilus, who now com: manded. the whole fleet; was! almost in de- Spair. How was it possible that:a man could navigate a ship, with only one quarter point of the compass in his head ? Sir Theophilus scratched his wigs and the disposition of the Mediterranean fleet, so im- portant to the country, was altered according to the dispositions of the captains who ¢om- manded the ships." In those days; there Were martmets in’ the service * officers who never overlooked an offence, or permitted the least deviation from Strict duty ; who Were gene- rally hated, but at the same time were most valuable to the service. As for his nephew passing his examination before any of those of the first or second, or even of the third degree, the Admiral knew that was impossible: ‘The consequence was, that one was sent away on a mission to Genoa, about nothing ; another to watch for vessels never expected, off Sar- dinia ; two more to cruize after a. French frigate which had never been built : and thus, by degrees, did the Admiral arrange, so as to obtain a set of officers sufficiently plient to allow his nephew to creep under the gate which barred his promotion, and which he never could have. vaulted over. So the signal was made—our hero went'on board—his tncle had not forgotten’ the propriety of a little douceur on ‘the occasion ; and, as the turkeys were all gone, three couple of geese Were sent in'the same boat, asa present to each of the three passing captains. Littlebrain's heart failed him as he pulled to the ship ; even the geese hissed at him, as much as to say, *If you were not such a stupid ass, we might have been left alive in! our coops.” There was a great deal of truth in that remark, if they did say so. Nothing’ could have been ‘made more easy for Littlebrain than his' examination, ‘The questions had all been arranged ‘beforehand ; and some kind friend” had given him all the answers written down. ‘The passing captains apparently suffered from the heat of the wea- ther, and each had his han@ on his brow, look- ing down on the table at the time that Little- brain gave his’ answers) so ‘that’ of course they did not observe that he was reading them off, As soon as Littlebrainy’ had given his’ answer, — and had had sufficient time to drop his paper under the table, the captains felt better and looked up again: There were but eight questions for our hero to answer. Seven had been satisfactorily got through ; then came the eighth; a very simple one :—* What is your course and distance from Ushant to the Start?’ This question having been duly put, the captains were again in deepS.W. AND BY W.2-w. meditation, Shrouding their eyes with’ the palms of their hands. Littlebrain had ‘his arnswet+-he' looked at the papet. « What could’ be ‘more simple than to reply ?=and'then ‘the captains would have all risen: up, shaken him by the hand, compli- mented:him: upon the'talent he had displayed, sent their compliments to the commander-in- chief, and their thanks ‘for’ the 'géese. Jack Was Just answering, °"North- =~’ “Recollect your proniise !’“cried'a soft voicé, which Jack well recollected: Jack stammered—the captains were mute— and waited patiently. I must say it,” muttered Jack, ‘You shan't,’ replied the little Wind. ‘Indeed I must,’ said Jack, * or I shall be turned back.’ The captains, surprised at this delay and the muttering of Jack, looked up, and one of them gently inquired if Mr. Littlebrain had not dropped his handkerchief or something under the table?» And then they again fixed their eyes upon the ‘green cloth. “If you dare, I'll never see you again,’ cried ‘S.W. and by W. 2 °W.,’—*never come to your hammock,—but I'll blow the ‘ship on shore, every’soul shall be Jost, Admiral and all; recollect your promise! ‘Then I shall never pass,’ replied Jack. ‘Do you think that any other point’ in the compass shall pass you except me ?—never ! Lam too jealous for that. Come now, dearest !’ and the Wind again deliciously’ trembled upon the’ lips of our ‘hero, who could no’ longer resist. ‘S.W. and by W. 2-W,,” exclaimed Jack firmly. F ‘You have made a slight mistake, Mr. Littlebrain,’ said one of the captains, ‘Zook again-——I meant to’say, ¢hz7k again.’ ‘S.W. and’ by W # W..,’ again repeated Jack. ‘Dearest, how I love you!’ soft Wind. ‘Why, Mr. Littlebrain,’ said one of the captains—for Jack had actually laid the paper down on the table—‘what’s in the wind now ? ‘She's obstinate,’ replied Jack. ‘You appear to be so, at all events,’ re- plied the captain. - ‘ Pray try once more.’ ‘IT have it !’ thought Jack, who tore off the last answer from his paper. ‘I gained five guineas by that plan once before.” He then handed the bit of paper to the passing cap- tain: ‘I believe that’s right, sir,’ said our hero. ‘Yes, that is right ; but could you not have said it instead of writing it, Mr. Littlebrain ?’ Jack made no reply; his little sweetheart pouted a little, but said nothing ; it was_an whispered the 99 evasion which she did not like. A few seconds of consultation then took place; as a matter of form. ~ Each captain asked of the other if he’ was perfectly satisfied as to Mr. Little- brain’s capabilities, and the reply was in the affirmative ; and they were perfectly satisfied, that he was either a fool or a madman. How- ever, aS we have had both in. the service by way of’precedent, Jack was added to the list, and the next day was appointed lieutenant. Our héro ‘did his duty as lieutenant of the forecastle; and as all the duty of that, officer is;- when hailed from the quarter-deck, to answer, “Ay, ay, sir,’ he got. on without making many mistakes. And now he. was very happy; no one dared to call him-a. fool except his uncle; he had his own cabin, and many was the time that his dear little ‘S.W. and by W. # W.’ would come-in by the scuttle, and nestle by his side. ‘You won’t see so much of me.~ soon, dearest,’ said she, one morning, gravely. ‘Why not, my soft one ?’ replied Jack. ‘Don't you recollect that the winter months are coming on ?’ “So they are,” replied Jack. ‘ Well,. I shall long for you back.’ And Jack did long, and long very. much, for he loved his dear. wind, andthe fine weather which accompanied her. Winter came on, and, heavy gales and rain, and thunder and lightning ; nothing but. double- reefed top-sails, and wearing in. succession ; and our hero walked the forecastle, and thought of his favourite wind. The N.E. winds came down furiously, and the weather was bitter cold. The officers. shook the rain and spray off their garments when their watch was over, and called for grog. ‘Steward, a glass of grog,’ cried one ; ‘and let it be strong.’ “The same for me,’ said: Jack ; ‘only, I'll mix it myself.’ Jack poured out the rum till the tumbler was half full. ‘Why, Littlebrain,’ said his. messmate, ‘that isa dose; that’s what we call a regular Nor-wester.’ ‘Ts it?’ replied Jack. ‘Well then, _Nor- Wwesters suit me exactly, and J shall stick to them like cobbler’s wax.’ And during the whole of the winter. months our hero showed a great predilection for Nor- westers, It was in the latter end of February. that there was.a heavy gale; it had blown furiously from the northward for three days, and then it paused and panted as if out of breath—no wonder! And then the wind shifted, and shifted again, with squalls and heavy rain, until it blew from every quarter of the com- pass, 4—2ena aeaenennlaneatinmanatt I00 Our hero's watch was over, and he came down and called for a! Nor-wester,’ as usual. ‘How is the wind now?’ asked the first lieutenant of the master, who came down dripping wet. ‘S.5.W., but drawing now fast to the Westward,’ said old Spunyarn. And'so it was; and. it veered round until £S.W. and by W. 2 W.,’ with an angry gust, came down the sky-light, and blowing Strongly into our hero’s ear, cried,— ‘Oh, you false one !’ ‘False ? exclaimed Jack. ‘What! you here, and so angry too? What’s the matter ?’ “What’s the matter !—do you think I don't know? What have you been doing ever since I was away, comforting yourself during my absence with Vor-westers ?’ “Why, you ain’t jealous of a Nor-wester, are you ?’ replied Littlebrain. ‘I confess, I’m rather partial to them,’ “What !—this to my face! I'll never come again, without you promise me that you will have nothing to do with them, and never call for one again. Be quick—I cannot stay more than two minutes; for it is hard work now, and we relieve quick—say the word.’ ‘Well, then,’ replied Littlebrain, ‘you've no objection to half-and-half 2?’ ‘None in the world; that’s quite another thing, and has nothing to do with the wind.’ “It has, though,’ thought Jack, ‘for it gets aman in the wind; but I won't tell her so; and,’ continued he, ‘you don't mind a raw nip, do you ?” ‘No—I care for nothing except a Nor- wester.’ ‘T’ll never call for one again,’ replied Jack ; ‘it is but making my grog a little stronger ; in future it shall-be half-and-half,’ “That’s a dear! Now I'm off—don’t for- get me ;' and away went the wind ina great hurry. It was about three months after this short visit, the fleet being off Corsica, that our hero was walking the deck, thinking that he soon should see the object of his affections, when a privateer brig was discovered at anchor a few miles from Bastia. The signal was made for the boats of the fleet to cut her out; and the Admiral, wishing that his nephew should dis- tinguish himself somehow, gave him the command of one of the finest boats. Now Jack was as brave as brave could be; he did not know what danger was; he hadn't wit enough to perceive it, and there was no doubt but he would distinguish himself. The boats OLLA, PODRIDA. went onthe service. Jack was the very first on board, cheering his men as he darted into the closed ranks of his opponents. Whether it was that he did not think that his head was worth defending, or that he:was too busy in breaking the heads of others to look after his own, this is certain, that a tomahawk de- scended upon it with such force as to bury it- self in his skull (and his was a thick skull too). The privateer’s men were overpowered by numbers, and then our hero was discovered, under a pile of bodies, still breathing heavily. He was hoisted on board, and taken into his uncle’s cabin : the surgeon shook his head when he had examined that of our hero. ‘It must have been a most tremendous blow,’ said he to the Admiral, ‘to have penetrated ——’ ‘It must have been, indeed,’ replied the Admiral, as the tears rolled down his cheeks F for he loved his nephew. The surgeon having done all that ‘his art would enable him, left the cabin to attend to the others who were hurt; the Admiral also went on the quarter-deck, walking to and fro for an hour in a melancholy mood. He re- turned to the cabin, and bent over his nephew ; Jack opened his eyes. ‘ My dear fellow,’ said the Admiral, ‘ how’s your head now ?” ‘S.W. and by W,. 2. W.; faintly ex- claimed our hero, constant in death, as he turned a little on one side and expired. It was three days afterwards, as the fleet were on a wind, making for Malta, that the bell of the ship tolled, and a body, sewed up in a hammock and covered with the Union Jack, was carried to the gangway by the Admiral’s bargemen. It had been a dull cloudy day, with little wind; the hands were turned up, the officers and men stood un- covered ; the Admiral in advance with his arms folced, as the chaplain read the funeral service over the body of our hero,—and as the service proceeded, the sails flapped, for the wind had shifted a little ; a motion was made, by the hand of the officer of the watch, to the man at the helm to let the ship go off the wind, that the service might not be disturbed, and a mizzling soft rain descended.. ‘Fhe wind had shifted to our hero’s much loved pont, his fond mistress had come to mourn over the loss of her dearest, and:the rain that descended were the tears which she shed at the death of her handsome but not over-gifted lover,TL tpoWesbibsob, DRAMATIS PERSONA. Mr. CADAVEROUS, Ax old miser, very rich and very ill. EDWARD, A young lawyer without a brief. Mr. HAustTus GUMARABIC, Apothecary. SEEDY, Solzcifor. THOMAS MONTAGU, JOHN MONTAGU, AMES STERLING, WILLIAM STERLIN } Nephews to Mr, Cadaverous. G Nephews twice removed to Mr, Cadaverous, CLEMENTINA MONTAGU, JVzece to Mr. Cadaverous. MRS. JELLYBAGS, Housekeeper and nurse. Af TA: SCENE.—A_ sick-room. --MR. CADAVEROUS in an easy-chair asleep, supported by cushions, wrapped up in his dressing-gown, a night-cap on his head.—A small table with phials, gallipots, &¢.—MRs. JELLY- BAGS seated on a chair close to the table. Mrs, JELLYBAGS (looks ait Mr. CADAVE- ROUS, and then comes forward). He sleeps yet —the odious old miser! Mercy on me, how I do hate him—almost as much as he loves his money! Well, there’s one comfort, he cannot take his money-bags with him, and the doctor says that he cannot last much longer. Ten years have I been his slave— ten years have I been engaged to be married to Sergeant Major O’Callaghan of the Blues —ten years has he kept me waiting at the porch of Hymen—and what thousands of couples have I seen enter during the time! h dear! it’s enough to drive a’widow mad. I think I have managed it ; he has now quar- relled with all his relations, and Dr. Gum- arabic intends this day to suggest the pro- priety of his making his: last will and tes- tament. [Mr. CADAVEROUS, sfzl/ asleep, coughs.| He is waking. (Looks at him.) No, he is not. Well, then, I shall wake him, and give hima draught, for, after such a com- fortable sleep as he is now in, he might last a whole week longer. (Goes up to Mr. CADA- VEROUS, and shakes him.) Mr. Cap. (starting up). Ugh! ugh! ugh! (Coughs violently). Oh! Mrs. Jelly- bags, I’m so ill. Ugh! ugh! _ Jeu._My dear, dear sir! now don’t say so, I was in hopes, after such a nice long sleep, you would have found yourself so much better. Cap. Long sleep ! oh dear !—I’m sure I’ve not slept ten minutes. JEL. (astde). I know that. (Adoud.) In- deed, my dear sir, you are mistaken. Time passes very quick when we are fast asleep. I have been watching you and keeping the flies off. But you must now take your draught, my dear sir, and your pill first. CAD. What! more pills and moredraughts ! Why, there's no end to them. JEL. Yes, there will be, by-and-by, my dear sir. You know Doctor Gumarabic has ordered you to take one pill and one draught every half-hour. Cap. And so I have —never missed one for the last six weeks—woke up for them day and night. I feel very weak—very weak, indeed! Don’t you think I might eat some- thing, my dear Mrs. Jellybags ? Jeu. Eat, my dear Mr, Cadaverous !—how can you ask me, when you know that Doctor Gumarabic says that it would be the death of ou? Cap, Only the wing of a chicken—or a bit of the breast—— JeL. Impossible ! Cap. A bit of dry toast, then; anything, my dear Mrs. Jellybags, I’ve such a gnaw- ing. Ugh! ugh! Jeu. My dear sir, you would die if you swallowed the least thing that’s nourishing. Cap. I’m. sure I shall die if I do not. Well, then, a little soup—I should like that very much indeed. JeL. Soup! it would be poison, my dearemepaticaiaemetoneaapees PEIN een eae 102 OLLA BODRIDA, sir! No, no. You must take your pill and one but your nephews and nieces say that you your draught. are the best man in the world. ; CAD. Oh dear! oh dear !—Forty-eight pills CAD. Do they? I was afraid that I had and forty-eight draughts every twenty-four not been quite so good as they think I am. hours !—not a wink of sleep day or night. JEL. I'd like to hear any one say to the JEL. (soothingly). But it's to make you contrary... I’d tear their eyes out—that I well, you know, my dear Mr. Cadaverous., svould. Come, now. Hands him a pill and some CAD. You are a good woman, Mrs. Jelly- water in a tumbler. bags; and I shall not forget you in my will. CAD. The last one is hardly down yet ;—I JEL. Don't mention wills, my dear sir. feel it sticking half-way. Ugh! ugh! You.make me so miserable. (Puts her hand- JEL. Then wash them both down at once. kerchief to her eyes.) Come, now, ’tis to make you well, you CAD. Don't ‘ery, Mrs, Jellybags. I won’t know. talk ‘any more’ about Jit) (Seeks back ex- [CADAVEROUS fakes the pill with a wryface, hausted.) and coughs it up again. JEL. (wiping her eyes). Here comes Dr. CAD. Ugh! ugh! There—it’s up again. Gumarabic. Oh dear! oh dear ! Jeu. You must take it, my dear sir. Come, Liter GUMARABIC. now try again. GUM. Good-morning; Mistréss Jellybags. CAD. (coughing). My cough -is.so bad . Well, how’s our patient ?—better ?—eh ? (Zakes the pill.) Oh, my poor head.! Now [Mrs. JELLYBAGS shakes her head. I'll tie down again. Gum. No: well, that’s odd. (Goes up to Jet. Not yet, my dear Mr. Cadaverous. Mr. CADAVERous.) Not better, my dear You must? take‘ your draught ;—it’s to make sir?—don’t you feel stronger? you well, ‘you ‘know. CAD. (fazntly). -Oh, no. CAD. What! another draught? I’m sure GuM. Not stronger. Let us feel the must have twenty draughts inimy inside, pulse. [Mrs. JELLYBAGS hands a chai?) and besides two boxes of pills! GUMARABIC szts down, pulls out his watch, JEL, Come, now—it will be down in a azd counts.| Intermittent—r35—well, now minute. —that’svery odd. Mrs. Jellybags, have you [CADAVEROUS ‘takes the wine-glass in his adhered punctually’ tomy prescriptions? hand, and looks at tt-with abhorrence. JEL. Oh‘ yés, ‘sir, exactly. JEL. Come, now. Gum. Herhas\eatén nothing ? [CADAVEROUS sevallows the draught, and feels CAD. Nothingratrall. very sick, puts his handkerchief to his mouth, GuM. And vdon't feel stronger? » Odd— and, after a time, sinks back in the chair very odd. Pray:has heshad anything inthe guite exhausted, and shuts his eyes. way of drink? Come, Mrs. Jellybags,;: no JEL. (asede). TD wish the doctor..would) disguise—tell. the truth ;—no.’ soup—warm come. It’s high time that! he: made his) jelly—eh? will. JEL. No, sir; upon my word, he has had CAD) (drawing up his'leg). Oh !.oh! oh! nothing, Jeu. What's the matter; my «dear Mr, Gum. Humph !—and yet feels no stronger? Cadaverous ? Well, that’s: odd.+-Has he taken. the, pill Cab. Oh! such pain !—oh! rub it, Mrs, every half-hour? Jellybags. JEL. Yes, sir, regularly. JeL, What, here, my dear sir? (Rzdbs his GuM. And feels no better !: Are you sure knee.) that he has had his draught with his pill? CAD. No, no !—Not there!—~Oh my hip! -:JEL. Every time, sir. JEL. What, here? (2euds hzs hip.) GuUM. And _ feels) mo: better !° Well, that’s ‘CAD, No, no !higher—higher! »Oh; my odd '—very odd, indeed. (Rzses and contes side ? forward with Mrs. JELLYBAGS.) We must JEL. What, here? (Auds his side) throw in some more draughts, Mrs. Jellybags; Cab, No “lower ! there is no time to be lost. JEL. Here? (2ddzn2.) JEL. I’m afraid he’s much worse, sir. CAD. No !—higher !—Oh, my chest !—imy GuM. I am ‘not at all afraid of it, Mrs. Jel- stomach ! Oh dear !—oh dear ! lybags,—I am sure of it ; it’s very odd, but JEL. Are you better now, my dear sir? the fact is, that all the physic in the world Cap. Oh dear! oh! I do believe that I won’t save him ; but still he must take it,— shall die! I’ve been a very wicked man, I'm because—physie was.made to be taken, afraid. JEL. Very true, sir, | (Whispers. to ‘Gum- JEL. Don't say so, Mr, Cadayerous, Every ARABIC.)LLL-WILL. GuM. -Ah,.yes.; vety proper...«(Goingto Mr-CADAVEROUS.)...My dear. sir, have done my best ; nevertheless, you are ill,—very ill,—which is odd, very—odd!__It is not plea- sant,—-I may say, very unpleasant, —but if you have any little worldly affairs to. settle,—will to make,—or a codicil to add, in favour of your good nurse, your doctor, or so on,—it might be as, well to send for your lawyer ;— there. is no saying, but, during my. practice, I have sometimes found that people die... After all the physic. you; have: taken, it certainly is odd—very odd—very odd, indeed ;—but you might die to-morrow. CAD. Qh dear! I’m-very il. JEL. (sobbzng).. Oh dear! oh dear !--he’s very ill. GUM. | (comes, forward,. shrugging up hes shoulders). Yes, he is, ill—very ill ; to-mor- row, dead as mutton! At all events; he has not. died for WANT of physic, We must throw in some more draughts immediately ; no time to be lost. Life is short, but my bill will be long—very long ! [Axz¢ as scene Closes. AGT TR, SCENE 1.—£zter CLEMENTINA, wzth a letter zn her hand. CLEM. “I have just received a letter from my dear Edward; he knows of my ‘uncle's dan- ger, and is anxious to seé me. I expéct Him immediately. I hope he will not be seen’ by Mrs. Jellybags as he comes in, for she’ would try to make more naschief than’ she has already. Dear Edward! how he loves me! (Kisses the letter.) Linter EDWARD. Epw.. My lovely,,,my beautiful, my adored Clementina! I have called upon Mr. Gum- arabic; who-tells. me. that your uncle cannot live through -the twenty-four hours, and_I have. flown ; here,..my. sweetest, dearest, , to— (Go CLEM. To see me,. Edward ; surely there needs no excuse for coming. Epw. To reiterate my ardent, pure, and unchangeable. affection, my dearest Clemen- tina:;-to assure you, that.in sickness or in health, for richer or for.poorer, for better or for worse, as they say in the marriage cere- mony, Iam yours till death us do part. CiEM. I accept the vow, dearest Edward. You know.too well my heart for me. to say more. Epw. I do. know your heart, Clementina, as it is,—nor do I think it possible that you could change ; still, sometimes—that is for a moment when I.call to mind that, by yonr uncle's death, as his favourite niece, living with him for so many years, you may soon 103 find yourself in possession of thousands, and that titled men may lay their coronets at your feet); then, Clementina—— CLEM., Ungenerous and unkind. I almost hate, you! Edward, Is a. little money, then, to sway my affections? Shame, /dward, shame on you! Is.such your opinion of my constancy? (lVecps.) You, must. judge me by your,own jheart. Epw..Clementina! dearest Clenientina !— [-did!—but rather—that is—I was not in ear- nest ; but when we value any object as I valne you,—it may be forgiven, if I feel at times.a little jealous ; yes, dearest, jealous. CLEM. .’Twas. jealousy, then, Edward, which made you so. unkind? Well, then, I can forgive that. Epw. Nothing but jealousy, ‘dearest!~ I cannot help,.at ‘times, represenfing you sur- rounded by noble admirers,—all. of them suing. to you,—not for yourself, but for your money, tempting you with their rank ; and it makes me jealous, horribly jealous! I cannot compete with lords, Clementina—a poor bar- rister without a brief. CLEM, Ihave loved you for yourself, Edward. I trust-you haye done, the same’ toward me. Epw,. Yes, upon my soul, my Clementina ! CLEM. Then ‘my uncle's disposition of his property will make no difference in me. For your sake, my dear Edward, I hope he will not forget me. , What’s that? Mrs. Jellybags is coming out of the room. Haste, Edward ; you must not be seen here. Away, dearest ! and may God bless you, Epw. (kisses her hand). Weaven. preserve my adored, my matchless, ever-to-be-loved Clementina, (Exeunt separately. ScENE II.—TZhe sick-room—Mr. CADAVE- ROUS; dying on a sofu-bed—Mr. SEEDY, the lawyer, sitting by his side, with papers on the table before hem. SEEDY. [ believe now, sir, that everything is arranged in your will according’ to your instructions. Shall I read it over again ? for, although signed and witnessed, you may make any alteration you please by a codicil. CAp: No, no. ‘You have read it’'twice, Mr Seedy, and you may leave me now. Tam ill, very ill, and wish to be alone. tc; SEEDY (folds up his papers and rises). V take my leave, Mr. Cadaverous, trusting to be long employed as your solicitor. CAD, Afraid not, Mr. Seedy.’ Lawyers have no great‘interest in heaven. “Your being’ my solicitor will not help me there. SEEDY (coming forward as he goes out). Not a sixpence to his legal adviser! Well, well, I know. how to make out a bill for the executors,MI ag eae EE Ay ope tog OLLA PODRIDA. [Exit SEEDY, and enter Mrs. JELLYBAGS. JEL. (with her handkerchief to her eyes). Oh dear! oh dear! oh, Mr. Cadaverous, how can you fatigue and annoy yourself with such things as wills ? Cap. (fazntly). Don't cry, Mrs. Jellybags. I’ve not forgotten you. JEL. (sobdcng). I can’t—help—crying. And there’s Miss Clementina,—now that you are dying,—who insists upon coming in to see you. CAD. Clementina, my niece ; let her come in, Mrs. Jellybags ; I feel I’m going fast, —I may as well take leave of everybody. JEL. (sobéine). Oh dear! oh dear! You may come in, Miss. Enter CLEMENTINA. CLEeM. My dear uncle, why have you, for so many days, refused me admittance ? Every morning have I asked to be allowed to come and nurse you, and for more than three weeks have received a positive refusal. CAD. Refusal! Why I never had a mes- sage from you. CLEM. No message! Every day I have sent, and”every day did Mrs, Jellybags reply that you would not see me. Cap. (faintly). Mrs, Jellybags,—Mrs. Jellybags—— CLEM. Yes, uncle; it is true as I stand here; and my brother Thomas has called almost every day, and John every Sunday, the only day he can leave the banking-house ; and Cousins William and James have both been here very often. CAD. Nobody told me. I thought every one had forgotten me. Why was I not in- formed, Mrs. Jellybags? JEL. (¢z @ rage). Why, you little, story- telling creature, coming here to impose upon your good uncle! You know that no one has been here—not a soul; and as for yourself, you have been too busy looking after a certain gentleman ever to think of your poor unele, that you have—taking advantage of his illness to behave in so indecorous a manner. I would have told him everything, but I was afraid of making him worse. CLEM. You are a false, wicked woman ! JeL. Little impudent creature,—trying to make mischief between me and my kind master, but it won’t do. (Zo CLEMENTINA, aside.) ‘The will is signed, and I'll take care he does not alter it ; so do your worst. CAD. (faintly). Give me the mixture, Mrs.—— . CLEM. I will, dear uncle. (Pours out the restorative mixture in a glass.) JEL. (going back), You will, Miss—indeed! but you shan’t. CLEM. Be quiet, Mrs. Jellybags; allow ame at least to do something for my poor uncle, CAD. Give me the mix—— JEL. (prevents CLEMENTINA from giving zt, and tries to take it from her). You shan’t, Miss !—You never shall. CAD. Give me the— Mrs. JELLYBAGS azd CLEMENTINA Scufie. At last CLEMENTINA throws the contents of the glass into Mrs. JELLYBAG'S face. CLEM. There, then!—since you will have it. JEL. (2 a@ rage). You little minx !-—T'll be revenged for that. Wait a little till the will is read—that’s all! See if I don’t bundle you out of doors—that I will. CLEM. As you please, Mrs. Jellybags ; but pray give my poor uncle his restorative mixture. JEL. To please you !—Not I! I'll not give him a drop till I think proper. Little, infa- mous, good for nothing—— CAD. Give me—-—-oh ! JEL. Saucy—man-seeking—— CLEM. Oh! as forthat, Mrs. Jellybags, the big sergeant was here last night—I know that. Talk of men indeed ! JEL. Very well, Miss !—very well! Stop till the breath is out of your uncle’s body— and I'll beat you till yours is also. CAD. Give——oh ! CLEM. My poor uncle! He will have no help till I leave the room—I must go. _ Infa- mous woman ! [Axz?. CAb. Oh! JEL. I'm in such a rage !—I could tear her te pieces !—the little !—the gnat ! Oh, I'll be revenged ! Stop till the will is read, and then T’ll turn her out into the streets to starve! Yes! yes! the will—the will—the will! (Pauses and pants for breath.) Now, I recol- lect the old fellow called for his mixture. I must go and get some more. I'll teach her to throw physic in my face. [Goes out and returns with a phial-—pours out a portion, and goes up to Mr. CADAVEROUS, JEL. Here, my dear Mr. Cadaverous, Mercy. on me!—Mr.- Cadaverous !—why, he's fainted !—Mr. Cadaverous! (Screams.) Lord help us !—why, he’s dead! Well now, this sort of thing does give one a shock, even when one has longed for it. Yes, he’s quite dead! (Coming forward.) So, there's an end of all his troubles—and, thank Heaven ! of mine also. Now for Sergeant-Major O’Callaghan, and—love! Now for Miss Clementina, and—revenge? But first the will !—the will ! [Curtain drops.ILL-WILL Act III. MRS. JELLYBAGS. Oh dear !—this is a very long morning. I feel such suspense—such anxiety ; and poor Sergeant-Major O’Callaghan’s quite in a per- spiration! He is drinking and smoking down in the kitchen to pass away the time, and if the lawyer don’t come soon, the dear man will be quite fuddled. He talks of buying a farm in the country. Well, we shall see ; but if the Sergeant thinks that he will make ducks and drakes of my money, he is mistaken. I have not been three times a widow for nothing —lI will have it all settled upon myself; that must and shall be, or else—no Sergeant O'Callaghan for me! Linter CLEMENTINA. So, here you are, Miss. Well, we'll wait till the will is read, and then we shall see who is mistress here. CLEM. I am as anxious as you, Mrs, Jelly- bags. You may have wheedled my poor uncle to make up the will in your favour ; if so, de- pend upon it, I shall expect nothing from your hands. JBL A should rather think not, Miss. If I recollect right, you threw the carminative mix- ture in my face. CLeM. And made you blush for the first time in your life. EL. I shall not blush to slam the door in your face. CLEM. Rather than be indebted to you, I would beg my bread from door to door, Jew. I expect that you very soon will. Enter EDWARD. Epw. My dearest Clementina, I have come to support you on this trying occasion. JEL. And ascertain how matters stand, be- fore you decide upon marrying, I presume, Mr. Edward. Epw. Madam, I am above all pecuniary considerations. JEL. So everybody says, when they think themselves sure of money. Epw. You judge of others by yourself. JEL. Perhaps I do—I certainly do expect to be rewarded for my long and faithful services. CLEM. Do not waste words upon her, my dear. You have my solemn promise; nothing shall change my feeling towards you. JeL. That may be ; but did it never occur to you, Miss, that the gentleman's feelings might alter? EEpw. Detestable wretch ! [Hands CLEMENTINA 7o @ chair on the right, and sits by her. Enter Nephews JOHN, THOMAS, WILLIAM, gnd JAMES, all with white pocket-handker- 105 chiefs in their hands—they take their seats two right and two Left. JEL. (aszde). Here they all come, like crows How odious is the selfish- But here is Mr. Gumara: (Curtstes with a that smell carrion. ness of this world ! bic. How do you do, sir? grave air.) GuM. Very well, I thank you, Mrs. Jelly- bags. Can't say the same ofall my patients. Just happened to pass by—thought I would step in and hear the will read—odd, that I should pop in at the time—very odd. Pray, may I ask, my dear Mrs. Jellybags, were you present at the making of the will ? JeL. No, my dear sir; my nerves would not permit me. GuM. Nerves !—odd, very odd! don’t know how things are settled ? JeL. No more than the man in the moon, my dear sir. GuM. Man inthe moon !—odd comparison that from a woman !—very odd! Hope my chance won't prove all moonshine. JeL. I should think not, my dear sir } but here comes Mr. Seedy, and we shall know all about it. Enter Mr. SEEDY—Mrs. JELLYBAGS, al courtesy, waves her hand to a chair in the centre, with a table before zt. Mr. SEEDY sits down, pulls the will out of his pocket, lays tt on the table, takes out his snuff-box, takes a pinch, then his handkerchief, blows | Aes nose, snuffs the candles, takes his specta- cles from his watstcoat pocket, puts them on, breaks the seals, and bows to the company - Mrs. JELLYBAGS has taken her seat on the left next to him, and Dr. GUMARABIC by her side. Mrs. JELLYBAGS sobs very loud, with her handkerchief to her face. SEEDY. Silence, if you please. [Mrs. JELLYBAGS stops sobbing immediately. Epw. (putting his arm round CLEMEN- TINA'S wazst). My dearest Clementina ! Mr. SEEDY hems twice, and then reads— ‘The last Will and Testament of Christe- pher Cadaverous, Gentleman, of Copse Hor- ton, in the County of Cumberland. ‘I, Christopher Cadaverous, being at this time in sound mind, do hereby make my last will and testament. ‘First, I pray that I may be forgiven all my manifold sins and wickedness, and I do beg forgiveness of all those whom J may have Then you linjured unintentionally or otherwise ; and at the same time do pardon all those who may have done me wrong, even to John Jones, the turnpike man, who unjustly made me pay the threepenny toll twice over on Easter last, when I went up.to receive my dividends. ‘My property, personal and real, I devise to my two friends, Solomon Lazarus, residing at No. 3, Lower Thames Street, and Hezekiah105 Flint, residing at No. 16, Lothbury, to have and to hold for the following uses and pur- poses -— “First, to my dearly beloved ‘niece, Cle- mentina’ Montagu, I leave the’ sum of one hundred and fifty pounds, 3% per cent. con- sols, for her sole use and benefit, ta bé made over to ‘her, both principal and interest, on the day of her marriage. [EDWARD withdraws hisarm from CLEMEN= TINA’S wa7rst—turus half round from her, and falls back in hts chaty witha pish! ‘To my nephew, ‘Thomas Montagu, I leave the sum of nineteen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence—having dedueted the other six- pence to avoid the legacy duty. [THOMAS turns from the lawyer with his face to the front of the stage, crossing his legs: “To my nephew, John Montagu, I-leaye also the sum of nineteen pounds nineteen shillings aid sixpence. [JOHN turns away in the same manner. ‘To my nephew, once removed, James Stirlmg, I leave the ‘sum of fivé pounds to purchase a suit of mourning. [ JAMES turns away as the others. ‘To my nephew, once ‘removed, William Stirling, I also'leave the sum of five pounds to purchase a suit of mourning. [WILLIAM 7Zz7ns aay aS the others. ‘To my kind and atfectionate housekeeper, Mrs. Martha Jellybags——’ [Mrs. JELLYBAGS sobs lowdly, and cries,"* Oh dear tl Oh dear #8 Mr. SEEDY, Silence, if you please. [ Reads. —'‘ Inreturn forall her attention to me ‘during my illness, and her ten years’ service, I leave the whole of my—— (Mr. SEEDY having come to the bottom of the page, lays down the will, takes out his snuf- box, takes a pinch, blows hts nose, snuffs the candles, and proceeds. —‘ I Teave'the whole’ of my wardrobe, for her entire use and disposal; and also my Silver watch, with my key and seal hanging’ to it. ‘And having thus provided for (Mrs. JELLYBAGS, ‘who has been listening attentively, interrupts Mr. SEEDY 7# great agitation. JeL. Will you'be pleased ‘to read that part over again ? SEEDY. Certainly, ma’am. ‘I leave the whole of my. wardrobe, and also. my silver watch, with the key and seal hanging to it. [Mrs. JELLYBAGS Screams and falls back in a S2U00n On her Chatr—wno one assists her. ‘And ‘having . thus provided’ for all’ my relations, L do hereby devise the rest of my property to the said Solomon Lazarus and Hezekiah Flint, to have and to hold for ‘the building and’ endowment of an Hospital’ for OLLA’ PODRIDA, diseases of the heart, lights, liver, and Spleen, as set off by the provisions in the schedule annexed to my will-as'part'and codicil to it.’ , SEEDY. Would, the relations like me to read the provisions ? OMNES. ‘No !''‘noi! no! (Mr. SEEDY%S Wboud' to fold up the papers.) GuM. I beg’ your pardon, sir, but is there no other codicil ? SEEDY. I beg your’ pardon!’ Mr. Gum- arabie, T recollect ‘now theré’s one telative to you. GuM. (nods his head). T thought so. SEEDY (veads). ‘And whereas I consider that’ my apothe- cary, Mr. Haustus Gumarabic, hath sént! in much unnecessaty physic, during’ my long ill: ness—it ‘is’ my earnest request ‘that my executors will not fail to tax his bill.’ GUM. (rises and comes forward). Tax my bill !—wwell that‘is very odd, very odd! I'may as well go and look after my patiénts, ’ { 7v?#. (JAMES and WILLIAM come forward.) JAMEs. I say, Bill, how’ are ‘you off ‘for a suit of mourning’ ? WILL. ‘Thanky for nothing, Jem: Tf ‘the old’ gentleman don't’go'to ‘heaven’ until’ put it on, he will be in a very bad way, ‘Come along, it’s no use staying here. (JOHN avd THOMAS come forward.) JOHN. I say, Tom, how are you off for nineteen pounds nineteen and six? Heh'! THOS. Let's toss and see which’ shall have both legacies. “Here goes—heéads or tails ? JOHN. Woman for ever, PHOS. You've won, so there's an end of not only my expectations but” tealities:” Come along, Mrs. Jellybags must be anxious tolook over her wardrobe: JOHN. Yés, and also the silver “watch and the key and séal hanging to’ it. | Good-Bye} Jemmy'’* Hath | [Exennt, laughing, CLrEM. For shame, John: (urns vo Ep- WARD.) My dear Edward, do not ‘appear so downeast. *f acknowledge that’ I am myself much mortified and disappointéd—but wé must submit to circumstances. What»did I tell you before this will was’ read?—that nothing could alter my feelings. towards ‘you, did T not > EDW. (with tdiperence): Yes. CLEM. Why then’ annoy yourself, -ipy‘dear Edward ? Epw. The confounded old jinks CLEM. Nay, Edward, recollect’ that ‘He is dead—I can forgive him. Epw. But I_won’t. Has he not dashed my cup of bliss to the ground’? “Heavens ! what delightful anti¢ipations I had formed of pos- sessing you and competence—all gone ! CLEM, All gone, dear Edward ? [Mrs, JELLYBAGS, wo hus been sitting verystill, takes her handkerchief trom her eyes and listens. _ Epw. Yes, gone '—gone for ever! Do“you imagine, my ever dear Clementina, that I would be so base, so cruel, so regardless of you and your welfare, to entrap you into marrage with only ,oneshundred -and “fifty pounds! No, no !—judge* me” better. I Sacrifice myself—my happiness—all for you ! —banish myself from your dear presence, and retire to pass the remainder of my existence in nusery and regret, maddened’ with:the feeling that some. happier mortal, will obtain that dear hand, and’ will. rejoice in’ the possession of those charms which I. had. too fondly; too credulously, imagined as certain to be mine. | Takes. out his handkerchiét,, andi covers hits face, CLEMENTINA ‘adso puts:her handker- chief to her face. and weeps,’ Mrs. JELLY- BAGS nods her head ironically. CLEM. Edward! Epw..My dear, dear Clementina! CLEM. You won't have me? Epw. My honour forbids it, Ifyou knew my feelings—how this poor heart-is tacked ! CLEM. Don’t leave me, Edward. ».Did you not say that for richer.or for poorer, for:better or for worse, you. would be’ mine; till. déath did us part ? Epw. Did I? CLEM; You know you did, Edward: Epw. ,It’s, astonishing how much nonsense we talk when in love...My dearest Clementina; let us be rational. We are almost without: a sixpence.,.. Lhere.is,an.old adage, that when poverty comes in at the,tloor,.love flies out of the window,;. Shall:I. then: make :you miser- able! No! no! Hear me, Clementina.’ -I will, be generous... 1 now absolve you from all your vows... You,are free. .Should the time ever come that prosperity shine upon: me, and I find that.I.haye sufficient for both of us ‘of ILL-WILL, 107 that dtoss which I despise, then will I return, and, should my Clementina not have entered into any other engagement, throw my fertune and my person at her feet. ‘Till then, dearest Clementina, farewell ! CLEM. (stvking into a chair sobbing). Cruel Edward ! Ohj-my heart will break ! Epw. 1 can bear it myself no longer. Fare- well! farewell ! [Axct. JEL. (coming forward). Well, this is some comfort. (Zo CLEMENTINA.) Did I not teil:you, Miss, thatoif you! did° not change your mind, others might ? CLEM. Leave me, leave me; Jeu. No, [shan’t; I ‘have'as good a right here as you, at all events. I shall Stay, Miss. CLEM. (rising). » Stay then—but I shall not. Oh, Edward’! Edward'! (£xi#, weeping. JEL. (alone). Well, TI really thought I should: have-burst—to be forced not to allow eople to suppose that I cared when T should like to tear the ‘old wretch out of his coffin to beathim. //zs ‘wardrobe !) If people knew his wardrobe aswell as'P do,’ who’ have ‘been patching at'it'these last’ ten years—not a’shirt ora stocking that would fetch ‘sixpence! And as for his other garments, why a Jew would hardly put them into his bag! °(Cyping) Oh dear ! oh dear! Afteriall, I’m just like’ Miss Clementina; for Sergeant’O'Callaghan, when be knows ail this, Wilbas surely walk off with- out beat of drum, as: did) Mr. Edward —and that too with albthe money Ivhave lént him: Oh these men! these men whether ‘they are living or dying there is nothing: in’ them’ but treachery and disappointment!) When they pretend to bein love; they date only trying for your money ;andie’en when: they make their wills, they leave to: those behind them nothing but 2/Z-well/ [Axztt, crying, off the stage as the curtain falls,IT was a fine autumnal evening; I had been walking with a friend until dusk on the Piazza Grande, or principal square in the town of Lucca. ‘We had been conversing of England, our Own country, from which I had then banished myself for nearly four years, having taken up my residence in Italy to fortify a weak conssitution, and having remained there long after it was requisite for my health from an attachment to.its pure sky, and the dolce far zzente which so wins upon you in that luxurious climate. We had communicated to each other the contents of our respective letters arrived by the last mail; had talked over politics, great men, acquaintances, friends, and kindred ;.and, tired of conversation, had both sunk into a pleasing reverie as we watched the stars twinkling above us, when my friend rose hastily and bid me good-night. ‘ Where are you going, Albert ?’ inquired I. ‘I had nearly forgotten I had an appoint- ment this evening. I promised to meet some- body at the Marquesa di Cesto's masquerade.’ ‘Pshaw ! are you not tired of those things ?' replied I, ‘that eternal round of black masks and dominos of all colours ; heavy harlequins, fools and clowns by nature wearing: their proper dresses there, and only in masquerade when out of it ; nuns who have no holiness in their ideas, friars without a spice of religion, ugiy Venuses, Dianas without chastity, and Hebes as old as your grandmother.’ ‘All very true, Herbert, and life itself is masquerade enough ; but the fact is, that I have an appointment: it is of importance, and I must not fail.’ ‘Well, I wish you more amusement than I have generally extracted from these bur- lesque meetings,’ replied I. ‘Adieu, and may you be successful !’ And Albert hastened away. [ remained another half-hour reclining on the bench, and then returned to my lodgings. My servant Antonio lighted the candle and withdrew. On the table lay a note; it was an invitation from the Marquesa. I threw it on one side and took up a book, one that re- quired reflection and deep examination ; but the rattling of the wheels of the carriages as they whirled along past my window would not permit me to command my attention, I THE SKY-BLUE DOMINO. threw down the book ; and taking a chair at the window, watched the carriages full of masks as they rolled past, apparently so eager in the pursuit of pleasure. I was ina cynical humour. What fools, thought J, and yet what numbers will be there; there will an immense crowd; and what can be the assignation which Albert said was of such consequence ?) Such was my reflection for the next ten minutes, during which at least fifty carriages and other vehicles had passed in re- view before me. And then I thought of the princely fortune of the Marquesa, the splendid palazzo at which the. masquerade was given, and the brilliant scene which would take place. ‘The Grand Duke is to be there, and everybody of distinction in Lucca. I have a great mind to go myself.’ A few minutes more elapsed. I felt that I was lonely, and I made up my mind that I would go. I turned from the window and rang the bell. ‘Antonio, see if you can procure me a domino, a dark-coloured one if possible; and tell Carlo to bring the carriage round as soon as he can.’ Antonio departed, and was away so Jong that the carriage was at the door previous to his return. ‘Signor, I am sorry, very, very sorry ; but I have run to every shop in Lucca, and there is nothing left but a sky-blue domino, which I have brought with me.’ ‘Sky-blue! why, there will not be two sky- blue dominos in the whole masquerade: I might as well tell my name at once, I shall be so conspicuous.’ ‘You are as well hidden under a sky-blue domino as a black one, signor, if you choose to keep your own secrets, observed Antonio. ‘ Very true,’ replied I, ‘give me my mask.’ Enshrouding myself in the sky-blue domino, I went down the stairs, threw myself into the carriage, and directed Carlo to drive to the palazzo of the Marquesa. In half an hour we arrived at the entrance- gates of the Marquesa’s superb country seat. From these gates to the palazzo, a sweep of several hundred yards, the avenue through Which the driver passed was loaded withTHE SKY-BLUE DOMINO. variegated lamps, hanging in graceful festoons from branch to branch; and the notes of music from the vast entrance-hall- of the palazzo floated through the still air., When I arrived at the area in front of the flight of marble steps which formed the entrance of the palazzo, I was astonished at the mag- nificence, the good taste, and the total dis- regard of expense which were exhibited. The palazzo itself appeared like the fabric built of diamonds and precious stones by the genii who obeyed the ring and lamp of Aladdin, so completely was its marble front hidden with a mass/of many-coloured lamps, the reflection from whose galaxy of light rendered it bright as day for nearly one hundred yards around ; various mottoes and transparencies were arranged in the walks nearest to the palazzo ; and then all was. dark, rendered still darker _ from. the contrast with the flood of light which poured to a certain distance from the scene of festivity. Groups of characters and, dominos were walking to and fro in every direction ; most of them retracing their steps when they arrived at the sombre walks and alleys, some few pairs only continuing their route where no listeners were to be expected. This is an animating scene, thought I, as the carriage stopped, and I am not sorry that I have made one of the party... As soon as I had descended, I walked up the flight of mar- ble steps which led to the spacious hall in which the major part of the company were collected. ‘The music had, for a moment, ceased to play ; and finding that the perfume of. the exotics which decorated the hall was too. powerful, 1 was again descending the steps, when my hand was seized and warmly pressed by one in a violet-coloured domino. ‘I am so glad that you are come ; we were afraid that you would. not. 1 will see you again directly,’ said the domino ; and it then fell back into the crowd. and. disappeared. It immediately. occurred tome that it was my friend Albert who spoke to me. |‘ Very odd,’ thought I, ‘ that he should have found me out!’ And again I fell into the absurdity of imagining that because I had put on a conspicuous domino, I was sure to be recognized. ‘What can he want with me ? He must be in some difficulty, some unex- pected one, that is certain.’ Such were my reflections as I slowly descended the steps, occasionally pausing for a moment on one, as Iwas lost in conjecture, when I was again arrested by a slight slap on the shoulder. © I looked round : it was a female ; and although she wore her half-mask, it was evident that she was young, and I-felt convinced that she was beautiful. ‘Not a word,’ whispered she, putting her finger to her lip; ‘follow me.’ Of course I 109 followed : lenge ? ‘ You are late,’ said the incogniot, when we had walked so far away from the palazzo as to be out of hearing of the crowd. ‘I did not make up my mind to come until an hour ago,’ replied I. ‘I was so afraid that you would not come. Albert was sure that you would. He was right. He told me just now that he had spoken to you.’ ‘What! was that coloured domino ?’ ‘Yes ; but I dare not stay now—my father will be looking for me. Albert is keeping him in conversation. In half an hour he will speak to youagain. Has he explained to you what has occurred ?’ ‘ Not one word.’ ‘If he has not had time—and I doubt if he will have, as he must attend to the prepara- tions—I will write a few lines, if I can, ana explain, or at least tell you what to do; but I am so-harassed, so frightened !_ We do indeed require your assistance. Adieu! So saying, the fair unknown tripped hastily away. ‘ What the deuce is all this ?’ muttered I, as I watched her retreating figure. ‘Albert said that he ‘ad an appointment, but he did not make me his confidant. Jt appears that some- thing which has occurred this night occasions him to require my assistance. Well; I will not fail him.’ For about half an hour I sauntered up and down between the lines of orange-trees which were dressed up with variegated lamps, and shed their powerful fragrance in the air: I rumi- nated upon what might be my friend’s inten- tions, and what might be the result of an in- trigue carried on in a country where the stiletto’ follows Love so close through all the mazes of his labyrinth, when I was again ac- costed by the violet-coloured domino. ‘Hist |’ whispered he, looking ‘carefully round. as he thrust a paper into my hand ; ‘read this after I leave you. Inone hour from this be you on this spot. Are you armed ?’ ‘No,’ replied I; ‘but, Albert ; ‘You may not need it; but’ nevertheless take this—I cannot wait.’ Sosaying, he put a stiletto into my hand, and again made a hasty retreat. It had been my intention to have asked Albert what was his plan, and further why he did not speak English instead of Italian, as he would have been less liable to: be under- stood’ if overheard by eavesdroppers ; but a little reflection told me that he was right in speaking Italian; as the ‘English language overheard would have betrayed him, or at least have identified him asa foreigner. ‘A very mysterious affair this !' thought 1; who could resist such a chal- Albert. in the rose-110 OLLA PODRIDA. ‘but; however, this’ paper will,’I presume, safety + but we must look to you for following explain the business. That there is a danger us’ in your carriage, ‘and conveying for:me in it'is evident, or he would not have given me what would-prove so great ai incumbrance this weapon ;’ and I turned ‘the stiletto once to our necessary speed..'\When Albert sées or twice to the light of the lamp next to me, you again,-he will beable to tell you where it examining? its blade, when; looking up, I per- is deposited, »Followus quick; and you will ceived a black domino standing before me. always have the gratitude of ‘It is sharp enough, I warrant,’ said the ‘VIOLAI!? domino; ‘you have but to strike home. I “PS. TD write im great haste, as: Iocannot have been waiting for you in the next walk, leave my father’s sidé fora moment withou which I thought was to be our rendezvous,” his seeking for me,’ Here is'a paperwhich you will/fasten to his dress. I will contrive that he shall be here in an hour hence-by a pretended message, “After his death youwwill put. this packet into his bosom—you understand. . Fail not: remem- ber the one thousand sequins ; and here ig my ring, which I will redeem as soon as your work is done. ‘The others will soon be here. The pass-word/is ‘‘ Milano.’”’ ‘But Inmust ‘not be seen:heré. « Why. a sky-blue domino ? ‘it! is heiress.» Confound” this’ sky-blue “domino too conspicuous for escape;’ and as I received Here ‘I am with two papers, -a packet, a from him))the packet and ring, ‘the black do- stiletto,‘and aring; I'am to recéive another mino retreated | through» the orange Srove packet/‘and am’to'convey treasure.’ Well; it which encircled us, must Solve itself-=I will back to my post ; but I was lost in amazement: there I istood first let’ me ‘see what is in this paper which’'T with my hands. full—tvwo papers, a packet, am to affix upon the man’s dress ‘after T have a stiletto, and aidiamond ring! |‘ Well’! killed him. UT held’ if up ‘to thé lishé and thought, I, ‘this. time:d am most agsuredly réad, in capital‘letters, ‘The reward’ of “a taken for somebody: else—for'a) bravo: Lam traitor!’ ‘Short ‘and pithy,° muttered", as‘T not. There is: some. foul work going on, replaced it/in “my pocket # ‘now Pll” back which, perhaps, L may-prevent.: ‘But why! to the place of assignation, for the hour must a Sky-blue domino?” said he. I may well ask: be nearly expired.’ the same question. ‘* Why the deuce did I As I retraced my steps, I again reverted to come here, in a sky-blue domino, or any do- the communication of Viola—‘ “ Surrounded mino atall?''” I put the ringvoh my fingery as we are by stilettoes‘on évery’side !" » Why, the stiletto aad packet.in my: bosom, and then surely: Albert cannot be thé person that TI am hastened away to.the!garden on ‘the other side required by the black ‘domino ‘to “dispatth ; of the palazzo, that Lanight :readithe mysteri-' and yet it may be so—and others’ aré to join ous communicationput into any thands by»my: me here’ before the hour is passed.” A thought friend Albert; and, asol walkedyon, my love: struck me } Whdever the party might be whose for admiration led-me away so a&-to find my=' life was tobe taken, > whether Albert '6r“an- self pleased with ithe mystery and danger at-) other, Pvould save him: tending upon the affair ; and feeling secure, My ‘reverie was again’ broken bya fap on now that J had a:stiletto:in my bosom-for my the shoulder; defence,-I resolved that. I jould go right ‘Am I right? © ‘Whatiis thé pass "rd ?? a through; it until,the whole affair should be —« Milano!" replied I, in a whispe*e™ unravelled, ‘All's “right, then--Giacomo ‘an€: Tonmasé I walked on, till Ishad. gained the Jast lamp are close by—I will fetch then’ on thejother side of’ the, palazzo. | I held up © The man’ turned away, and in a minute re- to its dight, the mysterious paper: it}was- in appeared with two others, bending ‘as they Italian, and in a woman's handwriting; forced’ their way under the orange-trees. ‘Here we all are, Felippo,’ whispered the ‘We have determined upon flight; as we first." ‘ We is to be hete in a few minutes.’ cannot hopé for safety here, surroundedoas we “Hush! replied'I, ina whisper, and hold: are by stilettoes On ‘every side. “We feel sure ing “up to *them'thé “brilliant ring ‘which of pardon:as;soonmas‘the papers which Albert sparkled on my finger. - received by this day’s mail; and which he will ‘ Ah, signor, I’ery your mercy,” *eplied “the entrust to you'when you meetiagain; areplaced man, in a low voice;) ©E thoueht it was in my father’s hands.) We must:havé your as- Felippo.’ sistance in removing; our treasure,’ Our horses ‘Not so:loud,’ replied Ty stithin a whisper. are all ready, and:a few hours will put us'in “Albis discovered; and Felippo'is arrested. “What ean all'this mean? Albért told me” of no papers by this day’s mail!’ Viola! “I never heard him'mention such a name.” He said tome, ** Read this, and all will’ be’ ex- plained.” °T’ll be hanged if I am not as much in the dark as ever!’ Follow them in my car- riagé with the treasure—never says where oe presume he is about to run off with some richTHE SKY-BLUE DOMINO. You must away immediately. You shall hear from me to-morrow.’ ‘ Corpo di-Bacco.!.. Where; -signor? at the old,place ?’ ‘Yes, away—now, and save yourselves,’ In a few seconds the desperate,.men, disap- peared among the trees, and 1 was left alone. ‘Slaves of the Ring, you have done) my, bidding at allevents, this time,’ thought I, and I looked at the ringimore attentively.—It was a splendid solitaire diamond, worth many hundred crowns. ‘ Will you ‘eyer,find ,your way back to your! lawful owner?’ was, the question in my mind when Albert made his appearance in’ his. violet-coloured ;/do- mino.: ‘’Twas imprudent,of you to send me ‘the paper by/the: black domino,’ said;he, hastily. ‘Did I not tell you that I would be here in an hour? We} have; not,a moment, to ;spare. Follow me quickly, and be silent.’ I . followed—the. papers which’ Albert, re- ferred to. needed no. explanation ; it was, in- deed, the,only, part of the whole affair, which I comprehended. He led the,way to about three hundred-yards of the,path, through the wood. ‘ There, said he, ‘in that,;narrow avenue, you will find my faithful negro,with his.charge. He will not, deliver it-up without, you show him this ring.’ And Albert-put,ajring upon my finger. ‘ But, Albert,’—my mind misgave, me— Albert never had a faithfal negro tomy know, ledge;{ it must be some other person who,had mistaken me for his friend,—‘I am afraid,’ continued I—— ‘Afraid !—let. me not ,hear,, you ;say that. You never yet knew fear,’ said he, interrupting me. *What have you to;fear between this and Pisa? . Your own horseswill, take, you there in three hours, | But here’s the, packet, which you: must deliver yourself, ., Now.that you know where the negro,-is, return to the palazzo, deliver it into, his own hands, .re- questing his immiediateperusal.,, After that do not wait a moment, but. hasten, here to your charge. While the Grand Duke Js read- ing it.I will escape with. Viola.’ ‘T really cannot understand._all, this,'-said 1, taking the packet. “All, will be; explained. when ,we,meet; at Pisa, ‘Away, mow; to’ the, Grand, Duke--I will go,to. the negro and prepare him for your coming. ' ‘ But allow me ‘ Not.a, word more, ‘if you love me,’-replied the violet-coloured domino, who, Iwas now convinced, wasenot Albert ; it was»nat j his voice—there was a;mystery and a mistake ; but I had become so. implicated that I felt I 4 d FET could not retreat without sacrificing the par- ties, whoever they might be. : ‘Well,’ said. I, -as I,turned.;:back:.to the palazzo, ‘I must go.on now ;, for as a gentle- man, and:man of,honour,/I cannot refuse... -I will give the packet tothe Grand Duke, and I will also convey his ,treasure to Pisa, Con- found.this,sky-blue demino |’ As, I returned tothe, palazzo,, I. was ac- costed, by the black domino, ‘Milano!’ replied, E. ‘Ts allright, Felippo.?: said he, in apwhisper. ‘ All is right, signor,;; was my answer, ‘Where is he?’ I, pointed with my finger to a clump of orange-trees. ‘And the paper and packet ? I nodded my. head. ; ‘Then you had better away-—L will see-you to-morrow.’ ‘Atthe old place; signor?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the: black, domino, cutting into.a cross path,,and disappearing, I arrived at the palazzo, mounted the steps, forced my way throughethe crowd, and per- ceived the Grand Duke in an: inner! saloon, the lady: who had accosted: me leaning on his arm. It then occurred to me that the Grand Duke had an, only, daughter, whose name was Viola. I éntered, the saloon, which was. not crowded, and waiking boldly up. to.the Grand Duke, presented the packet, requesting that his Highness. would give, it is immediate at- tention. I then bowed, and hastened away, once. more passed through the thronged hall, and ‘gained the marble steps of the palazzo, ‘Have you given it?” said a low voice close to me. ‘lL have,?-replied I, ;. ‘ but, signor——' ‘Not a word, Carlo,;, hasten.to the wood, if you love me,’ And the violet-coloured domino forced his;way into the crowd which filled the hall. ‘Now for.my journey,to Pisa,’ said I, * Here I am, implicated in high treason, perhaps, in consequence of,,my.,putting, on, a, sky-blue domino... Well, there’s no help for it, In a few. minutes I had gained the narrow avenue, and,haying, pursued it. about fifty yards; perceived the glaring eyes ofa crouched negro. By the starlight, [ could, just. distin- guish that he had a basket, or something like one, before him. -‘ What do. you come for, signor?’ said the negro, rising on.his feet. ‘For. what,has been, placed under, your charge; here is.the ring, of your master.. The negro put his fingers;to,the sing and felt it; that he might recognize it by, its. size and shape. ‘ Here it-is, signor,’ said he, lifting up, the basket gently, and putting itinto myarms, It{IZ was not heavy, although somewhat cumbrous from its size. ‘Hark! Signor, there is confusion in the palazzo. You must be quick and I must not be seen with you.’ And away darted the negro like lightning through the bushes. I also-hastened away with the basket (con- tents unknown), for it appeared to me that affairs were coming to a crisis. I heard people running different ways, and voices approach- ing me, When I emerged from the narrow avenue, I perceived several figures coming down the dark walk at a rapid pace, and, seized with a sort of panic, I took to my heels. I soon found that they were in pursuit, and I increased my speed. In the gloom of the night, I unfortunately tripped over a’stone, and fell with the basket to the ground; and then the screams from within informed me that the treasure entrusted to my safe keeping was a child. Fearful that it was hurt, and forgetting for the time the danger of being captured, I opened the lid, and examined its limbs, while I tried to pacify it ; and while I was sit- ting down in my sky-blue domino, thus occupied in hushing a baby, I was seized by both ‘shoulders, and found myself a prisoner. ‘What is the meaning of this rudeness, signors?’ said I, hardly knowing what to Say. ‘You are arrested by order of the Grand Duke,’ was the reply. “T am arrested !—why ?—I am an English- man !’ “That makes. no difference ; the orders are to arrest all found in the garden in sky-blue dominos.’ ‘Confound the sky-blue domino !' thought I, for the twentieth time at ieast. ‘Well, signors, I will attend you; but first let me try to pacify this poor frightened infant.’ ‘Strange that he should be found running away with a child at the same time that the Lady Viola has disappeared !’ observed one of my captors. ‘You are right, Signors,’ replied I; ‘it is very strange ; and what is more strange is, that I can nomore explain it than you can. [am now ready to accompany you. Oblige me by one of you carrying the basket while I take care of the infant.’ In-a few minutes we had arrived at the palazzo. I had retained my mask, and I was conducted through the crowd into the saloon into which I had previously entered: when I delivered the packet to the Grand Duke. ‘There he is! there he is!’ was buzzed through the crowd in the hall. ‘ Holy Virgin ! he has a child in his arms! Bamébzno bellis- simo !’ Such were the exclamations of won- der and surprise as they made a lane for my passage, and I was in the presence of the OLLA PODRIDA, Grand Duke, who appeared to be ina state of great excitement. ‘It is the same person!’ exclaimed the Duke. ‘Confess ; are you not the party who put a packet into my hands about a quarter of an hour since ?’ ‘Iam the person, your Highness,’ replied I, as I patted and soothed the frightened child, ‘Who gave it you ?’ ‘May it please your Highness, I do not know.’ - ‘What child is that ?’ ‘May it please your Highness, I do not know.’ ‘Where did you get it?’ ‘Out of that basket, your Highness,’ ‘Who gave you the basket ?’ ‘May it please your Highness, I do not know.’ ‘You are trifling with me. searched,’ ‘ Mayit please your Highness, I will save them that trouble, if one of the ladies will take the infant.. I have received a great many presents this evening, all of which ! will have the honour of displaying before your Highness,’ One of the ladies held out her arms to the infant, who immediately bent from mine to- wards her, naturally clinging to the other sex — as its friend in distress. ‘In the first place, your Highness, I. have this evening received this ring,’ taking. off my finger the one given by the party in a‘ violet. coloured domino, and presenting it to him, ‘And from whom ?’ said his Highness, in- Stantly recognizing the ring. ‘May it please your Highness, I do not know. I have also received another ring, your Highness,’ continued I, taking off the ring given me by the black domino. ‘And who gave you this?’ interrogated the Duke, again evidently recognizing it, ‘May it please your Highness, I do not know. Also, this stiletto, but from whom, I must again repeat, I do not know. Also, this packet, with difections to put it into a dead man’s bosom.’ ‘And you are, I presume, equally ignorant of the party who gave it to you?’ ‘Equally so, your Highness ; as ignorant as Iam of the party who desired me to pre- sent you with the other packet which I de- livered.. Here is also. a paper I was desired to pin upon a man’s clothes after I had assas- sinated him.’ ‘Indeed !—and’ to this, ‘also, you plead total ignorance ?’ ‘I have but one answer to give to all, your Highness, which is, I do not know.’ ‘Perhaps, sir, you do not know your own Let him beTHE SKY-BLUE DOMINO, 113 name or profession,’ obsérved his Highness, with a sneer. “Yes, your Highness,’ replied I, taking off my mask, ‘ that I do know. I am an English- man, and, I trust, a gentleman, and a man of honour. My nameis Herbert’; and I have more than once had the honour to be a guest at your Highness’s entertainments.’ ‘Signor, I recognize you,’ replied the Grand Duke. ‘Let the room be cleared—I must speak with this gentleman alone.’ When the company had quitted the saloon, I entered into a minute detail of the events of the evening, to which his Highness paid the greatest attention ; and when I had finished, the whole mystery was unravelled to me by him, and with which I will now ‘satisfy the curiosity of my readers. The Grand Duke had one daughter, by name Viola, whom he had wished to marry to Rodolph, Count of Istria ; but Viola had met with Albert, Marquis of Salerno, and a mutual attachment had ensued. Although the Grand Duke would not force his daughter’s wishes and oblige her to marry Count. Ro- dolph, at the same time he would not consent to her espousals with the Marquis Albert. Count Rodolph had discovered the intimacy between Viola and the Marquis of Salerno, and had made more than one unsuccessful attempt to get rid of his rival by assassina- tion. After some time, a private marriage with the marquis had been consented to by Viola; and a yearafterwards the Lady Viola retired to the country, and without the know- ledge, or even suspicions, of her father, had given birth toa male child, which had been passed off as the offspring of one of the ladies of the court who was married, and to whom the secret had been confided. At this period the secret societies, especially the Carbonari, had become formidable in Italy, and allthe crewned heads and reigning princes were using every exertion to suppress them. Count Rodolph was at the head of these societies, having joined them to increase his power, and to have at his disposal the means of getting rid of his rival. Of this the Marquis of Salerno had received intimation, and for some time had been trying to obtain proof against the count; for he knew that if pnce it was proved, Count Rodolph would never be again permitted to appear in the state of Lucca, On the other hand, Count Rodolph had been making every arrangement to get rid of his rival, and had determined that it should be effected at this masquerade. The Marquis of Salerno had notice given him of this intention, and also had on that morning obtained the proof against Count Rodolph, which he was now determined to forward to the Grand Duke; but, aware that his assassination by the Carbonari was to be attempted, and also that the wrath of the Grand Duke would be excessive when he was informed of ‘their private marriage, he re- solved to fly with his wife to Pisa, trusting that the proofs of Count Rodolph being con- nected with the Carbonari, and a little time, would soften down the Grand Duke’s anger. The marquis had arranged that he should escape from the Duke’s dominions on the night of the masquerade, as it would be much easier for his wife to accompany him from thence than from the Grand Duke’s palace, which was well guarded ; but it was neces- sary that they should travel on horseback, and they could not take their child with them, Viola would not consent that it should be left behind; and on this emergency he had written to his friend, the Count d'Ossore, to come to their assistance at the masquerade, and, that they might recognize him, to wear a sky-blue domino, a colour but'seldom put on. The Count d'Ossore had that morning left his town mansion on a hunting excursion, and did not receive the letter, of which the Mar- quis and Viola were ignorant. Such was the state of affairs at the time that I put on the sky-blue domino to go to the masquerade. My first meeting with the marquis in his violet-coloured domino is easily understood : being in a sky-blue domino I was mistaken for the Count d’Ossore. I was myself led into the mistake by the Marquis Albert having the same Christian name as my English friend. The second meeting with the Count Rodolph, in the black domino, was accidental. The next walk had been appointed as the place of meeting with the Carbonari Felippo and his companions ; but Count Rodolph, perceiving me examining my stiletto by the light of the lamp, presumed that I was Felippo, and that I had mistaken the one path for the other which had been agreed upon. The papers given to me by Count Rodolph were Car- bonari papers, which were to be hid in the marquis’s bosom after he had been assassi- nated, to make it appear that he had belonged to that society, and by the paper affixed to his clothes, that he had been murdered by the agents of the society for having betrayed them. The papers which the marquis had requested me to give to the Grand Duke were the proofs of Count Rodolph’s belonging to the secret society ; and with those papers was enclosed a letter to the Grand Duke, in which they acknowledged their secret union. And now, I believe, the reader will comprehend the whole of this mysterious affair. After all had been explained, I ventured to ask his Highness if he would permit me to fulfil my promise of taking the child to its mother, as I considered it a point of honour 4. ‘¥ , - * das114 that I should keep my engagement, the more so, as the delay would occasion. the greatest distress to His daughter ; and I ventured to add, that I trusted his. Highness would par- don what could) not now be remedied, and that I should |have: the: satisfaction of being the bearer of such pléasing’ intelligence, to his daughter andthe marquis, The’ Grand Duke» paced! the room for a minute, and then replied, ‘Signor Herbert, 1 feél so’ disgusted with the treachery and base- ness of Count Rodolph; that, I hardly need observe; if my daughter were: free;he never should: espouse her ;; indeed, he will: have im- mediate orders to’ quit’ the state. You have been instrumental in’ preserving the life of the Marquis of Salerno, who is my son-in-law, and as matte s now stand, liam indebted to you. Your dismissal of the bravoes, by means of the count's ring, was a masterly stroke. -You shall have the! pleasure of taking my forgive- ness to my daughter and her husband; /butas for the child, it may as well remain there.) Tell Viola, I retain it as a hostage for the quick return of its mother.’ I took my leave of his Highness,’ and, has- OLLA PODRIDA. tened to Pisa, where I soon: found. out. the retreat of the marquis and his wife... I sent up my name, ‘requesting immediate admit- tance, as having a message from, the Grand Duke. . found, them in great-distress.,. The Count d’Ossore had \returned,Jate on the night of the masquerade, found the letter, hastened to the Marquesa de, Cesto;s,.and had arrived just after, the elopement had, been) discovered. He immediately followed, them to Pisa, when an explanation took: place, ‘and, they discovered that.they had, been, communicating, with some unknown, person; _ by, whom, they, had,.in all probability, been, betrayed. It would, be) difficult to . portray, their as- tonishment “and, joy, when .I.entered, into,a detail of what had, occurred, and wound, up with a message from the Grand: Duke ;, and I hardly’ need add, now that I wind) up my story, that the proofs of gratitude, I received from the marquis and his wife, during «my, subsequent residence in Italy, left me,no occa- sion to! repent that I, had) gone.to: the, mas- querade of the Marquesa de, Cesto} in a SKY- BLUE DOMINO,MODERN. TOWN HOUSES, ee I HAVE often thought, ’ when you consider the difference of comfort between houses built from sixty to a hundred’ years back, in com- parison with the modern edifices, that the cry of the magician in ‘ Aladdin,” had he called out ‘new houses,’ instead of ‘new lamps,’ for old ones, would not have appeared so very absurd. It was my good fortune, for the major part of my ‘life, to occupy an ancient house, built, I believe, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. © My father lived in it before I was in existence; I was born in it; and it was bequeathed to me. It has since been my mis- fortune to have lived three years in one of the modern-built houses} and, although JI have had my share of the ills to which we all are heir, I must date my real unhappiness from the first month after T took’ possession!’ “With your permission, I will enter into my history, as it may. proye a warning to-others, who will not remember the old proverb of ' Let well alone.’ Yama married man, with six children ; my three eldest are daughters, and have now quitted a school, near Pottman Square, to which my wife insisted’ upon my sending them, as it was renowned for finishing’ young ladies. Until their return to domiciliate themselves under my roof, J never heard a complaint of my house, which was situated at Brompton. It was large, airy, and comfort- able, with excellent shrubberies, and a. few acres of land ; and T possessed every comfort and even’ iuxury which could be rationally required, my wife and daughters haying their carriage, and in every respect my establish- ment being that of a gentleman. I had. not, however, taken’ my daughters from school more than-two months, before I was told that we were ‘living out of the world,’ although not half a mile from Hyde Park Corner; and; to my surprise, my wife joined in the cry. ‘-It was always, from morn to night, ‘We might do this but, we cannot do this because, we are quite out of the world.’ It was too far to dine out in town ; too’far for people to come and dine with us; too far to go to the play, or the opera ; too far to drive in the park ; too far even to walk in Kensing- ton Gardens. I remonstrated, that we had managed to dine out, to receive visitors, and to enjoy all other amusements very well for a considerable number of years, and that it did not appear to me that Brompton had walked away from London; on the contrary, that London was making rapid advances towards Brompton. But it would not do,—all day the phrase rang in my ears, ‘out of the world,’ until I almost began to wish that I was out too. But it is no use having the best of an argument when,opposed to women. Thad my choice, either to give up my house, and take another in London, or to give up my peace, With an unwilling sigh, I at last con- sented to leave a place dear to me, from long association and many reminiscences, and it was arranged that Brompton Hall was to be let or sold, and that we were to look out im- mediately for a house in some of the squares in the metropolis. If my wife and daughters found that the distance from London was too far for other purposes, at all events it was not too far for house-hunting. ‘They were at it incessantly, week after week; and at last they fixed upon one in the neighbourhood of Bel- grave Square, which, as they repeated, pos- Sessed all the cheerfulness and fresh air of the country, with the advantages of a town resi- dence. The next day I was to be dragged to see it, and give my opinion ; at the samé time, from the commendations bestowed upon it previous to my going, I felt assured. that I was expected to give ther opinion, and. not my own. The next day, accordingly, we. repaired thither, setting off immediately after breakfast, to meet the surveyor and. builder, who was to be on the ‘spot. The house. in question was one of a row just building, or built, whitened outside, in'imitation of stone. -It was No, 2. No. rz was finished, but the windows. still stained with the drippings of the whitewash and colouring. No. 2, the one in question, was complete; and, as the -builder asserted, ready for immediate occupation. No. 3 was not so far advanced. As for the others,. they were at present nothing but carcasses, without even the front steps built to them, and you entered them by a drawbridge of planks. | The builder stood at the front door, and bowed most respectfully. ‘Why,’ observed J, looking at the piles of mortar, lime, andt16 OLLA PODRIDA. bricks standing about in all directions,‘we ‘You must take it? papa,’ shall be smothered with dust and lime for the ‘Pray take it, papa.’ next two years.’ ‘Mr. What’s-your-name, I beg your par- ‘Don’t be alarmed, sir,’ replied the builder; don : ‘every house in the row will be finished before ‘Smithers, sir,’ said the builder, turning the winter. We really cannot attend to the round. applications for them.’ ‘Pray, Mr. Smithers, what term of lease do We entered the house. . you let-at 2 ‘Is not the entrance handsome?’ observed ‘Seven, fourteen, or twenty-one, at the op- my wife ; ‘so neat and clean.’ tion of either party, sir.’ To this I had not a reply to make—it cer- ‘I should have no objection to take it for tainly did look neat and clean. three years.’ We went into the dining-room. ‘Whata ‘Three years, my dear sir!—that would be nice room,’ exclaimed my. eldest daughter; doing yourself an injustice. You would lose ‘how many can we dine in this room ? half the value of your fixtures provided you ‘Um !’ replied I; ‘about twelve, suppose, left—and then the furniture. Depend upon comfortably.’ it, sir, if you once get into it, you will never ‘Dear me!’ observed the. builder; ‘you wish to leave it.’ have no notion of the size of the house ; rooms ‘That. may,,.or, not be,’ .rephed,1.;, “put I are so deceiving, unfurnished. You may sit will not take it for more than three years. down twenty with ease; I'll appeal to the The town-air may not agree with me; and if, lady. Don’t you think so, ma'am ?’ as you say, people are so anxious to take the ‘Yes, I do,’ replied my wife. houses, of course, it can make no difference to After that we went over the drawing-ftooms, you.’ bed-rooms, and attics. ‘I’m afraid, sir, that. for so. short a Every bed-room was apportioned by my time wife and daughters, and the others were ‘I will not take it for longer,’ replied I, - allotted to the servants ; and that in the pre- rising up, glad of an excuse to be off. sence of the builder, who took good note of ‘Oh, papa !’ all that passed. ‘My dear Mr. B—— The kitehen was admired; so were the ‘On that. point,” replied I, ‘I will not be pantry, scullery, coal-hole, dust-hole, &c.— overruled. I will not take a lease for more all so nice and clean—so eompact—and, as _ than three years, with the right of continuing, the builder observed, not a nail to drive any- if I please.’ where. The builder perceived that I was in earnest. ‘Well, my dear, what do you think now? ‘Well, sir,’ replied he, ‘ I hardly know what isn't it a charming house?’ said my wife, as to say ; but rather than disappoint the ladies, we re-ascended into the dining-parlour. I will accept you as a tenant for three years ‘It’s a very nice house, my dear; but still certain.’ it requires a little consideration,’ replied I. ‘Confound the fellow!’ thought I; but I ‘Consideration, my dear ?’ replied my wife; was pinned, and there was an end of the mat- ‘what ! now that you have gone over it ?” ter. Mr, Smithers pulled out paper and ink, ‘I am afraid that I cannot give you very two letters of agreement were written upon a long, sir,’ observed the builder; ‘there are two small deal table, covered with blotches of va- other parties after the house, and I am to rious-coloured paints ; and the affair was thus give them an answer by two o'clock.’ concluded. ‘Mr.Smithers told me the same yesterday," We got into the carriage and drove home, whispered my wife. my wife and daughters in ecstasies, and I ‘What did you say the rent was, Mr. Smi- obliged to. appear very well satisfied, that I thers ?” might not damp their spirits; yet | must say “Only 200/. per annum,’ that although.the house appeared a very nice ‘Any ground-rent ?” house, I had my forebodings. : ‘Only 277.. 10s.’ ‘At all events,’ thought J, ‘ the lease is only ‘And the taxes ?’, for three years;’ and thus I consoled myself. ‘Oh, they will be a mere trifle.’ The next day the whole house was in com- ‘The rent appears to me to be very high.” motion. I believe my wife and daughters ‘High, my dear sir! consider the situation, were up at daybreak. When I went into the the advantages. We can't build them fast breakfast-room, I discovered that the pictures enough at that price. But of course, sir, you had been taken down, although there was no best know,’ replied he, carelessly walking to- chance of their being hung up for many weeks wards the window. 7 at least, and everything was.in preparation for ‘Take it, my dear,’ said my wife, packing up. After breakfast my wife set offMODERN TOWN HOUSES. to town to order carpets and curtains, and did not come home till six o'clock, very tired with the fatigues of the day. She had also brought the measure of every grate, to ascertain what fenders would suit ; the measure of the bed- rooms and attics, to remodel the carpets ; for it Was proposed that Brompton Hall should be disposed of, the new occupier taking at a valuation what furniture might be left. To this I appeared to consent; but was resolved in my own mind that, if taken, it should only be for the same term of yearsas my new lease. I will. pass overa month of hurry, bustle, and confusion ; at the end of which I found myself in our new habitation. It was completely furnished, with the exception of the drawing- room carpet, which had not been laid down, but was still in a roll tied up with packthread in the middle.of the room, The cause of this I soon understood from my wife. It was always the custom, she said, to give a house- warming upon entering a new house, and she therefore proposed giving a little dance. To this, as it would please her and my daugh- ters, I raised no objection. I have always observed, that what is pro- posed as a little dance invariably ends in a great one ; for from the time of proposing till the cards are about, it increases like a snow- ball ; but that arises, perhaps, from the ex- treme difficulty of knowing where to draw the line between friends. and acquaintances. I have also observed that when your wife and daughters intend such a thing, they always obtain permission for the ball first, and then tack on the supper afterwards : commencing with a mere stand-up affair—sandwiches, cakes, and _refreshments—and ending with a regular sit-down affair, with Gunter presiding over all. The music from two fiddles and a piano also swells into Collinet’s band, verify- ing the old adage, ‘In fora penny, in fora pound.’ But to all this I gave my consent ; I could afford it well, and I liked to please my wife and daughters. The ball was given, and this house-warming ended in a house- breaking ; for just before the supper-quadrille, as it was termed, when about twenty-four young ladies and gentlemen were going the grand ronde, a loud noise below, with excla- mations and shrieks, was heard, and soon afterwards the whole staircase was smothered with dust. ‘What zs the matter?’ cried my wife, who had passed to the landing-place on the stairs before me. ‘Ma’am,’ said one of Mr. Gunter’s men, shaking the lappets of his blue coat, which were covered with white dust, ‘the whole ceiling of the dining-room has come down!’ ‘Ceiling come down!’ screamed my wife. ‘Yes, ma'am,’ replied our own seryant ; 117 ‘and the supper and supper-tables are all smashed flat with the weight on it.’ Here was a catastrophe. My wife hastened down, and I followed. Sure enough the weight of mortar had crushed all beneath it— all was chaos and confusion, Jellies, blanc- manges, patés, cold roasts, creams, trifles— all in one mass of ruin, mixed up with lime, horse-hair, plaster of Paris, stucco. It wore all the appearance of a Swiss avalanche in miniature. ‘Good heavens, how dreadful !’ exclaimed my wife. ‘How much more so if there had been people in the room,’ replied I. ‘What could be the cause of it!’ exclaimed my wife. ‘ These new houses, sir, won’t bear dancing in,’ observed Mr. Gunter’s head man, ‘So it appears,’ replied [. This unfortunate accident was the occasion of the party breaking up: they knew that there was no chance of supper, which they had looked forward to; so they put on their shawls and departed, leaving us to clear up the wreck at our. leisure. In: fact, as my daughters declared, it quite spoiled the ball as well as the supper. The next morning I sent for Mr. Smithers, who made his appearance, and showed him what had taken place. ‘ Dear me, I’m very sorry ; but you had too many people above stairs—that is very clear.’ We ‘Very clear, indeed, Mr. Smithers. had a ball last night.’ ‘A ball, sir? Oh, then, no wonder.’ ‘Nowonder! What! do you mean to say that balls are not to be given ?” ‘Why, really, sir, we do not build private houses for ball-rooms—we could not, sir ; the price of timber just now is enormous, and the additional strength required would never pay us.’ ‘ What then! do you mean to say that there are no balls to be given in London ?” ‘Oh no, sir !—certainly not ; but you must be aware that few people do. -Even our aristocracy hire Willis’s rooms for their bails. Some of the old houses, indeed, such as De- vonshire House, may do for such a thing.’ ‘But, Mr. Smithers, I expect you will make this ceiling good.’ ‘Much obliged to you, sir, for giving me the preference—I will do it as reasonable as anybody,’ replied Mr. Smithers, bowing. ‘I will order my workmen directly—they are only next door.’ For a fortnight we were condemned to die in the back dining-room ; and after that Mr. Smithers sent in a bill which cost me more than the ball and supper. So soon as all was right again, I determinedmeneame that I would hang up my pictures ; for I had been accustomed to look at them! for years; and I missed them. I sent for a carpenter, and gave him directions. ‘I have'the middle now, sir, exactly ;’ said the man, standing on ‘the high steps; -‘ but,’ continued ‘he, tapping with his hammer, ‘I can't find wood.’ ‘Can't find wood !’ ‘No, 'sir,’ replied the man, tapping as’far as he could reach from right to left ; ‘ nothing to nail''to, ‘sir.. But there never is no wood in these new-built houses.’ “Confound your new houses!” ‘exclaimed I. ‘Well, it is very provoking, my. dear’!’) ex: claimed my wife. ‘I suppose that their new houses .are’ not built for pictures any more than for balls,’ re- plied I; and I sighed. “What must be done’? ‘T think, sir, if yowwere to. order brass rods to be fixed from’ one corner to the other, we might find means to fasten them,’ observed 'the carpenter ;’‘ but there’s no wood, that's certain. ‘What the devil is the house built of then ?” exclaimed I. ‘All lath and plaster, sir,’ replied’ the man, tapping right and left. At a heavy expense I procured the rods, and at last the pictures were hung up. The next annoyance that we had was a very bad smell, which we found to proceed from 'the'drains ; ‘and ‘the’ bricklayers ‘were sent for.’ All the drains were choked, it ap: peared, from’ their. being ‘so very narrow ; and after having up the.whole basement, at the expense‘of 40/7, .that nuisancé was abated. We'now had two months’ repose, and I was in hopes that things would go’on more cém- fortably } but one day I overheard! a conver- sation between my wife and daughters, as I passed by’ the door of the room, which J must candidly acknowledge gave mé satis- faction. “It’s teally very ‘awkward, mamma,—one don’t know where-to'put anything’ : there’s not a cupboard or stow-hole in' the whole house— not evel a store-room.’ ‘Well, ‘it isso,"dear; I wonder we did not observe it when we looked over it. What-a nice set of cupboards we had at Brompton Hall’ ‘Oh! yes—-I wish we had? them here; mamma, Couldn't we have some built ?’ ‘I-don't like fo speak to’your papa about it, my dear; ‘he has already been put to such expense, what withthe ceiling and the'drains.’ ‘Then don’t, mamma ; papa is really very good-natured.” The equinoxés now came on, and ‘we ‘had several gales of wind,/with heavy rain—the slates blew off and rattléd’ up and ‘down all night, ‘while the wind howled round the corner OLLA ‘PODRIDA. of the square.’ The next morning complaints from all the attic residents ; one’s bed was wetted quite through with the water dropping through the ceiling—another had been obliged to put a ‘basin’ on the' floor to catch the leak— all declared’ that the roof was like'a sieve, Sent again for Mr, Smithers; and made a complaint. ‘ This time, Mr. Smithers,” said I, with thé lease in'‘my hand, ‘I believe you Will acknow- ledge these are landlord's repairs." ‘Certainly, ‘sir,’ certainly,’ exclaimed Mr, Smithers ; ‘ [shall desire one of my mento look to itimmediately ; but the fact is, with such heavy gales, the slates must’ be expected’ to! move ‘a little. ' Duchesses' and countessés are very light, and ‘the wind géts underneath them.’ ‘Duchesses and countesses very light!" ex: claimed my wife; ‘what do'you mean ?” “It’s the term we give to slates, madam,’ replied hes ‘we cannot put on ‘a heavy Toof with a brick-and-a-half wall: It would’ not support one.’ ‘ Brick-and-a-half wall!’ exclaimed *I i “surely, Mr. Smithers, that’s not quite safe with'a house so high,’ “ Not quite safe,’ my dear sit, if it were a single house ; but,’ added he, ‘ina row, one house supports another.’ © Thank ‘heaven,’ thought I,’ "I have ‘but a three years” leasé,“and' six’ months are gone already.’ But the annoyances up ‘to this period were internal; we now had to experience the external nuisances attending ~a modern: built house. “No! ris taken, ‘papa, and they aré getting the furniture in,’ ‘said my eldest daughter oné day ;‘ [hope we shall ‘have nice neighbours. And William told Mary that Nr, ‘Smithers told him, when he met' him in the street, that? he ‘was ‘now going to fit up No. 3'as fast as he could’ The report was true, as we found from the? report of ‘the carpenters’ hammers for the next” three or’ four weeks. “We-could not ‘obtain a moment's sleep except in the ‘early part of the night, or a minute’s repose to our ears during the day. The sound appeared as if ‘it was 22% our house’ instead of next door; and it com- menced: at six o'clock in’ the ‘morning, ‘and lasted till seven in the evening. _ I was''ham- mered to death, and. unfortunately, there was | a constant succession of rain, whieh prevented” me going out to avoid it. I had nothing to do but to watch my pictures, as they jumped. from the wall with the thumps! of the ham-" mers.’ At 'Tast’ No. +3 ‘was floored, “Wain-” scoted, atid’glazed, and “we “had ‘a week's] repose. By this time No. r was furnished,'‘and theMODERN TOWN _HOUSES, parties who had takenit came in, They were a gouty old gentleman, and his wife, who, re- port said, had once been his cook. My daugh- ters’ hopes of pleasant neighbours were disap+ pointed. Before they had been ‘in! a‘week, we, found ourselves at issue: the old: gentle: man’s bed was close to the partition-wall)’and in the dead.of the night we could’ distinetly hear his groans and also his-execrations atid exclamations, when the fit came -on him. My wife and daughters declared that’ it’ was quite horrible, and ,that they could not sleep for them. Upon the eighth day there came a note :— ‘Mrs. Whortleback’s compliments to’*Mr. and .Mrs..,——,..and_ begs’ that® the young people will not play on the ‘piany, ‘as Mr. Whortleback is very- ill with the gout.’ Now, my daughters were proficients on the piano,.and practised a great deal. ‘This note was anything but satisfactory: to play when the old gentleman was ill would be barbarous, —not to play: was to deprive ourselves of our greatest pleasure. ‘Oh dear ! how very disagreeable,’ cried my daughters. ‘Yes, -my, dear; but if we can hear his groans, it’s no wonder that-he can hear’ the pianovand-harp :, recollect the wall is only a brick and a half thick.’ ‘IT wonder ,.music. don’t soothe him,’ ob- served the eldest. A Music is a mockery to a manin agony. man who has been broken on the wheel would not have his last hours soothed by the finest orchestra. After a week, during which we sent every day to inquire after Mr. Whortleback’s health, we ventured to resume the piano and harp ; upon which the old gen- tleman became resty, and sent for a man with a trumpet, placing him in the balcony, and desiring him to play as much out of tune as possible whenever the harp and piano sounded a note. Thus were we at open hostility with our only neighbour ; and, as we were certain if my daughters touched their instruments, to have the trumpet blowing discord for an hour or two either that day or the next, at last the piano was unopened, and the harp remained. in its case. Before the year closed, No. 3 be- came tenanted ; and here we had a new an- noyance. It was occupied by a large family ; and there were four young ladies who were learning music. We now had our annoyance : it was strum, strum, alb day long; one sister up, another down; and every one knows what a bore the first lessons in music are to those who are compelled to hearthem. They could just manage to playa tune, and that eternal tune was ringing in our ears from morning to night. We could not send our compliments, or blow atrumpet. We were IIQ forced to submit to it. . ‘The nursery. also being against the partition wall, we had the squalls and:noise of the-children on the one side, added :to. the groans,and execrations of the old gentleman on, the other. However, custom) reconciled us to, every- thing, and the first /vexation,.gradually- wore off. ' Yet I could. not help observing that when I was supposed not to,be in hearing, the,chief conversation of my. wife, when -her_ friends called.upon her, | consisted, of a.description of all the nuisances and annoyances. that we suffered ; and I felt assured that she and my daughters were as anxious to return to Bromp- ton Hall as'I was. In, fact, the advantages which they had: anticipated by their town resi- déncé were not realized. In, our. situation, we were as far off from most of our friends, and still farther from some than we were_be- fore, and we had no longer the same amuse- ments to; offer them. At our former short distance from town, access was more easy to those who did not keep.a carriage, that is, the young men; and those, were the parties who, of course, my wife and daughters cared for most. It was very agreeable toycome down with their portmanteaus,—enjoy the fresh air and green lanes of the country for an_after- noon,—dine, sleep, and breakfast, and return the next morning by conveyances which passed us every quarter'of an hour ; but.to dine with us in —— Square, whén-the expense. of a hackney-coach there and back was no trifle, and to return at eleven o’clock at night, was not at all agreeable. We found that we had not so much society, nor were we half so much courted, as at Brompton Hall. This was the bitterest blow of all, and my wife and daugh- ters would look out of the windows and sigh ; often a whole day passed without one friend or acquaintance dropping in to relieve its monotony. We continued to reside there, nevertheless, for I had made up my mind that the three years would be well spent if they cured my wife and daughters of their town mania ; and although anxious as I am sure they were to return, I never broached the matter, for I was determined that the cure should be radical. Nos. 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8, were finished the next year, and, by the persuasions of Mr. Smithers, were taken by different parties in the spring. And now we had another nuisance. Nothing but eternal rings at the bell. The man-ser- vant grumbled, and was behind with his work ; and, when scolded, replied that there was no time for anything, that when cleaning his knives and plate the bell was rung, and he was obliged to wash himself, throw on his jacket, and go up to answer the front door ; that the bell was not rung for us, but to find out where some new-comer lived, and to ascer-I20 tain this they always rang at the house which appeared the longest inhabited. ‘There was no end to the ringing for some months, and we had three servants who absolutely refused to stay in so bad a place. We had also to contend with letters and notes in the same way, brought to us at hap-hazard : ‘ Does Mr. So-and-so live here ?—~‘ No, he does not.’ —‘Then pray where does he? This was interminable, and not five minutes in the day passed without the door-bell being rung. Tor the sake of not changing my servants I was at last put to the expense of an extra boy, for no other purpose but to answer the constant applications at the door. At last we had remained for two years and nine months, and then my wife would occasionally put the question whether I intended to renew the lease, and I naturally replied that I did not like change. Then she went upon another tack ; observed that Clara did not appear well for some time, and that she thought that she required country air; but in this I did not choose to agree with her. One day I came home, and rubbing my hands as if pleased, said, ‘ Well, at last I've an offer for Brompton Villa for a term of seven ears, —a very fair offer and good tenants, — so that will now be off my hands.’ My wife looked mortified, and my daughters held down their heads. OLLA PODRIDA. ‘Have you let it, papa?’ said one of my daughters, timidly. ‘No, not yet ; but I am to give an answer to-morrow morning.’ ‘It requires consideration, my dear,’ replied my wife. ‘Requires consideration !’ said I ; ‘why, my dear, the parties have seen the house, and I have been trying to let it these three years. I recollect when I took this house I said it required consideration, but you would not allow any such thing.’ ‘T’m sure I wish we had,’ said Clara. ‘And so do I.’ ‘The fact is, my dear,’ said my wife, com- ing round to the back of my chair, and putting her arms round my neck, ‘we all wish to go” back to Brompton.’ “Yes, yes, papa,’ added my daughters, em- bracing me on each side. ‘You will. allow, then, that I was right in not taking a lease for more than three years ?” ‘Yes, how lucky you were So positive.’ ‘Well, then, if that is the case, we will un- furnish this house, and, as soon as you please, go back to Brompton Hall.’ I hardly need observe that we took posses- sion of our old abode with delight, and that I have had no more applications for a change” of residence, or have again heard the phrase that we were living ‘out of the world.’HE WAY “FO OBE FA PPY: Cut your coat according to your cloth, is an old maxim and a wise one; and if people will only square their ideas according to their cir- cumstances, how much happier might we all be! If we only would come down a peg or two in our notions, in accordance with our waning fortunes, happiness would be always within our reach, It is not what we have, or what we have not, which adds or subtracts from our felicity. It is the longing for more than we have, the envying of those who pos- sess that more, and the wish to appear in the world of more consequence than we really are, which destroy our peace of mind, and even- tually lead to ruin. I never witnessed a man submitting to cir- cumstances with good humour and good sense, so remarkably as in my friend Alexan- der Willemott. When I first met him, since our school days, it was at the close of the war; he had been a large contractor with Government for army clothing and accoutre- ments, and was said to have realized an im- mense fortune, although his accounts were not yet settled. Indeed, it was said that they were so vast, that it would employ the time of six clerks, for two years, to examine them, previous to the balance sheet being struck, As I observed, he had been at school with me, and, on my return from the East Indies, I called upon him to renew our old acquaint- ance, and congratulate him upon his success. ‘My dear Reynolds, I am delighted to see you. . You must come down to Belem Castle; Mrs. Willemott will receive you with pleasure, I’m sure. You shall see my two girls.’ I consented. The chaise stopped at a splendid mansion, and I was ushered in by a crowd of liveried servants. Everything was on the most sumptuous and magnificent scale. Having paid my respects to the lady of the house, I retired to dress, as dinner was nearly ready, it being then half-past seven o’clock. It was eight. before we sat down. To an observation that I made, expressing a hope that I had not occasioned the dinner being put off, Willemott replied, ‘ On the contrary, my dear Reynolds, we never sit down until about this hour. How people can dine at four or five o’clock, I cannot conceive, I could not touch a mouthful.’ The dinner was excellent, and I paid the encomiums which were its due. ‘Do not be afraid, my dear fellow—my cook is an artiste extraordinaire—a regular Cordon Bleu. You may eat anything without fear of indigestion. How people can live upou the English cookery of the present day I can not conceive. I seldom dine out, for fear of being poisoned, Depend upon it; a good cook lengthens your days, and no price is too great to insure one.’ When the ladies retired, being alone, we entered into friendly conversation. I expressed my admiration of his daughters, who-certainly were very handsome and elegant girls. ‘Very true, they are more than passable,’ replied he. ‘We have had many offers, but not such as come up to my expectations. Baronets are cheap now-a-days, and Irish lords are nothings; I hope to settle them comfortably. Weshall see. Try this claret; you will find it excellent—not a headache in a hogshead of it. How people can drink port I cannot imagine.’ The next morning he proposed that I should rattle round the park with him. I acceded, and we set off ina handsome open carriage, with four grays, ridden by postilions at a rapid pace. As we were whirling along, he ob- served, ‘In town we must of course drive but a pair, but in the country I never go out without four horses. There is a spring in four horses which is delightful ; it makes your spirits elastic, and you feel that the poor animals are not at hard labour. Rather than not drive four, I would prefer to stay at home.’ , Our ride was very pleasant, and in such amusements passed away one of the most pleasant weeks that I ever remembered. Willemott was not the least altered—he was as friendly, as sincere, as open-hearted, as when a boy at school. I left him, pleased with his prosperity, and acknowledging that he was well deserving of it, although his ideas had assumed such a scale of magnificence. I went to India when my leave expired, and was absent about four years. On my return, I inquired after my friend Willemott, and was told that his cireumstances and expect- ations had been greatly altered. From many ocauses, such as a change in the Government, a demand for economy, and the wording of his contracts having been differently rendered from what Willemott had supposed their meaning to be, large items had been struck out of his balance-sheet, and, instead of being a millionnaire, he was now a gentleman with a handsome property. Belem Castle had been sold, and he now lived at Richmond, as hos- pitable as ever, and was considered a great addition to the neighbourhood. I took the earliest. opportunity of “going down td’ see him. “Oh, my dear Reynolds; this ‘is really kind of you to come without ‘invitation, | Your room is ready, and bed yell aired, for it was slept in three ‘nights ago. Come—Mrs:. Wille- mott will be delighted to see you.’ 1 found the girls still unmarried, but they were yet young. | ‘The whole faniily appeared as contented and happy, and. as friendly,-as before. We sat down to dinnét at'six o’élock . the footman ‘and .coachinan ‘attended. The dinner was good, but’not by the artiste extra- ordinaire. I praised everything. ‘Yes,’ replied he, ‘she is 4 very good cook; she unites ‘the solidity of the English with the delicacy of the French fare ; and, altogether, P'think it a decided improvement. Jane is quite a treasure.” After cinner, he obsérved, “OF course ‘you know ‘I Have Sold Belem Castle, and reduced my establishment. ‘Go+ vernment have not treated me faitly, but lam at the mercy of Commissionets, and a body of men will do that which, ‘as individuals, they would be ashamed'of, “Te ‘fact is, the odium is borne by no one ‘in’ particular, and itis Only the serise of shame which keeps’ us honést, I am afraid.’ Howéver, here you see me, with'a comfortable’ fortune, and always happy to see my’ friends, especially my old school-fellow. — Will'yow' take port or claret ; the port is'very fine; and sois the 'elaret. By- the-by, do'you know“21 Det you into a family secret; Louisa is‘to be martied to 4’ Colonél Willer—am' exceVlen?t match’! “It Has made Us all happy.’ The next day we drove out, not in an open catriage aS ‘before, but in a chariot and witha pair of horses, ‘Vhesé'ate handsome horses.” observed I. “Yes,” teplied he, “I ‘am fond ‘of good horses ; and, asI only keep a pair, I have the best.’ Thereis a certain degree of pretension in four horses,'T do not much like—it appears as if you wished to overtop your neighbours.’ I spent a few’ very pleasant days, and then quitted his hospitable roof: “A”severe cold, caught that:wintér, ihduced’ mé to take the advice of the physicians, and proceed to the South of France, where I remained two years. On my return, I was informed that Willemott 122 OLLA PODRIDA, had speculated, and had been unlucky off the Stock Exchange ; that he had left Rich- mond, and ‘was now living at Clapham. The next day I met him near the Eychange. ‘Reynolds, I am happy to see you. Thompson told me_ that you had come back. ‘If mot’ better engaged, come down to see me; I will drive you down at four o'clock, if that will suit.’ It suited me very well, and, at four o'clock, I met him according to appointment at am} livery stables ‘over the ‘Iron Bridge. _ His@ vehicle was ordered out, it was a phaéton™)| drawn by two long-tailed ponies—altogether™ | avery neat concern. “We' set. off at a rapid pace. “They step out ‘well,’ don’t they? We shall be down in plenty of time to put ona pair of shoes by five o'clock, which is ou# dinner-time. Wate dinners don't agree with me—they -produce indigestion. Of course, you know that Louisa has a little boy.’ [ did not ; but congratulated ‘him, ‘yes, and. has now gone out to India with her husband. Maty is also engaged to be married—a very good match—a Mr. Rivers, in the law. He hasbeen called to the bar this year, and promises well. They will be a little pinched at first, but we must see what we can do for them.’ We'stopped at a neat row of houses, I for. get the name, and, as we drove up, the ser- vant, the only man-servant, came out, and took the ponies round ‘to the stable, while the maid received my luggage, and one or two paper-bags, containing’ a few: extras for the occasion. I was met with the same warmth as usual by Mrs. Willemott. ‘The ‘house was small, but very neat; the remnants of former grandeur appeared here and there, in one or two little articles, favourites of the lady. We sat down at five‘o'clock to a Alazz dinner, and were attended by’ the footman, who had rubbed down the ponies and pulled. on_ his livery. “A good plain cook is the best thing, after all,’ observed’ Willémott... “Your fine cooks won't condescend to. roast and bdil, Will you take some of this sirloin ? the under-cut is ex- cellent. My dear, give Mr. Reynolds some Yorkshire pudding.’ When we’ were left alone’ after dinner, Willemott told me, very unconcernedly, of 7 his losses. ‘It was my own fault,’ said he: ‘I wished to make up a little sum for the girls, and risk- ing what they would have had, I left them almost penniless. However, we can always command a bottle of port and a beef-steak, and what more in this world can you have? Will you"take' ‘port. o¥ white ?—I have no claret to offer you.’THE WAY.TO BE HAPPY. We finished our port, but I could perceive no difference in Willemott. He was just as happy and as cheerful as ever. He drove me to town the next day. During our drive, he observed, ‘I like ponies, they are so little trouble ; and I prefer them to driving one horse in this vehicle, aS I can!put my witeand daughters into it.” It’s selfish to~keep a-¢ar- riage for yourself alone, and one horse in a four-wheeled deuble chaise appears like an imposition upon the poor animal.’ i went to Scotland, andsremained about a year. On my return, I found that my friend Willmott) had: again shifted his quarters,. He was at Brighton: and having: nothing better to do, I put: myselfin the ‘Times,’ and-ar- rived ‘at the Bedford Hotel. It was not until after ‘some inquiry, that,I.could find out his address. .At-last I’ obtained it,:in:a respect- able: but*not fashionable part of this over- grown ‘town.: | Willemott' received) me just as before. ‘Ihave no: spare bed to offer you, but you must breakfast and dine with! us evéfy day. Our house is‘small,.-but ‘it's very comfortable, and Brighton is a very convenient place.n You know Mary is married. merits peculiarly his own, and established, as™ it were, a school for neophites, his popularity is to be injured by contemptible imitators. It is sufficient to drive a man mad, to find that the tinsel of others, if to be purchased more cheaply, is to be pawned upon the public in- stead of his gold; and more annoying still, that the majority of the public cannot appre- ciate the difference between the metal and the alloy. Do you know, Ansard, that by getting up this work, you really injure the popularity of a man of great talent ? ?HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE. Mr. ARTHUR ANSARD, standing at his table, selecting a steel pen from a card on which a dozen are ranged up, like soldiers on parade, I must find a regular graver to write this chapter of horrors. No goose quill could af- ford me any assistance. Nowthen. Let me see—— (Reads, and during his reading BARN- STAPLE comes 22 at the door behind him, un- percerg) ‘ At this most monstrously appal- ing sight, the hair of Piftlianteriscki raised slowly the velvet cap from off his head, as if it had been perched upon the rustling quills of some exasperated porcupine ’—(I think that's new)—‘ his nostrils dilated to that extent that you might, with ease, have thrust a musket bullet into each—his mouth was opened so wide, so unnaturally wide, that the corners were rent asunder, and the blood slowly trickled down each side of his bristly chin— while each tooth loosened from its socket with individual fear.—Not a word could he utter, for his tongue, in its fright, clung with terror to his upper jaw, as tight as do the bellies of the fresh and slimy soles, paired together by some fisherwoman; but if his tongue was paralyzed, his heart was not—it throbbed against his ribs with a violence which threat- ened their dislocation from the sternum, and with a sound which reverberated through the dark, damp, subterrane—— I think that will do. There's force there. B. There is, with avengeance. Why, what is all this? A. My dear Barnstaple, you here! I’m writing a romance for B——. It is to be sup- posed to be a translation. B. The Germans will be infinitely obliged to you; but, my dear fellow, you appear to have fallen into the old school—that’s no longer in vogue. A, My orders are for the old school, B—— was most particular on that point. He says that there is a re-action—a great re- action. B. What, on litefature! Well, he knows as well as any man. I only wish to God there was in everything else, and we could see the good old times again. A. To confess the truth, I did intend to have finished this without saying a word to you. I wished to have surprised you. B. So you have, my dear fellow, with the few lines I have heard. How the devil are you to get your fellow out of that state of asphyxia P A. By degrees—slowly—very slowly—as they pretend that we lawyers go to heaven But I'll teli you what I’ve done, just to give you an idea of my work, In the first place, I have a castle perched so high up in the air, that the eagles, even in their highest soar, aps pear but as wrens below. B. That’s all right. A. And then it bas subterraneous passages, to which the sewers of London are a mere song; and they all lead to a small cave at high-water mark on the sea-beach, covered with brambles and bushes, and just large enough at its entrance to admit of a mam squeezing himself in. B. That's all right. You cannot be too much underground ; in fact, the two first, and the best part of the third volume, should be wholly in the bowels of the earth, and your hero and heroine should never come to light until the last chapter. A. Then they would never have been born till then, and how could I marry them? But still I have adhered pretty much to your idea; and, Barnstaple, I have such a heroine—sucht a love—she has never seen her sweetheart, yet she is most devotedly attached, and has suf fered more for his sake than any mortal could endure. B. Most heroines generally do. A. I have had her into various dungeons for three or four years, on black bread anda broken pitcher of water—she has been starved to death—lain for months and months upon wet straw—had two brain fevers—five times has she risked violation, and always has picked up, or found in the belt of her infamous ravish- ers, a stiletto, which she has plunged into theit hearts, and they have expired with or without a groan. B. Excellent: and of course comes out of her dungeons each time, as fresh, as sweet, aS lovely, as pure, as charming, and as constant as ever. A, Exactly; nothing can equal her infinitevariety of adventure, and her imperishable beauty and unadhesive cleanliness of person; and, as for lives, she has more than a thou- sand cats. After nine months’ confinement in a dungeon, four feet square, when it is opened for her release, the air is perfumed with the ambrosia which exhales from her sweet person. B. Of course it does. The only question is, what ambrosia smells like. But let me know something about your hero. A. He isa prince and a robber. &. The two professions are not at all in- compatible. Go on. A. He is the chief of a band of robbers, and is here, there, and everywhere, He fills all Europe with terror, admiration, and love, B. Very good. A. His reasons for joining the robbers are, of course, a secret (and upon my word they are equally a secret to myself); but it is won- derful the implicit obedience of his men, and the many acts of generosity of which he is guiuty. I make him give away a great deal more money than his whole band ever take, which is so far awkward, that the query may arise in what way he keeps them together, and supplies them with food and necessaries. B. Of course with 7 O U’s upon his princely domains. A. I have some very grand scenes, amazing- ly effective ; for instance, what do you think P at the moment after the holy mass has been performed in St. Peter’s at Rome, just as the pope is about to put the sacred wafer into his mouth and bless the whole world, I make him snatch the wafer out of the pope’s hand, and get clear off with it. _ 8, What for, may I ask? A, That is a secret which I do not reveal. The whole arrangement of that part of the plot is admirable. ‘The band of robbers are dis- guised as priests, and officiate, without being found out. 4, But isn’t that rather sacrilegious ? A. No; it appears so to be, but he gives his reasons for his behaviour to the pope, and the pope is satisfied, and not only gives him his blessing, but shows him the greatest. re- spect. &, They must have been very weighty rea- sons, A. And therefore they are not divulged. &. That is to say, not until the end of the work, A. They are never divulged at all; I leave a great deal to the reader’s imagination— people are fond of conjecture. All they know is, that he boldly appears, and demands an audience. He is contlucted in, the interview is private, after a sign made by our hero, and at which the pope almost leaps off the chair. HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE, 139 After an hour he comes out again, and the pope bows him to the very door. Every one is astonished, and, of course, almost canonizes him. &. That’s going it rather strong in a Ca- tholic country. But tell me, Ansard, what is your plot ? A, Plot; I have none, B. No plot! A. No plot, and all plot, I puzzle the reader with certain materials, [| have castles and dungeons, corridors and creaking doors good villains and bad villains. Chain armour and clank of armour, daggers for gentlemen, and stilettoes for ladies, Dark forests and brushwood, drinking scenes, eating’ scenes, and sleeping scenes — robbers and friars, purses of gold and instruments of torture, an Incarnate devil of a Jesuit, a handsome hero, and a lovely heroine, I jumble them all together, sometimes above, and sometimes under, ground, and I explain nothing at all, &. Have you nothing supernatural ? DIE A. O yes! I’ve a dog whose instinct is really supernatural, and I have two or three visions, which may be considered SO, as they tell what never else could have been known, I decorate my caverns and dungeons with sweltering toads and slimy vipers, a constant dropping of water, with chains too ponderous to lift, but which the parties upon whom they are riveted, clang together as they walk up and down in their cells, and soliloquize. So much for my underground Scenery. Above, I people the halls with pages and ostrich feathers, and knights in bright atmour, a con- stant supply of generous wine, and goblets too heavy to lift, which the knights toss off at a draught, as they sit and listen to the minstrel’s music. B. Bravo, Ansard, bravo. It appears to me that you do not want assistance in this romance. A. No, when I do I have always a holy and compassionate friar, who pulls a wonderful restorative, or healing balm, out of his bosom, The puffs of Solomon’s Balm of Gilead are a fool to the real merits of my pharmacopeeia contained in a small vial. &. And pray what may be the title of this book of yours, for I have known it take more time to fix upon a title than to write the three volumes ? A. Icall it The Undiscovered Secret, and very properly so, too, for it never is explained. But if you please, I will read you.some pas- sages from it. I think you will approve of them. For instance, now let us take this, in the second volume. You must know, that Angelicanarinella (for that is the name of my heroine) is thrown into a dungeon not more than four feet square, but more than six hun-140 OLLA PODRIDA. dréd feet below the surface of the earth. The ways are so intricate, and the subterranean so vast, and the dungeons so numerous, that the base Ethiop, who has obeyed his master’s orders in confining her, has himself been lost in the labyrinth, and has not been able to dis- cover what dungeon he put her in. For three days he has been looking for it, during which our heroine has been without food, and he is still searching and scratching his woolly head in despair, as he is to die by slow torture, if he does not reproduce her—for you observe, the chief who has thrown her into his dungeon is most desperately in love with her. BL. That of course; and that is the way to prove romantic flove—you illtreat—but still she is certainly in a dilemm, as well as the Ethiop. A. Granted ; but she talks like the heroine of a romance. Listen. (ANSARD reads.) ‘The beauteous and divinely moulded form of the angelic Angelicanarinella pressed the dank and rotten straw which had been thrown down by the scowling, thick-lipped Ethiop for her repose—she, for whom attendant maidens had smoothed the Sybaritic sheet of finest texture, under the elaborately carved and sumptuously gilt canopy, the silken curtains, and the tas- sel of the purest dust of gold.’ B. Tassels of dust of gold! only figura- tively, I suppose. A. Nothing more. ‘ Each particular straw of this dank, damp bed was elastic with de- light, at bearing such angelic pressure ; and, as our heroine cast her ineffably beaming eyes about the dark void, lighting up with their effulgent rays each little portion of the dun- geon, as she glanced them from one part to another, she perceived that the many reptiles enclosed with her in this narrow tomb, were nestling to her side, their eyes fixed upon her in mute expressions of love and admiration. Her eclipsed orbs were each, for a moment, suffused with a bright and heavenly tear, and from the suffusion threw out a more brilliant light upon the feeling reptiles who paid this tribute to her undeserved sufferings. She put forth her beauteous hand, whose “faint tra- cery’’’—(I stole that from Cooper)—‘ whose faint tracery had so often given to others the idea that it was ethereal, and not corporeal, and lifting with all the soft and tender hand- ling of first love a venerable toad, which smiled upon her, she placed the interesting animal so that it could crawl up and nestle in her bosom. ‘‘ Poor child of dank, of darkness, and of dripping,’”’ exclaimed she, in her flute- like notes, ‘‘who sheltereth thyself under the wet and mouldering wall, so neglected in thy form by thy mother nature, repose awhile in peace where princes and nobles would envy thee, it they knew thy present lot, But that shall never be; these lips shall never breathe a tale which might endanger thy existence ; fear not, therefore, their enmity, and as théu slowly creepest away thy little round of cir- cumscribed existence, forget me not, but shed an occasional pearly tear to the memory of the persecuted, the innocent Angelicanari- nella!’ What d'ye think of that ? 4. Umph ! a very warm picture certainly ; however, it is natural. You know, a person of her consequence could never exist without a little foadyzsm. A. I have a good many subterranean soliloquies, which would have been lost for ever, if I did not bring them up. B. That one you have just read is enovgh to make everybody else bring up. A. I rather plume myself upon it. B. Yes, it is a feather in your cap, and will act as a feather in the throat of your readers. A. Now I’']l turn over the second volume, and read you another morceau, in which I assume the more playful vein. I have imitated one of our modern writers, who must be correct in her language, as she knows all about heroes and heroines. I must confess that I’ve cribbed a little, B, Let's hear. A, ‘The lovely Angelicanarinella Zottered for some time about this fairy chamber, then ‘‘wrote journal.” At last, she ¢hvew herself down on the floor, pulled out the miniature, gulped when she looked at it, and then c7zed herself 70 sleep,’ B. Pottered and gulped! What language do you call that ? A. It’s all right, my dear fellow. I under stand that it is the refined slang of the modern boudoir, and only known to the initiated. B. They had better keep it entirely to their boudoirs, I should advise you to leave it alk out. A, Well, I thought that one who was so very particular, must have been the standard| of perfection herself. B. That does not at all follow. A. But what I wish to read to you is the way in which I have managed that my secret shall never be divulged. It is known only to four. ZB. Asecret known to four people! You must be quick then. A. So I am, as you shall hear; they all meet in a dark gallery, but do not expect to meet any one but the hero, whom they intend§ to. murder, each one having, unknown to the others, made an appointment with him fory that purpose, on the pretence of telling him the great secret. Altogether the scene is well described, but it is long, so I'll come at once to the dénouement, B. Pray do.HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE, A, ‘Absenpresentini felt his way by the slimy wall, when the breath of another human being caught his ear: he paused, and held his own breath, “ No, no,” muttered the other, ‘‘ the secret of blood and gold shall re- main with me alone. Let him come, and he shall find death.” In a ‘second, the dagger of Absenpresentini was’ in the mutterer’s bosom :—he fell without a groan. ‘To me alone the secret of blood and gold, and with me it remains,” exclaimed Absenpresentini. ‘“ It does remain with you,” cried Phosphorini, driving his dagger into his back :—Absen- presentini fell without a groan, and Phos- phorini, withdrawing his dagger, exclaimed, ‘“ Who is now to tell the secret but me 2” ‘“Not you,’”’ cried Vortiskini, raising up his sword and striking at where the voice pro- ceeded. ‘The trusty steel cleft the head of the abandoned Phosphorini, who fell without a groan. ‘‘ Now will I retain the secret of blood and gold,” said Vortiskini, as he sheathed his sword. bion. smalt.. exe claimed the wily Jesuit, as he struck his stiletto to the heart of the robber, who fell without a groan. ‘‘With me only does the secret now rest, by which our order might be isgraced ; with me it dies,” and the Jesuit raised lis hand. ‘‘ Thus to the glory and the honour of his society does Manfredini sacrifice his life.” .He struck the keen-pointed in- strument into his heart, and died without a groan. ‘Stop,’ cried our hero.’ &, And I agree with your hero: sard, or you'll kill me too—but not groan. A. Don’t you think it would act well? B. Quite as well as it reads; pray is it all like this ? A. You shall judge for yourself. I have half killed myself with writing it, for I chew opium every night to obtain ideas. Now again— 8. Spare me, Ansard, spare me; my nerves are rather delicate ; for the remainder I will take your word. A. I wish my duns would do the same, even if it were only my washerwoman ; but there’s no more tick for me here, except this old watch of my father’s, which serves to re- mind me of what I cannot obtain from others —time; but, however, there isa time for all things, and when the time comes that my romance is ready, my creditors will obtain the ready. 4. Your only excuse, Ansard. A, I beg your pardon. ‘The publicrequire strong writing nowadays. We have thou- sands who write well, and the public are nauseated with what is called 200d writing. &. And so they want something bad, eh? Well, Ansard, you certainly can supply them, stop, An- without a I4I A. My dear Barnstaple, you must not dis- parage this style of writing—it is not bad— there is a great art in it, It may be termed writing intellectual and ethereal. You observe, that it never allows probabilities or even possi- bilities to stand in its way. The dross of humanity is rejected ; all the common wants and grosser feelings of our natures are dis- allowed. It is a novel which is all mina and passion. Corporeal attributes and necessities are thrown on one side, as they would destroy the charm of perfectibility. Nothing can soil, or defile, or destroy my heroine; suffering adds lustre to her beauty, as pure gold is tried by fire : nothing can kill her, because she is all mind. As for my men, you will observe when you read my work— B. When I do! A, Which, of course, you will—that they also have their appetites in abeyance ; they never want to eat, or drink, or sleep—are always at hand when required, without regard to time or space. Now there is a great beauty in this description of writing. “The women adore it because they find their sex divested of those human necessities, without which they would indeed be angels! the mfror is held up to them, and they find themselves perfect —no wonder they are pleased. The other sex are also very glad to dwell upon female per- fectibility, which they can only find in a romance, although they have often dreamt of it in their younger days. B. There is some truth in these remarks. very milliner’s girl, who devours your pages in bed by the half-hour’s light of tallow stolen for the purpose, imagines a strong similarity between herself and your Angelicanarinella, and every shop-boy measuring tape or weigh- ing yellow soap will find out attributes common to himself and to your hero. A. Exactly. As long as you draw per- fection in both sexes, you are certain to be read, because by so doing you flatter human nature and self-love, and transfer it to the in- dividual who reads. Now a pitture of real life—— is B. Is like some of Wouvermans’ best pictures, which will not be purchased by many, because his dogs in the fore-ground are doing exactly what all dogs will naturally do when they first are let out of their kennels. A, Wouvermans should have known better, and made his dogs better mannered if he ex- pected his pictures to be hung up in the pars lour of refinement. B. Very trae A, Perhaps you would like to have another passage or two. B. Excuse me: I will imagine it all. I only hope, Ansard, this employment will not interfere with your legal practice,142 A, My dear Barnstaple, it certainly will not, because my legal practice cannot be inter- fered with. I have been called to the bar, but find no employment in my calling. I have been sitting in my gown and wig for one year, and may probably sit a dozen more be- fore I have to rise to address their lordships. I have not yet had a guinea brief. My only chance is to be sent out as judge to Sierra Leone, or perhaps to be made a commissioner of the Court of Requests. &. You are indeed humble in your aspi- I recollect the time, Ansard, when rations, OLLA PODRIDA. you dreamt of golden fame, and aspired to the woolsack—when your ambition prompted you to midnight labour, and you showed an energy— A. (putting his hands up to his forehead, with his elbows on the table). What can I do, Barnstaple? If I trust to briefs, my existence will be but brief—we all must live. B&. Iwill not reply as Richelieu did to a brother-author, ‘' Je ne vois pas la nécessité ;" but this I do say, that if you are in future to live by supplying the public with such non- sense, the shorter your existence the better.THE *LEGEND*OF THERE was a grand procession through the streets of the two towns of Perthand Dundee. The holy abbots, in their robes, walked under gilded canopies, the monks chanted, the cen- sers were thrown, flags and banners were car- ried by seamen, lighted tapers by penitents ; St. Antonio, the patron of those who trust to the stormy ocean, was carried in all pomp through the streets; and, as the procession passed, coins of various value were thrown down by those who watched it from the win- dows, and, as fast as thrown, were collected by little boys dressed as angels, and holding silver vessels to receive the largesses. During the whole day did the procession continue, and large was the treasure collected in the two towns. Every one gave freely, for there were few, indeed none, who, if not in their own circle, at least among their acquaint- ances, had not to deplore the loss of some one dear to them, or to those they visited, from the dangerous rock which lay in the very track of all the vessels entering the Frith of Tay. These processions had been arranged, that a sufficient sum of money might be collected to enable them to put in execution a plan proposed by an adventurous and bold young seaman, in a council held for the purpose, of fixing a bell on the rock, which could be so arranged that the slightest breath of wind would cause the hammer of it to sound, and thus, by its tolling, to warn the mariner of his danger ; and the sums given were more than sufficient. A meeting was then held, and it was unanimously agreed that Andrew M ‘Clise should be charged with the commission to go over to Amsterdam, and purchase the bell of a merchant residing there, whom Andrew stated to have one in his possession, which, from its fine tone and size, was exactly cal- culated for the purpose to which it was to be appropriated. Andrew M‘Clise embarked with the money, and made a prosperous voyage. He had often been at Amsterdam, and had lived with the merchant, whose name was Vandermac- lin ; and the attention to his affairs, the dex- terity and the rapidity of the movements of Andrew M‘Clise, had often elicited the warmest encomiums of Mynheer Vandermac- lin ; and many evenings had Andrew M‘Clise PEE BELL ROCK: passed with him, drinking in moderation their favourite schiedam, and indulging in the medi- tative meerschaum. Vandermaclin had often wished that he had a son like Andrew M‘Clise, to whom he could leave his property, with the full assurance that the heap would not be scattered, but greatly added to. Vandermaclin was a widower. He had but one daughter, who was now just arrived at an age to return from the pension to her father’s house, and take upon herself the domestic duties. M'‘Clise had never yet seen the beautiful Katerina. “And so, Mynheer M'‘Clise,’ said Vander- maclin, who was sitting in the warehouse on the ground-floor of his tenement, ‘you come to purchase the famous bell of Utrecht, with the intention of fixing it upon that rock, the danger of which we have so often talked over after the work of the day has been done? I, too, have suffered from that same rock, as you well know; but still I have been fortu- nate. The price will be heavy; and so it ought to be, for the bell itself is of no small weight.’ ‘We are prepared to pay it, Mynheer Van- dermaclin.’ ; ‘ Nevertheless, in so good a cause, and for so good a purport, you shall not be over- charged. I will say nothing of the beauty of the workmanship, or even of the mere manu- facture. You shall pay but its value in metal ; the same price which the Jew Isaacs offered me for it but four months ago. I will not ask what a Jew would ask, but what a Jew would give, which makes no small difference. Have you ten thousand guilders ? ‘JT have, and more ? ‘That is my price, Mynheer M'‘Clise, and {1 wish forno more; for I, too, wili contribute my share to the good work. Are you con- tent, and is it a bargain ? ‘It is, and the holy abbots will thank you on vellum, Mynheer Vandermaclin, for your generosity.’ ‘T prefer the thanks of the bold seaman to those of the idle churchmen ; but never mind, it is a bargain. Now, we will go in; itis time to close the doors. We will take our pipes, and you shall make the acquaintance of my fair daughter, Katerina,’OLLA PODRIDA. At the time we are speaking of, M‘Clise wick, and landed in good time: for in one was about six and twenty years of age ; he hour more, and the rocky coast was again was above the middle size, elegant in person, lashed by the waves, and the bell tolled loud and with a frankness and almost nobility in and quick, although there were none there his countenance, which won all who saw him. but the sea-gull, who screamed with fright as His manners were like those of most sea- he wheeled in the air at this unusual noise men, bold, but not offensively so. His eye upon the rock, which, at the ebb, he had so was piercing as an éagle’s, and it seemed as often made his resting-place, if his very soul spoke from it. At the very M‘Clise had done his work—the bell was first meeting between him and the daughter fixed—and once more he hastened with his of Vandermaclin, it appeared to both as if vessel to Amsterdam. Once more was he an their destinies were to unite them. inmate of Vandermaclin’s house—once more They loved not as others love, but, with an in the presence of the idol of his soul. This intensity which it would be impossible to por- time they spoke—this time their vows were tray; but they hardly exchanged a word. exchanged for life and death. But Vander- Again and again they met: their eyes spoke, maclin saw not the state of their hearts. He -but nothing more. The bell was put on board looked upon the young seaman as too low, the vessel, the money had been paid down, too poor, to be a match for his daughter ; and and M‘Clise could no longer delay. He felt as such an idea never entered his head, so as if his heartstrings were severed as he tore did he never imagine that he would have himself away from the land where all remained dared to'love. But he was soon undeceived ; that he coveted upon earth. And Katerina, for M‘Clise frankly stated his attachment, and she too felt as if her existence was a blank ; demanded the hand of Katerina ; and, at the and as the vessel sailed from the port, she demand, Vandermaclin’s face was flushed with breathed short ; and when not even her white anger. and lofty top-gallant sail could be discovered ‘ Mynheer M‘Clise,’ said he, after a pause, as a speck, she threw herself on her couch and as if to control his feelings; ‘when a man wept. And M'‘Clise, as he sailed away, re- marries, he is bound to show that he has mained for hours leaning his cheek on wherewithal to support his wife—to support his hand, thinking of, over and over again, her in that rank, and to afford her those every lineament and feature of the peerless luxuries, to which she has been accustomed Katerina. in her father’s house. Show me that you can ‘Two months passed away, during which do so, and I will not refuse you the hand of M'Clise was busied every ebb of the tide in Katerina.’ Superintending the work on the rock. Atlast ‘As yet, I have not,’ replied M‘Clise ; ‘but all was ready, and once more was to be beheld Iam young and can work ; I have money, a gay procession ; but this time it was on the and will gain more. Tell me. what sum do water. It was on a calm and lovely summer's you think that I should possess to warrant my morn, that the abbotsand the monks, attended demanding the hand of your daughter ?’ by a large company of the authorities and ‘ Produce twelve thousand guilders, and she others, who were so much interested in the is yours,’ replied the merchant. work in hand, started from the shore of Aber- “‘ Ihave but three thousand,’ replied M‘Clise, brothwick in a long line of boats, decorated ‘Then think no more of Katerina. Itisa with sacred and with other various banners foolish passion, and you must forget it. and devices. The music floated along the And, Mynheer M‘Clise, I must not have my water, and the solemn chants of the monks daughter's affections tampered with. She were for once heard where never yet they had must forget you, and that can only be effected been heard before, or ever will again. M‘Clise by your not meeting again, I wish you well, was at the rock, in a small vessel purposely Mynheer M‘Clise, but I must request your constructed to carry the bell, and with sheers absence.’ to hang it on the supports imbedded in the M‘Clise departed from the presence of the solid rock. The bell wasin its place, and the merchant, bowed down with grief and disap- abbot blessed the bell: and holy water was pointment. He contrived that a letter, con- sprinkled on the metal, which was for the taining the result of his application, should be future to be lashed by the waves of the salt put in the hands of Katerina. But Vander- sea. And the music and the chants were re- maclin was informed of this breach of obser- newed : and, as they continued, the wind gra- vance, and Katerina was sent to a convent, dually rose, and with the rising of the wind there to remain until the departure of her the bell tolled loud and deep. ‘The tolling of lover ; and Vandermaclin wrote to his corre- the bell was the signal for return, for it wasa spondent at Dundee, requesting that the warning that the weather was about to change, goods forwarded to him might not be sent by and the procession pulled back to Aberbroth- the vessel commanded by M‘Clise.LHE LEGEND OF Of this our young captain received informa- tion. All hope was nearly gone ; still he lingered, and delayed his departure. He was no longer the active, energetic seaman; he neglected all, even his attire. M‘Clise knew in which convent his fair Katerina had been immured ; and often would he walk round its precincts, with the hope. of seeing her, if it .were Dut for’ ia moment, but.in vain. His vessel was now laden, and he could delay no longer. Hewas to sail the next morning, and once more did the unhappy young man take hi$ usual walk to look at those walls which contained all that was dear to him on earth. His reverie was broken by a stone failing down to his feet ; he took it up; there was a small piece of paper attached to it with a silken thread. He opened it; it was the handwriting of Katerina, and contained but two words— ‘The Bell,’ The bell ! M'‘Clise started, for he imme- diately comprehended what was meant. The whole plan came like electricity through his brain. Yes, then there was a promise of happiness.. The bell was worth tem thousand guilders ; that sum had been offered, and would now be given by Isaacs the Jew. He would be happy with his Katerina; and he blessed her ingenuity for devising the means. For a minute or two he was transported; but the reaction soon took place. What was he about to attempt? sacrilege—cruelty. The bell had been blessed by the holy church ; it had been purchased by holy and devout alms. It had been placed on the rock to save the lives of his brother seamen ; and were he to remove it, would he not be responsible for all the iives lost? Would not the wail of the widow, and the tears of the orphan, be crying out to Heaven against iim ? No, no! never! The crime was too horrible; and M‘Clise stamped upon the paper thinking he was tempted by Satan in the shape of woman ; but when woman tempts, man is lost. He recalled the charms of Katerina ; all his re- pugnance was overcome ; and he resolyed that the deed should be accomplished, and that Katerina should be gained, even if he lost his soul. Andrew M‘Clise sailed away from Amster- dam, and Katerina ‘recovered her liberty. Vandermaclin was anxious that she should marry : and many were the suitors for her hand, but invain. She reminded her father, that he had pledged himself, if M'‘Clise counted down twelve thousand guilders, that she should be his wife ; and to that pledge she insisted that he was bound fast. And Vandermaclin, after reasoning with her, and pointing out to her that twelve thousand guilders was & Sum SO large, that M'Clise THE BELL ROCK. "45 might not procure until his old age, even if he were. fortunate, acknowledged that such was his promise, and that he would, like an honest man, abide by it, provided that M‘Clise should fulfil his part of the agreement in the space of two years; after which he should delay her settlement no longer. And Katerina raised her eyes to heaven, and whispered, as she clasped her hands, ‘The Bell.’ Alas! that we should invoke Heaven when we would wish to do wrong : but mortals are blind, and none so blind as those who are impelled by passion. It was in the summer of that year that M‘Clise had made his arrangements : having procured the assistance of some lawless hands, he had taken the advantage of a smooth and glassy sea and a high tide to remove the bell on board his own vessel : a work of little diffi- culty to him, as he had placed it there, and knew well the fastenings. He sailed away for Amsterdam, and was permitted by Heaven to arrive safe with his sacrilegious freight. He did not, as before, enter the canal oppo- site to the house of Vandermaclin, but one that ran behind the habitation of the Jew Isaacs, At night he went into the house, and reported to the Jew what he had for sale ; and the keen gray eyes of the bent-double little Israelite sparkled with delight, for he knew that his profit would be great. At midnight the bell was made fast to the crane, and safely deposited in the warehouse of the Jew, who counted out the ten thousand guilders to the enraptured M‘Clise,, whose thoughts were wholly upon the possession of his Katerina, and not upon the crime he had committed. But, alas! to conceal one crime, we are too often obliged to be guilty of even deeper ; and thus it was with Andrew M‘Clise.. The people who had assisted, upon the promise of a thousand guilders being divided among them, now murmured at their share, and in- sisted upon an equal division of the spoils, or threatened with an immediate confession of the black deed. M'‘Clise raved, and cursed, and tore his hair; promised to give them the money as soon as he had wedded Katerina; but they would not consent. Again the devil came to his assistance, and whispered how he was to act : he consented. The next night the divi- sion was to be made. They met in his cabin; he gave them wine, and they drank plenti- fully ; but the wine was poisoned, and they all died before the morning. M/‘Clise tied weights to their bodies, and sunk them in the deep canal; broke open his hatches, to make it appear that his vessel had been plundered ; and then went to the authorities denouncing his crew as having plundered him, and es- caped, Immediate search was made, but they746 were not to be found ; and it was supposed that they hhad escaped in a boat, Once more M‘Clise, whose conscience was seared, went to the house of Vandermaclin, counted down his twelve thousand guilders, and claimed his bride ; and Vandermaclin, who felt that his daughter’s happiness was at stake, now gave his consent. As M‘Clise Stated that he was anxious to return to Eng- land, and arrange with the merchants whose goods had been plundered, in a few days the marriage took place, and Katerina clasped the murderer in her arms. All was apparent joy and revelry : but there was anguish in the heart of M‘Clise, who, now that he had gained his object, felt that it had cost him much too dear, for his peace of mind was gone for ever. But Katerina cared not ; every spark of feeling was absorbed in her passion, and the very guilt of M‘Clise but rendered him more dear ; for was it not for her that he had done all this? M‘Clise received her portion, and hasted to sail away ; for the bedies were still in the canal, and he trembled every hour lest his crime should be discovered. And Van- dermaclin bade farewell to his daughter : and, he knew not why, but there was a feeling he could not suppress, that they never should meet again. ‘ Down—down below, Katerina! this is no place for you,’ cried M'Clise, as he stood at the helm of the vessel. ‘Down, dearest, down, or you will be washed overboard. Every sea threatens to pour into our decks ; already have we lost two men. Down, Kate- rina! down, I tell you.’ ‘I fear not ; let me remain with you.’ ‘I tell you, down !’ cried M‘Clise, in wrath; and Katerina cast upon him a reproachful look, and obeyed. The storm was at its height ; the sun had set, black and monstrous billows chased each other, and the dismasted vessel was hurried on towards the land. The wind howled, and whistled sharply at each chink in the bulwarks of the vessel. For three days had they fought the gale, but in vain. Now, if it continued, all chance was over, for the shore was on their lee, distant not many miles. Nothing could save them but gaining the mouth of the Frith of Tay, and then they could bear up for Dundee. And there was a boiling surge, and a dark night, and roaring seas, and their masts were floating far away; and M'‘Clise stooc at the helm, keeping her broadside to the sea: his heart was full of bitterness, and his guilty conscience bore him down, and he looked for death, and he dreaded it; for was he not a sacrilegious murderer, and was there not an avenging God above ? Once more Katerina appeared on deck, clinging for support to Andrew. OLLA PODRIDA, ‘TI cannot stay below. Tell me, will it soon be over ?’ ‘Yes,’ replied M‘Clise, gloomily ; ‘it will soon be over with all of us.’ ‘How mean you? you told me there was no danger.’ ‘I told you falsely ; there is death soon, and damnation afterwards : for you I have lost my soul!’ ‘Oh! say not so.’ f ‘I say it. Leave me, leave me, woman, or I curse thee.’ ‘Curse me, Andrew! Oh, no! Kiss me, Andrew ; and, if we are to perish, let us expire in each other’s arms.’ ‘Tis as well; you have dragged me to perdition. Leave me, I say, for you have my bitter curse.’ Thus was his guilty love turned to hate, now that death was staring him in the face. Katerina made no reply. She threw herself on the dcek, and abandoned herself to her feeling of bitter anguish. And as she lay there, and M‘Clise stood at the helm, the wind abated ; the vessel was no longer borne down as before, although the waves were still mountains high. The seamen on board ral- lied ; some fragments of sail were set on the remnants of the masts, and there was a chance of safety. M‘Clise spoke not, but watched the helm. ‘The wind shifted in their favour, and hope rose in every heart. The Frith of Tay was now open, and they were saved ! Light was the heart of M‘Clise when he kept away the vessel, and gave the helm up to the mate. He hastened to Katerina, who still remained on the deck, raised her up, whis- pered comfort and returning love; but she heard not—she could not forget-—and she wept bitterly. * We are saved, dear Katerina !’ ‘ Better that we had been lost !’ replied she, mournfully. ‘No, no! say not so, with your own Andrew pressing you to his bosom.’ ‘Your bitter curse !' ‘"Twas madness—nothing—I knew not what { said.’ But the iron had entered into her soul. Her heart was broken. ‘You had better give orders for them to look out for the Bell Rock,’ observed the man at the helm to M‘Clise. The Bell Rock! M‘Clise shuddered, and made no reply. Onward went the vessel, impelled by the sea and wind: one moment raised aloft, and towering over the surge : at another, deep in the hollow trough, and walled in by the convulsed element. M‘Clise still held his Katerina in his arms, who re- sponded not to his endearments, when a sud- den shock threw them on the deck, The ;THE LEGEND OF THR BELL ROCK, crashing Of the timbers, the pouring of the waves over the stern, the heeling and settling of the vessel, were but the work of a few seconds. One more furious shock—she sepa- rates, falls on her beam ends, and the raging seas sweep over her, M‘Clise threw from him her whom he had so madly loved, and plunged into the wave, Katerina shrieked, as she dashed after him, and all was over. When the storm rises, sea-gull seeks the land, hastens his bark towards to bejseen, and the screaming and the fisherman the beach, there is descending from the dark clouds with the rapidity of lightning, the form of Andrew M‘Clise, the heavy bell, to which he 147 is attached by the neck, bearing him down to his doom, And when all is smooth and calm, when at the ebbing tide, the wave out gently kisses the rock, then by the light of the silver moon, the occupants of the vessels which sail from the Frith of Tay, have often beheld the form of the beautiful Katerina, waving her white scarf as a signal that they should approach, and take her off from the rock on which she is seated. At times she offers a letter for her father Vandermaclin; and she mourns and weeps as the wary mariners, with their eyes fixed on her, and with folded arms, pursue their course in silence and in dread,nde tye MOONSHINE, THOSE who have visited our West India pos- Sessions must have often been amused with the humour and cunning which occasionally appear in a negto more endowed than the generality of his race, particularly when the master also happens to be a humourist. The swarthy servitor seems to reflect his patron's absurdities ; and having thoroughly studied his character, ascertains how far he can ven- ture to take liberties without fear of punish- ment. One of these strange specimens I once met with in a negro called Moonshine, belonging to a person equally strange in his own way, who ‘had, for many years, held the situation of harbour-master at Port Royal, but had then retired on a pension, and occupied a small house at Ryde, in the Isle of Wight. - His name was Cockle, but he had long been addressed as Captain Cockle ; and this brevet rank he retained until the day of his death. In person he was very large and fat—not un- like a cockle in shape: so round were his proportions, and so unwieldy, that it appeared much easier to roll him along from one place to another, than that he should walk. Indeed, locomotion was not to his taste: he seldom went much farther than round the smal] patch of garden which was in front of his house, and in which he had some pinks and carna- tions and chrysanthemums, of which he was not a little proud. His head was quite bald, smooth, and shining white; his face partook of a more roseate tint, increasing in depth till it settled into an intense red at the tip of his nose. Cockle had formerly been a master of a merchant-vessel, and from his residence in a warm climate had contracted a habit of pota- tion, which became confirmed during the long period of his holding his situation at Port Royal. He had purchased Moonshine for three hundred dollars, when he was about seven years old, and, upon his return to Eng- land, had taken him with him. Moonshine was very much attached to his master, very much attached to having his own way, and was, further, very much attached to his master’s grog bottle, The first attachment was a virtue; the second human nature; and the third, in the opinion of old Cockle, a crime of serious niag- nitude, I very often called upon Captain Cockle, for he had a quaint humour about him which amused ; and, as he seldom went out, he was always glad to see any of his friends. Another reason was, that I seldom went to the house without finding some enter- tainment in the continual sparring between the master and the man. I was at that time employed in the Preventive Service, and my Station was about four miles from the residence of Cockle. One morning I stalked in, and found him, ‘as usual, in his little parlour on the ground-floor. ‘Well, Cockle, my boy, how are you ?’ ‘Why, to tell you the truth, Bob, I’m all wrong. I’m on the stool of repentance ; to wit, on this easy-chair, doing penance, as you perceive, in a pair of duck trousers. Last night I was half-seas over, and tolerably happy ; this morning I am high and dry, and intolerably miserable. Carried more sail than ballast last night, and lost my head ; this morning I’ve found it again, with a pig of ballast in it I believe. All owing to my good nature.’ ‘How is that, Cockle ?’ ‘Why, that Jack Piper was here last night ; and rather than he should drink all the grog and not find his way home, I drank some my- self—he'd been ina bad way if I had not, poor fellow !—and now, you see, I’m suffering all from good nature. Easiness of disposition has been my ruin, and has rounded me into this ball, by wearing away all my sharp edges, Bob.’ ‘It certainly was very considerate and very kind of you, Cockle, especially when we know how much you must have acted at variance with your inclinations,’ ‘Yes, Bob, yes, I am the’ milk punch of human kindness. I often cry—when the chim- ney smokes; and sometimes—when I laugh too much. You see, I not only give my money, as others will do, but, as last night, I even give my head to assist a fellow-creature, I could, however, dispense with it for an hour or two this morning.’ ‘Nay, don’t say that; for although you might dispense with the upper part, you could not well get on without your mouth, Cockle,’‘Very true, Bob; a chap without a mouth would be like a ship without a companion hatch ;—talking about that, the combings of my mouth are rather dry—what do you Say, Bob, shaJl we call Moonshine ?’ ‘Why, it’s rather broad daylight for Moon- shine.’ ‘ He’s but an eclipse—a total eclipse, f may say. The fact is, my head is too heavy, that it rolls about on my shoulders ; and I must have a stiffener down my throat to prop it up. So, Moonshine, shine out, you black-faced rascal !’ The negro was outside, cleaning his knives : —he answered, but continued at his work. ‘How me shine, Massa Cockle, when you nebber gib me shzner ? ‘No: but I'll give you a skimmer on your tower limb, that shall make you planet-struck, if. you don’t show your ugly face,’ replied Cockle. ‘Massa Cockle, you full of dictionary dis Marning.’ ‘Come here, sir!’ ‘Why you so parsonal dis marning, sar,’ replied Moonshine, rubbing away at the knife- board—‘ my face no shine more dan your white skull widout hair.’ ‘I pulled one out, you scoundrel, every time you stole my grog, and now they are all gone. —Hairs ; what should I do with heirs when I’ve nothing to leave,’ continued Cockle, ad- dressing me—‘ hairs are like rats, that quit a ship as soon as she gets old. Now, Bob, I wonder how long that rascal will make us wait. I brought him home and gave him his freedom—but give him an inch and he takes an ell. Moonshine, I begin to feel angry— the tip of my nose is red already,’ ‘Come directly, Massa Cockle.’ Moonshine gave two more rubs on the board, and then made his appearance. ‘You call me, sar?’ ‘What's the use of calling you, you black rascal ?’ ‘Now, sar, dat not fair—you say to me, Moonshine, always do one thing first—so I ‘bey order and finish knives—-dat ting done, I come and ’bey nest order.’ ‘Well, bring some cold water and some tumblers.’ Moonshine soon appeared with the ariicles, and then walked out of the room, grinning at me. ‘Moonshine, where are you going, you thief? when did you ever see me drink cold water, or offer it to my friends ?’ ‘ Neber see you drink it but once, and den you tipsy, and tink it gin; but you very often gib notin but water to your friends, Massa Cocides . ‘When, you scoundrel ? MOONSHINE, ‘Why, very often you say dat water quite strong enough for me.’ ‘That's because I love you, Moonshine, Grog isa sad enemy to us.’ ‘Massa Cockle real fine’ Christian—he lub him enemy,’ interrupted Moonshine, looking at me. s ‘At all events, I’m not ashamed to Icok mine enemy in the face—so hand us out the bottle.’ Moonshine put the boitle on the table. ‘Now, Bob,’ said Cockle, ‘ what d’ye say to, a seven bell-er? Why, hallo! what's become of all the grog ?’ ‘Alldrank last night, Massa Cockle,’ re- plied Moonshine. ‘Now, you ebony thief, I'll swear that there was half a bottle left when I took my last glass ; for I held the bottle up to the candle to ascertain the hullage. ‘When you go up 'tairs, Massa Cockle, so help me Gad! not one drop left in de bottle.’ ; ‘Will you take your oath, Moonshine, that you did not drink any last night ?” ‘No, Massa Cockle, because I gentleman, and neber tell lie—me drink, because you gib it to me.’ ‘Then I must have been drunk indeed. Now, tell me, how did I give it to you?r—tell me every word which passed.’ ‘Yes, Massa Cockle, me make you recollect all about it. When Massa Piper go away, you look at bottle and den you say, ‘‘ Fore I go up to bed, I take one more glass for comzng up.’'—-Den I say, ‘‘’ Pose you do, younebber be able to go wp.’’ Den you say, ‘‘ Moonshine, you good fellow (you always call me good fellow when you want me), you must help me,” You drink you grog—you fall back in de chair, and you shut first one eye, and den you shut de oder. Isee more grog on the table: sol take up de bottel and I say, ‘‘ Massa Cockle, you go upstairs ?”’ and you say, ‘‘ Yes, yes— directly.”’ Den I hold de bottel up and say to you, ‘‘ Massa, shall I help you ?’ and you say, ‘‘Yes, you must fe/p me.” So den I take one glass of grog, ’cause you tell me to help rou. a I didn’t tell you to help yourself, though, you scoundrel !' ‘Yes, massa, when you told me to help you with de bottel, I’bey order, and help myself. Den, sar, I waits little more, and [I say, ‘«‘ Massa, now you go up 'tairs,” and you Start up and you wake, and you say, ‘‘ Yes, yes oh and den I hold up and show you bottel again, and I say, ‘‘ Shall I Zep you, massa?’ and den you say, “ Yes.’ So I.’bey order again, and take one more glass. Den you open mouth and you snore—so I look again and I see one little glass more in bottel, and. I call you,OLLA PODRIDA, “Massa Cockle, Massa Cockle,” and yousay, make promise, she say dat all moonshine. “high—high !”—and den you head fall on But, sar, I try ‘gain—I tink I know how.’ you chest, and you go sleep again—so den I And Moonshine disappeared, leaving us in call again and J say, ‘‘ Massa Cockle, here the dark as to what his plans might be. one lilly more drop, shall I drink it?’ and you ‘I wonder you never did marry, Cockle,’ nod you head on you bosom, and say noting I observed. —so I not quite sure, and I say again, ‘You would not wonder if you knew all. I ‘Massa Cockle, shall I finish this lilly drop?” must say, that once, and once only, I was and you nod you head once more. Den I very near it. And to whom do you think it say, ‘‘ All right,” and I say, ‘‘ you very good was—a woman of colour.’ helt, Massa Cockle,” and I finish de bottel. ‘A black woman ?’ Now, massa, you ab de whole ‘tory, and it all ‘No: not half black, only a quarter—what really for true.’ they call a quadroon in the West Indies, I perceived that Cockle was quite as much But, thank heaven! she refused me.’ amused at this account of Moonshine’s as I ‘Refused you? hang it, Cockle, I never was myself, but he put on a bluff look. thought that you had been refused by a wo- “So, sir, it appears that you took advantage man of colour.’ of my helpless situation, to help yourself.’ ‘I was, though. You shall hear how it “Massa Cockle, just now you tell Massa happened. She had been the quadroon wife Farren dat you drink so much, all for good (you know what that means) of a planter of nature, Massa Piper—I do same all for good the name of Guiness; he died, and not only nature.’ bequeathed her her liberty, but also four good ‘Well, Mr. MoonShine, I must have some houses in Port Royal, and two dozen slaves. grog, replied Cockle, ‘and as you helped He had been dead about two years, and she yourself last night, now you must help me ;— _ was about thirty, when I first knew her. She get it how you can, I give you just ten was very rich, for she had a good income and minutes ———' spent nothimg, except in jewels and dress to ‘’Pose you gib me ten shillings, sar,’ inter- deck out her own person, which certainly was rupted Moonshine, ‘ dat better.’ very handsome, even at that time, for she ‘Cash is all gone. I haven’t a skillick till never had had any family. Well, if I was not quarter-day, not a shot in the locker till Wed- quite in love with her, I was with her houses nesday. Either get me some more grog, or and her money; and I used to sit in her ve- you'll get more kicks than half-pence.’ randah and talk sentimental. One day I made “You no ab money—you no ab tick—how my proposal. ‘‘ Massa Cockle,” said she, I get grog, Massa Cockle? Missy O’Bottom, ‘‘dere two ting I not like; one is, I not like she tells me, last guarter-day,; no pay whole your name. ‘’Pose I ‘cept your offer, you bill, she not /adflike it ; she say you great must change your name.” deceiver, and no trust more.’ ‘““Suppose you accept my offer, Mistress ‘Confound the old hag! Would you Guiness, youll change your name. I don’t believe it, Bob, that Mrs. Rowbottom has know how I am to change mine,’’ I replied. wanted to grapple with me for the last two ‘“«T make ‘quiry, Massa Cockle, and I find years—wants to make me landlord of the that by act and parliament you get another Goose and Pepper-box, taking her‘as a fixture name.” with the premises. I suspect I should be the ‘‘‘ An act of parliament?” I cried. goose and she the pepper-box ;—but wenever ‘‘' Yes, sar; and I pay five hundred gold could shape that course, In the first place, Joe ’fore I hear people call me Missy Cockle there’s too much of her; and, in the next, —dat sked/ fish,’’ said she, and she turned up there’s too much of me. I explained this to her nose. the old lady as well as I could; and she ‘«Ffumph !” said I, ‘‘and I pray what is the swelled up as big as a balloon, saying, that, next thing which you wish ?” when people were really a¢fached, they never ‘“** De oder ting, sar, is you no ab coat am attached any weight to such trifling obstacles.’ ayms, no ab seal to your watch, with bird and ‘But you must have been sweet upou her, beast ’pon’em ; now ‘pose you promise me dat Cockle?” you take oder name, and buy um coat am ‘Nothing more than a little sugar to take arms; den, sar, I take de matter into ’sidera- the nauseous taste of my long bill out of her tion.”’ mouth. As for the love part of the story, that ‘ “Save yourself the trouble, ma'am,’ said I, was all her own. I never contradict a lady, jumping up; ‘‘ my answer is short —— I'll see because it’s not polite : but since I explained, you and your whole generation hanged first !’"’ the old woman has huffed, and won’t trust me ‘Weil, that was a very odd sort of a wind- with half a quartern—will she, Moonshine?’ up to a proposal ; but here comes Moon- ‘No, sar; when I try talk her over, and shine.’MOONSHINE, The black entered the room, and put a full bottle down on the table. ‘Dare itis, sar,’ said he, grinning. ‘ Well done, Moonshine, now I forgive you ; but how did you manage it ? ‘Me tell you all de tory, sar—first I see Missy O’Bottom, and I say, ‘‘ How you do, how you find himsel dis marning? Massa come, I tink, by-an-by, but he almost ’fraid,’’ I said. ‘She “say, “What he-'fraid for ?” ‘‘He tink you angry—not like see him—no lub him any more : he very sorry, very sick at ’art—-he very much in lub wid you.””’ ‘The devil you did!’ roared Cockle ; ‘ now I shall be bothered again with that old wo- man ; I wish she was moored as a buoy to the Royal George.’ ‘Massa no hear all yet. I say, ‘‘Miss boom, pore you no telk? “°T tell,” — ‘* Massa call for clean shirt dis morning, and I say, ‘It no clean shirt day, sar; he say, ‘ Bring me clean shirt;’ and den he put him on clean shirt and he put him on clean duck trowsers, he make me brush him best blue coat. I, say, ‘ What. all dis for, massa?’ He put him hand up to him head, and he fetch him breath and say—'‘I ’fraid Missy O’Bottom no hear me now—I no hab cou- rage ;’ and den he sit all dress ready, and no go. Den he say, ‘Moonshine, gib me one glass grog, den I hab courage.’ I go fetch bottle, and all grog gone—not one lilly drop left : den massa fall down plump in him big eHair, and say, “I neber “can go! “But,” say Missy O'Bottom, ‘‘why he no send for some?’ ~** ‘Cayse,” “I ‘say, “quarter-day no come—money all gone.”—Den say she, ‘‘If you poor massa so very bad, den I trust you one bottel—you gib my compliments and say, I very ’appy tosee him, and stay at home.’’— Den I say, ‘‘ Missy O’ Bottom, ‘pose massa not come soon as he take one two glass grog cut my head off.” Dat all, sar.’ ‘That’s all, is it? A pretty scrape you have got me into, you scoundrel! What’s to be done now ?’ ‘Why, let’shavea glass of grog first, Cockle,’ replied I, ‘we’ve been waiting a long while for it, and we'll then talk the matter over.’ ‘Bob, you’re sensible, and the old woman was no fool in sending the liquor—it requires Dutch courage to attack such a Dutch-built old schuyt : let’s get the cobwebs out of our throats, and then we must see how we can get out of this scrape. I expect that I shall pay ‘dearly for my whistle’ this time I wet mine. Now, what’s to be done, Bob ?’ ‘I think that you had better leave it to Moonshine,’ said I. ‘So I will.— Now, sir, as you -have got me into thisscrape, you must get me out of it.— D'ye hear ?’ IST ‘Yes, Massa Cockle, I tink—pbut no ab courage.’ ‘Ll understand you, you sooty fellow—here, drink this, and see if it will brighten up your wits. He's a regular turnpike, that fellow, everything must pay toll.’ ‘Massa Cockle, I tell Missy O’Bottom dat you come soon as you hab two glass grog ; ‘pose you only drink one.’ “That won't do, Moonshine, for I’m just mixing my second ; you must find out some- thing better.’ ‘One glass grog, massa, gib no more dan one tought—dat you ab —’ ‘Well, then, here’s another.—Now recol- lect, before you drink it, you are to get me out of this scrape ; if not, you get into a scrape, for I’ll beat you as—as white as snow.’ ‘’Pose you no wash nigger white, you no mangle him white, Massa Cockle,’ added Moonshine. ‘The fellow’s zrontng me, Bob, aren’t he?” said Cockle, laughing. ‘Now, before you drink, recollect the conditions.’ ‘Drink first, sar, make sure of dat,’ replied Moonshine, swallowing off the brandy ; ‘ tink about it afterwards.—Eh! I ab it,’ cried Moonshine, who disappeared, and Cockle and I continued in conversation over our grog, which to sailors is acceptable in any one hour in the twenty-four. About ten minutes afterwards Cockle perceived Moonshine in the little front garden, ‘There's that fellow, Bob ; what is he about ?’ ‘Only picking a nosegay, I believe,’ replied I, looking out of the window. ‘The rascal, he must be picking all my chrysanthemums. Stop him, Bob.’ But Moonshine vaulted over the low pales, and there was no stopping. him. It wasnearly an hour before he returned; and when he came in, we found that he was dressed out in his best, looking quite a dandy, and with some of his master’s finest flowers, in a large nose- gay, sticking in his waistcoat. ‘All right, sar, all right ; dat last grog gib me fine idee ; you neber ab more trouble bout Missy O’ Bottom.’ ‘Well, let’s hear,’ said Cockle. ‘I dress mysel berry ’pruce, as you: see, massa. I take nosegay ——’ ‘Yes, I see that, and be hanged to you.’ ‘Neber mind, Massa Cockle. I say to Missy O’Bottom, ‘‘ Massa no able come, he very sorry, so he send me ;”’ ‘‘ Well, ’ shesay, ‘‘what you ab to say, sit down, Moonshine, you very nice man.” Den I say, ‘‘ Massa Cockle lub you very much, he tink all day how he make you appy ; den he say, Missy O’Bottom very fine ’oman, make very fine wife.” Den Missy O’Bottom say, ‘‘’Top a moment,” and she bring a bottel from cup182 OLLA PODRIDA, board, and me drink something did make ‘Can a duck swim, Cockle!’ ‘tomach feel really warm; and den she say, ‘ Please, sar, we ab plenty pea for dog “Moonshine, what you massa say?” Den.I éaddy,’ said Moonshine. say, Massa say, ‘ You fine ‘oman, make good “Well, then, Cockle, as all thatis required wife’ but he shake um head, and Bay, 1 very old man, no good for noting ; I tink all bly spare Moonshine, after he has done that, day how I make her appy, and I find out— and we will look to the cookery ; start him Moonshine, you young man, you ‘andsome off with a note to Mr. Johns, and he can feller, you good servant, I not like you go bring back a couple of bottles from my away, but I tink you make Missy O'Bottom quarters.’ very fine *usband ; so I not care for myself, ‘ Really dat very fine tought, Massa Far- you go to Missy O’Bottom, and tell I ‘send ren; I put in pork, and den I go and come you, dat I part wid you, and give you to her back in one hour,’ for ‘usband.” ’ ‘That you never will, Mr. Moonshine; Cockle and I burst out laughing. ‘Well, what’s o'clock now? mercy on us, how time and what did Mrs. Rowbottom Say to that?’ flies in your company, Cockle, it is nearly ‘She jump up, and try to catch me hair, four o’clock ; it will be dark at six.’ but I bob my head, and she miss; den she ‘Neber mind, sar, me always ab moonshine Say, ‘‘ You filthy black rascal, you tell you whereber I go,’ said the black, showing his massa, pose he ever come here, I break his teeth. white bald pate; and ’pose you ever come ‘It will take two hours to boil the pork, here, I smash you woolly black scull.”—Dat Bob; that fellow has been so busy this all, Massa Cockle ; you see all right now, and morning that he has quite forgot the din- I quite dry wid talking.’ ner,’ ‘All right! do you call it? I never meant ‘ All you business, Massa Cockle,’ io quarrel with the old woman; what d’ye ‘Very true ; but now start as soon as you think, Bob—is it all right ?’ can, and come hack as soon as you can ; “Why, you must either have quarrelled here’s the note.’ with her, or married her, that’s clear.’ Moonshine took the note, looked at the “Why, then, I’m clear of her, and so it’s direction, as if he could read it, and in a few all right. It ain't every man who can get out minutes was seen to depart. of matrimony by Sacrificing a nosegay and ‘And now, Cockle,’ said I, ‘as Moonshine two glasses of grog.’ will be gone some time, suppose you spin us ‘Tree glasses, Massa Cockle,’ said Moon- a yarn to pass away the time.’ shine. ‘I'll tell you what, Bob, Iam not quite so ‘Well, three glasses; here it is, you dog, good at that asI used to be. I've an idea and it's dog cheap, too. Thank God, next that when my pate became bald, my memory Wednesday's quarter day. Bob, you must oozed away by insensible perspiration.’ dine with me—cut the sérvice for to-day.’ ‘Never mind, you must have something ‘With all my heart,’ replied I, ‘and T’ll left, you can’t be quite empty.’ Salve my conscience by walking the beach all “No, but my tumblet is; so I'll just fill that night ; but, Cockle, look here, there is but a up, and then I'll tell you how it was that drop in the bottle, and you have no more. came to go to sea.’ I am like you, with a clean swept hold. You ‘ The very thing that I should like to hear, acknowledge the difficulty ?’ above all others.’ ‘It stares me in the face, Bob; what must ‘Well, then, you must know that, like be done?” cockles in general, I was born on the sea- ‘T'll tell you—in the first place, what have shore, just a quarter-of-a-mile out of Dover, you for dinner?’ towards Shakspeare’s Cliff. My father was a ‘Moonshine, what have we got for din- fisherman by profession, and a smuggler by ner ?’ practice ; all was fish that came to his net ; but “Dinner, sar?—me not yet tink about his cottage was small, he was supposed to be dinner. What you like to ab, sar? very poor, and a very bad fisherman, for he ‘What have we got in the house, Moon- seldom brought home many ; but there was.a shine ?” reason for that, he very seldom put his néts ‘Let me see, sar? first place, we ab very overboard. His chief business lay in taking fine piece picklum pork; den we have pick- outof vessels coming down Channel, goods lum pork; and den—let me tink—den we which were shipped and bonded for exporta- ab, we ab picklum Pork, Sar.’ tion, and running them on shore again. You “The long and the short of it is, Bob, that know, Bob, that there are many articles which we have nothing but a piece of pickled pork ; are not permitted to enter éven upon paying can you ‘dine off that ?’ duty, and when these goods, such as silks, is to put the pot on the fire, you can proba-&c., are seized or sold for exportation. taken in prizes, they are Now, it was then the custom for vessels to take them on board in the river, and run them on shore as they went down Channel, an shing-boats were 1 usually Was a We for employe this service ; my father ‘Il-known hand for this kind of work, not being suspected, he was always fortu- nate ; of coul had < once been caught, s upon him after Now the they would have had their eye he had suffered his punishment. way my father used to manage was this: there was a long, tunnel-drain from some houses used as manufi ies, about a hundred yards tnulactor above his cottage, which extended out into the sea at low-water mark, and which passed on one side of our cottage. My father had cut from a cellar inthe cottage into the drain, and as it was large enough for a man to kneel down in, he used to come in at low- water with his coble, and make fast the goods, properly secured from the wet and dirt in tar- bags, to a rope, which led from the cellar to the sea throu oh the drain. When the water had flowed sufficiently to cover the mouth of the drain, he then threw the bags overboard, and, securing the boat, went to the cottage, hauled up the articl and secured them too: d’ye understand? My father had no one to as ist him but my b other. who was a stout fellow, seven years older tnan myself, and my mother, who used to give a helping hand when required ; and thus did he keep his own counsel, and grow 1 - when all was 7 } aaa 9¢ h S I Oat Ovel nto” tne” HarDour, cured her, he came home as in- ; cab et lamb. Iwas then about eight or ] trrit r £ +l, - ld, and went with my father and } ] f } T7117 ¥ y the coble, for s! require 1 three 4 ‘ s properly, and } big, I was to Manage her : yct Ets ‘ - Tile Auseel : 5 mere like a tin-pot, although not very very useful. Now it so happened that my father had notice that a brig, laying in Dover ha rbot ir, would sail the next day, and that she had on board of ch a quantity of lace and silks, purchased at the Dover custom-house for exportation, W hich he was to put on shore ag in to besent up to London. The sending up to London we had nothing to do with; the agent at Dover managed all that; we only left the articles at his house, and then re- ceived the money on the ae ae went to the harbour, where we found = brig hauling out, so we made all haste to get away before her. It blew fresh from the northward and eastward, and there was a s66d deal of sea running. As we were shoving out, ps Lon- don agent, a jolly little round-fac oo fellow, in black clothes, and a bald white head, called to us, and said that he wanted to board a vessel in the offing, and asked whether we ould take him, _ This was all a ruse, as he MOONSHINE, 153 intended to go on board of the brig with us to settle matters, and then return in the puiot boat. Well, we hoisted our jib, drew aft our foresheet, and were soon clear of the harbour ; but we found that there wasja devil of a sea running, and more wind than we bargained for; the brig came out of the harbour witha flowing sheet, and we lowered down the fore- sail to reef it—father and brother busy about that, while I stood at the helm, when the agent said to me, ‘* When do you mean to make a voyage 2” ‘‘Sooner than father thinks for,” said I, ‘‘ for I want to see the world.” It was sooner than I a ught for too, as you shallhear. -Assoon as the brig’ was well out, we ran down to her, ae wit th some difficulty my father and the eo got on board, forthe sea was high and cross, the tide setting against the wind ; my BebtHee ane I were left in the boat to follow in the wake of the brig; but as my brother was casting off the rope for- ward, his leg caught in the bight, and into the sea he went; however, they hauled him on board, leaving me alone in the coble. It was not of much consequence, as I could the wind under easy manage to follow before sail, without assistance ; so I kept her in the wake of the brig, both of us running nearly before it at the rate of five miles an hour, waiting till my father ae have made up his packages of a proper size to walk through the tunnel drain. ‘The Channel was full of ships, for the terly winds had detained them for a long time. I had followed the brig about an hour, when the agent went on shore in a pilot boat, and I expected my father would soon be ready: then the wind veered more towards the southward, with dirt: at last it came on foggy, and I could hardly see the brig, and ) it rained hard, and blew harder, | wished y 5: my arms ached as that my father was ready, with steering the coble for so long a while. I could not leave the helm, so I steered on ata the br black lump, as ‘rig looked through the fox : at last the fog was so-thick that I could nov sce da yard be knew yond the boat, and I hardly ‘to steer. I Badari to be frightened ; tired. and cold, and hungry I certainly was. Well. 1 steered on for more than an hour, when the fog cleared up a little, and to my stern of the bri g just before me, it she would round- to immedi- my father would praise me and, what was still more to should get something to eat and drink. Butno: she steered on right down Channel, and I followed for more than an hour, when it came on to blow very hard, and I could scarcely manage the boat—she ee my little arms off. The weather now dup, and I could make out the vessel eee the od that that auce ; that 1's joy [ expe ately, % a bd for my con the purpose, tOLLA 154 plainly ; when I discovered that it was not the drzg, but a bark which I had’ got hold of in the fog, so that I did not know what to do : but I did as most boys would have done in a fright—I sat down and cried ; still, however, keeping the tiller in my hand, and steering as wellas I could. At last, I could hold it no longer ; I ran forward, let go the fore and jib halyards, and hauled down the Sails ; drag them into the boat I could not, and there I was, like a young bear adrift ina washing- tub. I looked around, and there were no vessels near ; the bark had left me. two miles astern, it was blowing a gale from the S.E., With a heavy sea—the gulls and_ sea-birds wheeling and screaming in the storm. The boat tossed and rolled about so that I was obliged to hold on, but she shipped no water of any consequence, for the jib in the water forward had brought her_head to Wind, and acted as a sort of floating anchor. At last I Jay down at the bottom of the boat and fell asleep. It was daylight before I awoke, and it blew harder than ever ; and I could just see some vessels at a distance, scudding before the gale, but they could hardly see me. I sat very melancholy the, whole day, shedding tears, surrounded by nothing but’ the roaring waves. I prayed very earnestly ; I said the Lord’s Prayer, the Belief, and as much of the Catechism as I could recollect. I was wet, Starving, and miserably cold. At night I again fell asleep from’ exhaustion, When morning broke, and the sun Shone, the gale abated, and_I felt more cheered ; but I ‘was now ravenous f.om hunger, as well as choking from thirst, and was so weak that I could scarcely stand. I looked round me every now and then, and in the afternoon saw a large vessel standing right for me - this gave me courage and strength. I stood up and waved my hat, and they saw me—the seq was still running very high, but the wind had gone down. She rounded-to so as to bring me under her lee. Send a boat she could not, but the sea bore her down upon me, and I was soon close to her. Men in the chains were ready with ropes, and I knew that this was my only chance. At last, a very heavy sea bore her right down upon the boat, lurch- ing over on her beam ends, her main chains struck the boat and sent her down, while I was seized by the scruff of the neck by two of the seamen, and borne aloft by them as the vessel returned to the weather-roll. I> was safe. _ And, as soon as they had given me something to eat, I told my story. It ap- peared that she was an East Indiaman run- ning down Channel, and not likely to meet with anything to send me back again. The passengers, especially the ladies, were very kind to me; and as there was no help for it, PODRIDA, why, I took Lndies. ‘And your father and your brother ? ‘Why, when I met them, which I did about six years afterwards, I found that they had been in much the same predicament, having lost the coble, and the weather being so bad that they could not get on shore again. As there was no help for it, they took their first voyage to the West Indies; so there was a dispersion of an united family—two went west, one went east, coble went down, and mother, after Waiting a month or two, and supposing’ father dead, went off with a soldier. All dis- persed by one confounded gale of wind from the northward and eastward, so that's the way that I went tq sea, Bob. And now it’s time that Moonshine was back.’ But Moonshine kept us waiting for some time : when he returned it was then quite dark, and we had lighted candles, anxiously waiting for him; for not only was the bottle empty, but we were very hungry. At last we heard a conversation at the gate, and Moon- shine made his appearance with the two bottles of spirits, and appeared himself to be also. in high spirits. The pork and peas- pudding soon were on the table. We dined heartily, and were sitting over the latter part of the first bottle in conversation, it being near upon the eleventh hour, when we heard a noise at the gate—observed some figures of men, who stayed a short time and then dis- appeared. The door opened, and Moon- shine went out. In a few seconds he returned bringing in his arms an anker of Spirits, which he laid on the floor, grinning so wide that his head appeared half off. Without Saying a word, he left the room and returned with another. ‘Why what the devil's this ?’ cried Cockle. Moonshine made no answer, but went out and in until he had brought six ankers in, one after another, which he placed ina row on the floor. He then shut the outside door, bolted it, came in, and seating himself on one of the tubs, laughed to an excess which com- pelled him to hold his sides; Cockle and I looking on in a state of astonishment. ‘ Where the devil did all this come from?’ cried Cockle, getting out of his easy-chair, gellime;sin, or by. ‘I tell you all, Massa Cockle :—you find me better friend dan Missy: O' Bottom. - Now you hab plenty, and neber need scold Mooii- shine ’pose he take lilly drap. I-get all dis present to you, Massa Cockle.’ : Feeling anxious; I pressed: Moonshine to tell his story. ‘I tell you all, sar. “When I come back wid de two bottle I ‘meet plenty men wid de tubs; dey say, ‘‘Hollo there, who pe you?” my first voyage to the Aast S hiI say, ‘I come from station: bring massa two bottel,” and Ishow um. Den dey say, ‘Where you massa?’ and Ff say, ‘‘At um house at Ryde”—(den dey tink dat yow my massa, Massa Farren)—so dey say, ‘‘ Yes, we know dat, we watch him dere, but now you tel], so we beat you dead.” Den I say, ‘‘ What for dat ? massa like drink, why you no give massa some tub,’ and den he neber say noting, only make fuss some time, ’cause of Admirality?? Den dey say, ‘‘ You sure of dat?” and I say, ‘‘ Quite sure, massa neber Say one word.” Den dey talk long while; last, dey come and say, “You come wid us and show massa house.’? So two men come wid me, and when dey come to gate I say, ‘** Dis massa house when he live at Ryde, and dere you see massa ;’”’—and I point to Massa Cockle, but dey see Massa Farren—so dey say, ‘‘ All very good ; tree, four hour more, you find six tub here; tell you massa dat every time run tub, he always hab six;’’ den dey go way, den dey come back, leave tub ; dat all, massa. ‘You rascal !’ exclaimed J, rising up, ‘so you have compromised me; why, I shall lose my commission if found out.’ ‘No, sar ; nobody wrong but de smuggler ; dey. make a lilly mistake ; case you brought to court-martial, I give evidence, and den I clear you.’ ‘But what must we do with the tubs, Cockle ?’ said I appealing to him. ‘Do Bob ?—why they are a present—a very MOONSHINE. welcome one, and a very handsome one into the bargain. I shall not &eep them, I pledge you my word; let that, satisfy you—-they shall be fazrly entered.’ ‘Upon that condition, Cockle,’ I replied, ‘I shall of course not give information against you.’ (I knew full well what he meant by saying he would not eep them). ‘How I do, Massa Cockle,’ said Moon- shine, with a grave face ; ‘I take um to the Custom-house to-night or to-morrow morning.’ ‘To-morrow, Moonshine,’ replied Cockle ; ‘at present just put them out of sight.’ I did not think it prudent to make any further inquiries ; but I afterwards discovered that the smugglers, true to their word, and still in error, continued to leave six tubs in old Cockle’s garden whenever they succeeded in running a cargo, which notwithstanding all our endeavours, they constantly did. One piece of information I gained from this affair, I found that the numbers of the cargoes which were rin compared to those which were seized during the remainder of the time I was on that station, was in the proportion of ten toone. The cargoes run were calculated by the observations of old Cockle, who, when I called upon him, used to say very quietly, ‘I shouldn’t wonder if they did not run a cargo last night, Bob, in spite of all your vigilance —was it very dark ?’ ‘On the contrary,’ replied I, looking at the demure face of the negro; ‘1 suspect it was Moonshine,’ THE BND, BILLING, PRINTER, GUILDFORD, SURREY.CAPTAIN: MARR Vay AUTHOR OF ‘‘ PETER SIMPLE ”’ AUTHOR'S COPYRIGHT EDITION Lon DON GEORGE ROVE BEDGE-AND SONS THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE NEW YORK: 416, BROOME STREETCONMLEN TS: CHAP, PAGE [. In which there is more Ale than Argument : ; : 5 I]. In which the Hero of the Tale is formally introduced ; : ong EE III. Train a Child in the Way he should go, and he will not depart from it 9 IV. In which the Author has endeayoured, with all his Power, to suit the present Taste of the Public ‘ : : 7 ‘ of did V. The Sins of the Father are visited upon the Child ‘ ; sageo VI. The World before him, where to choose ; . ; jo rd VII. If you want Employment, go to London ; i A ke VIII. A Dissertation upon Pedigree : ; : : ; = 7h IX. In which the Advice of a Father deserves peculiar Attention it eS X. In which Major M‘Shane narrates some curious Matrimonial Speculations 22 XI. In which an Interchange of Confidence takes place ; ; 25 XII. An Expedition, as of yore, across the Waters, for a Wife ; ioe XIII. In which there is some Information relative to the City of St. Petersburg | 29 XIV. Going to Court, and Courting ; ; ‘ : : 32 XV. A Run away, anda hard Pursuit . : : ‘ 34 XVI. Returnto England . : : : . ° : 636 XVII. The Day after the Murder ; : : ; : pee XVIII. A Coroner’s Inquest : : ; : : 42 XIX. A Friend in need is a Friend indeed ; 44. XX. In which we again follow up our Hero’s Destiny 45 XXI. The Scene is again shifted, and the Plot advances : Ag XXII. A very long Chapter, but in which our Hero obtains Employment in a very short time : : : : : : sae XXIII. In which our Hero goeson Duty . : : ; ‘ oe oe XXIV. In which Mrs. Chopper reads her Ledger : ‘ ; 5 58 XXV. In which the Biter is bit ; ; : : ; : : 250 X XVI. In which our Hero again falls in with an old Acquaintance ; 208 XXVII. In which the Wheel of Fortune brings our Hero's Nose to the Grindstone 67 XXVIII. On the Science of Tinkering and the Art of Writing Dispatches. se X XIX. In which the Tinker falls in Love with a Lady of high degree ; 70 XXX. Plotting, Reading, and Writing ; ; : : ; OCR XXXI. In which the Plot thickens . ; ; s 3 83 XXXII. In which the Tinker makes Love . i ; ; (nOCHAP. XAAXITLI, AXAXAIV. XV. poe VI AXXVILI. X2 AXXVITI. AXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. ALIII. XLIV. XLV. ALVI. XLVIT. ae VAL. XLIX. L. GONTENTS. \* PAGE Well done, Tinker A very long Chapter, necessary to fetch up the Reniainder of the ‘Cotvoy A Retrospect, that the Parties may all start fairagain Our Hero falls in with an old Acquai ntance, and is not very much delighted In which our Hero returns to his former Employment, but on a Jee Scale of Operation : In which the Wheel of Fortune turns a Saale or two in Eee of our Hero containing Agony, Law, Love, Quarrelling, Chapter of Infinite Variety, c and Suicide In which our Hero tries Cieibe of Air In which our Hero has his Head turned the wrong Ww ay Very Pleasant Correspondence . é A very long Chapter, with a very long Story, which could not ‘ell be cut in half : : In which the Tide of Portane” turns apeinst our Hero In which Mary makes a Discovery, of what has been long known to ike Reader In which our Hero makes up his Mind to be hanged In which our Hero proves Game to the very last In which Everybody appears to be on the move except our fier he Latervle wy ; : ich it is to be Roped that : the Story winds un to ne Salstabton of the eee In wl A RENCONTRE 86 897 93é ‘ 5 THE POACHE on) r) L CHAPTER I, In which there is more Ale than Argument. If was on a blusterous’ Windy night in the early part of November, 1812, that three men ciety; and such had been the case. Some were on the high road near to the little village years before he had been the head of a gram- of Grassford, in the south of Devonshire. mar school, with a comfortable income; but The moon was nearly at the full, but the wild a habit of drinking had been hisruin, and he skud, and occasionally the more opaque was now the preceptor of the village of Grass- Clouds, passed over in such rapid succession, ford, and gained his livelihood by instructing that it was rarely, and but foramomentortwo, the children of the cottagers for the small that the landscape was thrown into light and modicum of twopence.a head per week. This Shadow ; and the wind, which was keen and unfortunate propensity to liquor. remained piercing, bent and waved the léafl branches _with him; and he moO sooner received his of the treeswhich were ranged along the hedge- y eekly stipend than he hastened to drown his rows, betweenwhich the road had been formed Cares, and the recollection of his former posi- The three individuals to whom we have re- tion, at the ale house which they had just ferred appeared all of them to have been ip- quitted. The second personage whom we dulging too freely in the ale which vassold at shall introduce was not of a corresponding the public-house about half a mile from the height with the other - he was broad, square- village, and from which they had just de- chested,_and short—dressed in knee-breeches, parted. Two of them, however, comparatively leggings, and laced boots-—his coat being speaking, sober, were assisting home, by their .of a thick fustian, and cut short like a joint efforts, the third, who. supported between shooting-jacket : his profession was that of them, could with difficulty usehislegs. Thus a pedlar. did they continue on; the two swayed first “It's odd to me,’ said the pedlar, at lJast on the one side of the road, and then on the ~ breaking silence, as hé looked down upon the other, by the weight of the third, whom they drunken man who lay at his feet, ‘why ale almost carried between them, At last they -should take a man off his legs ; they say that arrived at a bridge built over one of thoseim-- liquor gets into the head, not the feet.’ petuous streams so common in the county, ‘Well,’ replied the schoolmaster, who was « when as if by mutual understanding, forit was much more inc briated than the pedlar, ‘there's without speaking, the two more sober de- argument even in that: and, you see, the dosited the body of the third against the para~ perpendicular deviation must arise from the pet of the bridge, and then for some time were head'being too heavy, that’s clear ; and then, silently occupied in recovering their breath. yousce, the feet, from the centre of gravity being One of the two who remained leaning on the destroyed, become too light ; and if you put Parapet by the side of their almost lifeless that and that together, why, a man can't companion was a man of about forty years of stand. You understand my demonstration ! age, tall and slender, dressed in a worn-out ‘It was heavy wet, that ale, and so I sup- lack coat, and a pair of trousers much too pose it’s all right,’ replied the pediar ; ‘but short for him, the original colour of which it still ale ain’t poured into the head or into the would have been difficult to have surmised; a feet of a man, but into the internals, which sort of clerical hat, equally the worse for wear, are right in the middle ofa man; so, how do was on his head. Although his habiliments you make out your case, Mr. Furness ?” were mean, still there was something about ‘Why, Byres, you talk of the residuum.’ his appearance which told of better days, and ‘Never said a word about it; and, as of having moved in a different sphere in so- Les CULE.6 I stand here, never before.’ ‘Perhaps not: the residuum is, you see, Byres, what is left.’ ‘Tf that’s residgium, I didn't mean to say a word about it; there was none left, for you drained the pot.’ ‘Good Byres, you have never been to col- lege, that’sclear. Now, observe, when a man pours down into his stomach a certain quanh- tity of liquor, the spirituous or lighter part ascends to his head, and that makes his head even heard the word heavy. Do you understand ? ‘No: what's light can’t make things heavy.’ ‘Can't it? You know nothing about the matter. Have you not a proof before you ? replied the schoolmaster, reeling, and catching hold of the parapet for support; ’ look at that unfortunate man, who has yielded to €XCESS.’ : ‘Very true; I see that he’s drunk, but I want to know how it is that he got drunk ?” ‘ By drinking.’ ‘That I knew before.’ ‘Then why ask any more questions? Had we not better proceed, and take him home to his expectant and unhappy wife? *Tis asad, sad thing, that a man should “put an enemy into his mouth to steal away his brains.” ¢ ‘Half a pint will do that with Rushbrook,’ replied the pedlar ; ‘they say that he was wounded on his head, and that half his brains are gone already, and that's why he hasa pension.’ ‘Yes, seventeen pounds a year ; paid quar- terly, without deduction, and only to walk four miles to get it,’ replied Furness ; ‘yet how misplaced is the hberality on the part of the government. Does he work? No; he does nothing but drink and lie in bed all day, while I must be up early and remain late, teaching the young idea at two-pence per week. Friend Byres, ‘‘ mercy is not itself which oft looks so.” Now, it is my opinion thatit would be a kind- ness to this poor wretch if we were to toss him, as he now is, over the bridge into the rushing stream; it would end all his troubles.’ ‘And save us the trouble of getting him home,’ replied Byres, who determined to hu- mour his more inebriated companion. ‘Well, Mr. Furness, I’ve no objection. Why should he live? Is he nota sinecurist—one of the locusts who fatten on the sweat and blood of the people, as the Sunday paper says? Don't you remember my reading it this morning ?’ ‘Very true, Master Byres.’ ‘What d’ye say then ?—shall we over with him ?’ ‘We must think alittle,’ replied the school- master, who put his hand up to his chin, and remained silent fora minuteortwo. ‘ No,’ re- THE POACHER. | oad aE a cali at last: ‘on second thoughts I | He halves ‘his beer with me. J No pension—no beer; that’s a self-evident | proposition and conclusion. It were ingrati- tude on my part, and I cannot consent to your proposal,’ continued the schoolmaster ; ‘nay, more, I will defend him against your murder- ous intentions to the very last.’ ‘Why, Master Furness, you must be some- what the worse for liquor yourself : it was your proposal to throw him over the bridge, not mine.’ ‘Take care what you say,’ replied the schoolmaster ; ‘would you accuse me of mur- der, or intent to murder ?” ‘No, not by no means—only you proposed heaving him over the bridge: I will say that.’ ‘Friend Byres, it’s my opinion youll say anything but your prayers , but-in your pre- @ sent state I overlook it. Let us go on, or I shall have two men to carry home instead of one. Come, now, take one of his arms, while I take the other, and raise him up. It is but a quarter of a mile to the cottage. : Byres, who, aS we observed, was by far the @ most sober of the two, did not think it worth | his while to reply to the pedagogue. After a few staggers on the part of the latter, their comrade was raised up and led away between them. : The drunken man appeared to be so far @ aware of what was going on, that he moved his legs mechanically, and ina short time they atrived at the cottage-door, which the peda-@ his fist so as to make it rattle @ The door was opened. by @ holding a candle in sumed _ he, cannot do it. gogue struck with on its hinges. a tall, handsome woman, her hand. ‘I thought so,’ ‘The old story : said she, shaking her head. now he will be ill all night, and not get up till noon. What a weary life it ig with a drunken husband. Bring him in, and thank you kindly for your trouble.’ ‘Tt has been hard work and hot work, ob- served the schoolmaster, sitting down‘in a chair, after they had placed their comrade on > the bed. < ‘Indeed, and it must be,’ replied the wife. 9 ‘Will you have a drop of small beer, Mr. Furness ?’ : ‘Yes, if you please, and so will Mr. Byres, too. What apity itis your good man will not. 7 keep to small beer.’ ‘Ves, indeed,’ replied the wife, who went into the back premises, and. soon returned with a quart mug of beer. The schoolmaster emptied half the mug and then handed it to the pedlar. % ‘And my little friend Joey, fast asleep, Pll warrant ? “Yes, poor child, and so should I have been ~ by this time ; the clock has gone twelve.’THE POACHER, ‘Well, Mrs. Rushbrook, I wish you a good- night. Come, Mr. Byres, Mrs. Rushbrook must want to be in bed.’ CHAPTER IT, “Good-night, Mr. Furness, and good nig] iE : : 3 Sirand ae tanks ? Sch ood ae In which the Hero of the tale is formally introduced. The schoolmaster and pedlar quitted the cottage. _ Mrs. Rushbrook, — after haying watched them for a minute, carefully closed the door. ‘They’re gone now,’ said she, as she turned to her husband. What would have created much astonish- ment could anybody else have witnessed it, as soon as his wife had spoken, Rushbrook in» was not so severe, or the measures taken mediately sprang upon his feet, a fine-looking against poachers so rene as they were at the man, six feet in height, very erect in his bear. period of which we write. In his youth he ing,—and proved to be perfectly sober. had been very fond of carrying a gun—as his ‘Jane, my dear,’ said he, ‘ there never was fither had been before him—but he never was such a-night: but I must be quick and lose discovered: and after having poached for no time, Is my gun ready Pe ; many years, and gained a perfect knowledge ‘ Everything's ready ; Joey is lying downon of the country for miles round, he was per- his bed, but already dressed, and he awakes suaded, in a fit of semi-intoxication, at a In a minute. i ae ey neighbouring fair, to enlist in a marching re- ‘Call him, then, for there is no time to lose. = = mn . giment. He had not been more than three That drunken fool, Furness, proposed throw- months at the depot when he was ordered out img me over the bridge. It was lucky for them : to India, where he remained eleven years be- that they did Bot Wy Or Dshould have.” gacie was recalled. He had scarcely been six been obliged to seitle them Oe that they months in England, when the exigency of the f re’s Mut 2 . a ° might tellno tales. WV here 6 Mum ? war demanded the services of the regimentin In the wash-house. I'll bring him and the Mediterranean, where hé remained for reat |e? : ; . Joey directly. twelve years, and having received a severe Phe wife left the room, while Rushbrook wound in the head, he was then pensioned off took down his gun and ammunition, and and discharged. Heresolved to return to his erence a ee fe go ensreoe, aurtc : Pete eo s d : prepared himself for his expedition. In a native village, and settle down quietly, hoping minute_or two a shepherd's dog which had py moderate labour and his pension, to gain been released from the wash-house, made his a comfortable living. On his. return he was appearance, and quietly lay down close to hardly known; many had emigrated to a his- master’s feet; it was soon followed z * ; foreign clime ; many had been transported for by Mrs. R., accompanied by Joey, a thin, offences against the laws, particularly for the meagre-looking boy, of about twelve Yeats offence of poaching : and as most of his for- old, very small for his age, but apparently as mer allids had heen so employed, he found active as a cat, and with energy correspond- himself almost a stranger where he expected ing. Noone would have thought he had to meet with friends. The property also about been roused from his sleep; there was no the village had changed hands. People recol- yawning or weariness of motion—on the con- - 4 ; ee lected Squire So and So, and the Baronet, trary, his large eye wasas bright as an eagle’s, poe aos but now their lands were held by wealthy as he quietly, although quickly, provided him- manufacturers or retired merchants. All was self with a sack, which he threw over his Y 7 3 ! new to Joe Rushbrook, and he felt himself shoulders, and a coil of line, which he held in anywhere but at home. Jane Ashley, a very his hand, waiting untilhis father was ready to beautiful young woman, who was in service at start. Ihe wife put out the lights, softly the Hall, the mansion appertaining to the ad- opened the cottage door, looked well round, jacent property, and the daughter of one of and then returned to her husband, who, PINE ted rick friends, who had been transported a low whistle, as a summons to Joey and the for poaching, was almost the only one who dog, walked out of the door. Not a word could talk-to him after his absence of twenty- was spoken—the door was softly shut to—and four years ; not that she knew the people at the trio crept stealthily away, the time, for she was then an infant, but she had grown up with them after Joe had left, and could narrate anecdotes of them, and what had been their eventual destinies. Jane hav- ing been the daughter of aman who had been BEFORE we proceed with our narrative, per haps it will be better to explain what may ap- pear very strange to the reader. Joseph Rushbrook, who has just left the cottage with his son and his dog, was born in the vil- lage in which he was then residing During his younger days, some forty years previous to his present introduction to the reader, the law§ transported for poaching, was to Joe a sort of recommendation, and it ended in his taking her for his wife. They had not been long settled in their cottage before Joe’s former propensities returned : {nm tact, he could not be idle, he had carried a musket too long, and had lived such a life of excitement in the service of his country, that he found it impos- sible to exist without shooting at something. All his former love of poaching came strong upon him, and his wife, so far from checking him, encouraged bim in his feelings. “The consequence as, that twe years after his marriage, Joe Rushbrook was the most deter- mined poacher in the county. Although often suspected, he had never been detected One great cause of this was his appearing to be such a drunkard, a plan hit upon by his wife, who had observed that drunken men were not suspected of being poachers. This scheme had therefore been hit upon, and very success- fully; for proving before a magistrate that a man was carried home d 1d drunk and speech- less at midnight, was quite as good an alzbz as could be brought forward. Joe Rush- brook had, therefore, the credit of being a worthless drunken fellow, who lived upon his pension and what his wife c ould earn ; but no one had an idea that he was not only earning his livelihood, but laying by money from his successful night. labours. Not that Joe did not like a drop occasionally—on the contrary, he would sometimes drink freely ; but gene- rally speaking, the wounds in the head were complained of, and he would, if the wind was fresh and set in the right quarter, contrive to he carried home on the night in which he had most work to do. Such was the case, as we have represented in the first chapter. mi Little Joey, who, as the reader may anutl- pite, will be our future hero, was born the frst vear after marriage, and was their ofly child. He-was a quiet, thoughtful, reflective boy for his years, and had imbibed his father's love of walking out on a dark night to an extraordinary degree : it was strange to see how much prudence there was, mingled with the love of adventure, in this lad. True it 1s, his father had trained him early, first to examine the snares and conceal the game, which a little shrimp like Joey could do, without being suspected to be otherwise em- ployed than in picking blackberries. Before he was seven years old, Joey could set a : and was well art of unlawful s very valuable springe as well as his father, versed in all the mystery and taking of game, Indeed, he wa to his father, and could do what his father could not have ventured upon without exciting suspicion. It was, perhaps, from his constant vigils, that the little boy was so small in size ; at all events, his diminutive size was the cause THE POACHER. of there being no suspicion aitached to him. Joey went very regularly ta the day-school of Mr. Furness; and, although often up the best part of the night, he was one of the best and © most diligent of the scholars. No one could have supposed that the little fair-haired, quiet- looking boy, who was so busy with his books or his writing, could have been out half theg night on a perilous excursion, for such it was at the time we are speaking of. It need hardly be observed that Joey had learned one impor- tant lesson, which was to be sz/en¢,; not eveng® | Mum, the dog, who could not speak, was _ more secret or more faithful. It is astonishing how much the nature andg | disposition of a child may be altered by early} tuition. Leta child be always with its nurse,@ 1 | | - | j even under the guidance of a mother, reguag larly brought up as children_usually are, and it will continue to bea child, and even childs ish, after childhood is gone. But take the® + same child, put it by degrees in situationsy™ of peril, requiring thought and observation beyond its years, accustom it to nightly vigils; and to watching, it 1S liowever much its body may suffer, will? develop itself so as to meet the demand upon it. ‘Thus it-is with lads who are sent early tog sea, and thus it was with little Joey. was a man in some points, although a child in others. He would play with his compa nions, laugh as loudly as the others, but stil he would never breathe a hint of what wa his father's employment. He went to churel every Sunday, as did his father and mother for they considered that poaching was m crime, although punished as such by the lawsy and he, of course, considered it no crime, @ he only did what his father and mothe wished. Let it not be thought, therefore that the morals of our little hero were affecte by his father’s profession, for such was n@ the case. Having entered into this necessary expla nation, we will now proceed. No band 6 North American Indians could have observes a better trail than that kept by our little party, Rushbrook walked first, followed by our herg™ and the dog Mum. Nota word was spokeny they continued their route over grass-landg§y and ploughed fields, keeping in the shade @ the hedge-rows; if Rushbrook stopped f@ awhile to reconnoitre, so did Joey, and so di Mum, at their relative distances, until th march was resumed. For three miles and @ half did they thus continue, until they arrived at a thick cover. The wind whistled throug the branches of the bare trees, chiefly oak an ash ; the cold, damp fog was now stationary, and shrouded them as they proceeded call tiously by the beaten track in the cover, until and to hold its tongue, and@ astonishing how the mind of that child, Hem | q ;they had passed through it, and arrived on the other side, where the cottage of a game- keeper was situated. A feeble light was burning, and shone through the diamond- Ppaned windows. Rushbrook walked out clear of the cover, and held up his hand to ascer- tain precisely the direction of the wind. Flaving satisfied himself, he retreated into the cover, in a direction so as to be exactly to leeward of the keeper’s house, that the noise of the report of his gun might not be heard. Having cleared the hedge, he lowered his gun, so asto bring the barrel within two or three inches of the ground, and walked slowly and cautiously through the brushwood, fol- lowed, as before, by Joeyand Mum. After about a quarter of a mile’s walk, a rattling of metal was heard, and they stopped short; it was the barrel of the fowling-piece which had brushed one of the wires attached to a spring- gun, set for the benefit of poachers. Rush- brook lifted up his left hand, as a sign to Joey not to move ; and following the wire, by con- tinually rattling his barrel against it, he even- tually arrived at the gun itself, opened the pan, threw out all the priming, leaving it with the pan open, so that it could not go off, in case they fell in with another of the wires. Rushbrook then proceeded to business, for he well knew that the gun would be set where the pheasants were most accustomed to roost; he put a small charge of powder in his fowls ing-piece. that, being so near,_he might not shatter the birds, and because the noise of the report would be much less; walking under an oak-tree he soon discovered the round black masses which the bodies of the roosting phea- Sants presented between him and the sky, and, raising his piece, he fired;-a heavy bound on the earth near his feet followed the discharge ; Joey then slipped forward and put the pheasant into his bag ; another and an- other shot, and every shot brought an increase to Joey's load. Seventeen were already in it when Mum gave a low growl. ‘This was the signal for people being near. Rushbrook snapped his finger; the dog came forward to his side and stood motionless’, with ears and tail erect. _In a minute’s time was heard the rustling of branches as the party forced on way through the underwood. Rushbrook stood still, waiting the signal from Mun, for the dog had been taught, if the parties ad- vancing had another dog with them, always to raise his fore-feet up to Rusbbrook’s knees, but not otherwise; Mum made no such sign, and then Rushbrook lay down in the brush- veood, his motions being closely followed by his son and his dog. Voices in whispers were now heard, and the forms of two men with guns were to be seen not four yards from where they were THE POACHER. 9 lying. ‘Somewhere about here, I'll swear,’ Said one. ‘Yes, I think sO ; but it may be further on—the wind has brought down the sound.’—‘ Very true ; let's follow them, and they may fall back upon the spring-gun.’ The Parties then advanced into the cover, and were soon out of sight; after a time, Rushbrook held his ear to the wind, and, satisfied that all was safe, moved homey ards, and arrived Without further adventure, having relieved Joey of the heavy sack as soon as they were in the open fields. At three o’clock in the morniug, he tapped at the back door of the cottage. Jane opened it, and the spoils of the night having been put away in a Secret place, they were all soon in bed and fast asleep. CHAPTER III, Train a Child in the Way he should go, and he will not depart from it. IT is an old saying, that ‘if there were ho receivers there would be no thieves,’ and it would have been of very little use for Rush- brook to take the game if he had not had the means of disposing of it. In this point Byres, the pedlar, was a valuable accessory. Byres vas a radical knave, who did not admire hard work. At first he took up the profession of brick- layer’s labourer, one that is of a nature only affording occasional work and moderate wages. He did this that he might apply to the parish for relief, and do nothing for the major por- tion of the year. But even a few months’ work would not suit him, and subsequently he gained his sustenance by carrying on his head a large basket of crockery, and disposing of his wares among the cottagers. At last he took out a pedlar’s licence—perhaps one of the most dangerous permits ever allowed by a government, and which has been the cause of much of the ill-will and discontent fomented among the lower classes. Latterly, the cheap- ness of printing and easiness of circulation have rendered the profession of less conse- quence: twenty years ago the village ale- houses were not provided with newspapers ; it Was an expense never thought of ; the men went to drink their beer and talk over the news of the vicinity, and if there was a dis- turbance in any other portion of the United Kingdom, the fact was only gained by rumour, and that vaguely, and long after it had taken place. But when the pedlar Byres made his appearance, which he at last did, weekly or oftener, as it might happen, there was a great change; he was the party who supplied ‘in-IO formation, and, in consequence, he was always welcome, and looked upon as an oracle ; the best seat near the fire was reserved for him, and having deposited his pack upon the table or in a corner, he would then produce the Pro- peller, or some other publication full of treason and blasphemy, and read it» aloud for the benefit of the labourers assembled. A few months were more than sufficient to produce the most serious effects:—men who had worked cheerfully through the day, and retired to bed satisfied with their lot, and thankful that work was to be obtained, now remained at the public-house, canvassing the conduct of government, and, leaving their resort, satisfied in their own minds that they were ill-used, harshly treated, and in bitter bondage. If they met their superiors, those very parties to whom they were indebted for employment, there was no respect shown to them as for- merly—or, if so, it was sullen and forced acknowledgment. ‘The church was gradually deserted—the appearance of the pastor was no longer a.signal for every hat to be lifted from the head ; on the contrary, boys of six- teen or seventeen years of age would lean against the church, or the walls of the church- yard, with their hands in both pockets, and a sort of leer upon their faces, as though they defied the pastor on his appearance—and theré would they remain outside during the service, meeting, unquailed and without blushing, his eyes, cast upon them as he came out again. Such was the state of things in the village of Grassford in one year after the pedlar had added it to his continual rounds— and Byres was a great favourite, for he pro- cured for the women what they commissioned him to obtain—supplied the girls with ribbons and gewgaws—and trusted to a considerable extent. His reappearance was always anx- iously looked for: he lived scot-free at the public-house, for he brought so much custom, and was the occasion of the drinking of so much ale, that the landlord considered his coming as a god-send. His box of ware was well supplied in the summer months, for the fine weather was the time for the wearing of gay ribbons; but in the winter he travelled more to receive orders, or to carry away the game supplied to him by the poachers, with whom he was in league. Had his box been examined during the shooting season, it would have been found loaded with pheasants, not with trinkets and ribbons. It need hardly be observed after this, that Byres was the party who took off the hands of Rushbrook all the game which he procured, and which he had notice to call for before daylight, generally the second morning after it had been obtained; for Rushbrook was too cautious to trust Byres with his secret, that of never going out of a THE POACHER., night without having previously pretended intoxication, and having suffered himself to be led or carried home. Our readers will acknowledge that_-little Joey was placed in a very dangerous position; it is true that he was not aware that he was doing wrong in assisting his father + neverthe- less, being a reflective boy, it did sometimes occur to him that it was odd that what was right should be done so secretly; and he attempted to make out how it was that the birds that flew about everywhere, and ap- peared to belong to every one, might not be shot in the open day. He knew that the laws forbade it; but he inquired of himself why such laws should be. Joey had heard but one side of the question, and was therefore puzzled. It was fortunate for him that the pastor of the parish, although he did not reside in it, did at least once a week call in-at Mr. F.’s school, and examine the boys. Mr. Furness, who was always sober during school hours, was very proud of these visits, and used to point gut little Joey as his most promising scholar. This induced the pastor to take more immediate notice of our hero, and the commendation which he received, and the advice that was bestowed upon him, was pro- bably the great cause why Joey did attend assiduously to his lessons, which his otherwise vagrant life would have disinclined him to do; and also kept a character for honesty and good principle, which he really deserved. Indeed, his father and mother, setting aside poaching, and the secrecy resorted to in con- sequence, were by no means bad examples in the ordinary course of life; they did to their neighbours as they would be done by, were fair and honest in their dealings, and inva- riably inculcated probity and a regard to truth on their son. ‘This may appear anomalous: to many of our readers, but there are many strange anomalies in this~ world. It may therefore be stated, in a very few words, that although our little hero had every chance of, eventually following the road to ruin, yet, up to the present time, he had not entered it. Such was the life led by little-Joey for three years subsequent to our introduction of him to the reader; every day he became more useful to his father; latterly he had not attended school but in the forenoon, for, as we have before observed, Joey could, from his diminutive size and unsuspicious appearance, do much that his father would not’ have ven- tured to attempt. like a child about the fields and hedgerows, would examine his nooses, take out the game, and hide it till he could bring it home. Some- times he would go out at night attended only ¥ by Mum, and the dog would invariably give 2 He was as well versed in the art of snaring as his father, and sauntering | xTHE POACHER, him mute notice, by simply standing with his ears and tail erect, when the keepers had dis- covered the snares, and were lying in wait for the poacher, to lay hold of him when he came to ascertain his success. Evén in such.a case, Joey very often would not retreat, but craw}- ing on his stomach, would arrive at the snare, and take out the animal without the keepers perceiving him, for their eyes were invariably directed to the horizon, watching the appear- ance of some stout figure of a man, while Joey crawled along be: ng away the prize unseen. At other times, Joey would reap a rich harvest in the broad day, by means of his favourite game-cock. Having put on the animai his steel spurs, he would plunge into the thickest of the cover, and selecting some small spot of cleared ground for the combat, would throw down his gallant bird, and con- ceal himself in the brushwood : the game- cock would immediately crow, and _ his chal- lenge was immediately answered by the pugnacious male pheasant, who flew down to meet him: the combat was short, for the pheasant was soon pierced with the sharp steel of his adversary, and, as one antagonist fell dead, again would the game cock crow, and his challenge be accepted by another. In an hour or two the small arena was a field of blood ; Joey would creep forward, put his victorious cock into his-bag together with his many dead adversaries, and watch an oppor- tunity for a safe retreat. Such was the employment of our hero : and although suspicion had often been attached to his father, none had an idea that there had been a violation of the laws on the part of the son, when an event took place, which changed our hero’s destiny. CHAPTER IV, In which the Author has endeavoured, with all his Power, to suit the present Taste of the Public. WE have said that Byres was the receiver of the game obtained by Rushbrook. It so happened, that in these accounts Byres had not adhered to his duty towards his neigh- bour ; in fact, he attempted to over-reach, but without success, and from that time Byres be- came Rushbrook’s determined, but secret, enemy. Some months had passed since their disagreement, and there wasa mutual mistrust (as both men were equally revengeful in their tempers), when they happened to meet late on a Saturday night at the ale-house, which was their usual resort. Furness the schoolmaster was there; he and many others had already drunk too much; all were boisterous and noisy. A few of the wives of those drinking rr were waiting patiently and sorrowfully outside, their arms folded in their aprons as a defence against the cold, watching for their husbands to come out, that they might coax them home before the major part of the week’s earnings had been spent in liquor, Byres had the paper in his hand—he had taken it from, the schoolmaster, who was too far gone to read it, and was declaiming loudly against all governments, monarchy, and laws— when 2 stranger entered the tap-room where they were all assembled. Rushbrook was at the time sitting down, intending quietly to take a pint and walk home, as he had too much re- spect for the Sabbath to follow his profession of poacher on the morning of that day: he did not intend, therefore, to resort to his usual custom of pretending to be intoxicated ; but when the stranger came in, to. his great ‘sur- prise he observed a glance of recognition be- tween him and Byres, after which they ap- peared as if they were perfect strangers, Rushbrook watched them carefully, but so as not to let them perceive he was so doing, when a beckon from the stranger to Byres was again made. Byres continued to read the paper and to harangue, but at the ‘same time took an opportunity of making~a signal in reply. There was something in the stranger’s appearance which told Rushbrook that he was employed as a keeper, or sometl ing in that way, for we often single out our enemies by instinct. That there was mischief in the wind Rushbrook felt sure, and his heart misgave him—the more so, as occasionally the eyes of both were turned towards him. After a little reflection, Rushbrook determined to feign in- toxication, as he had so often done before : he called for another pint, for some time talked very loud, and at last’ laid his head on the table; after a time he lifted it up again, drank more, and then fell back on the bench. By degrees the company thinned, until there was no one left but the schoolmaster, the pedlar, and the stranger. The schoolmaster, as usual, offered to assist the pedlar in helping Rushbrook to his cottage; but Byres replied that he was busy, and that he need not wa for Rushbrook ; the friend he had with him wouid assist him in taking home the drunken man. The schoolmaster reeled home, leaving the two together. They sat down on the bench, not far from Rushbrook, who appeared to them to be in the last stage of inebriety. Their conversation was easily overheard. The pedlar stated that he had watched several nights, but never-could find when Rushbrook left his cottage, but he had traced the boy more than once; that R. had promised to have game ready for him-on Tuesday, and would go out on Monday night for it. In short, Rushbrook discovered that Byres was12 THE POACHER. about to betray him to the man, whom, in the course of their conversation, he found out to be a game-keeper newly hired by the lord of the manor. After a while they broke up, Byres having promised to join the keeper in his expedition, and to assist in securing his former ally. Having made these arrange- ments, they then took hold of Rushbrook by the arms, and, shaking him to noise him as much as they could, they led him home to the cottage, and left him in charge of his wife. As soon as the door was closed, Rushbrook’s long-repressed anger could no longer be re- strained : he started on his feet; and striking his fist on the table so as to terrify his wife, swore that the pedlar should pay dear for his peaching. Upon his wife’s demanding an ex- planation, Rushbrook, in a few hurried -sen- tences, explained the whole. Jane, however she might agree with him in his indignation, like all women, shuddered at the thought of shedding blood. She persuaded her husband to goto bed. He consented ; but he slept not : he had but one feeling, which was ven- geance towards the traitor. When revenge enters into the breast of a man who has lived peaceably at home, fiercely as he may be im- pelled by the passion, he stops short at the idea of shedding blood. But when a man who had, like Rushbrook, served so long in the army, witnessed such scenes of carnage, and so often passed his bayonet through his ad- versarys body, 1s roused up ~by this fatal passion, the death of a fellow-creature be- comes a matter of indifference, provided he car gratify his feelings. Thus it was with Rushbrook, who, before he rose on the morn- ing of that Sabbath in which, had he gone to church, he could have so often requested his trespasses might be forgiven, as he ‘‘ forgave thei who trespassed against him,’ had made up his mind that nothing short of the pedlar’s death would satisfy him. At breakfast he ap- peared to listen to his wife’s entreaties, and promised to Co the pedlarno harm, and told her that, instead of.going out on the Monday night, as he had promised, he shotld go out on that very night, and by that means evade the snare laid for him. Jane persuaded him not to go out at all; but this Rushbrook would not consent to. He told her that he was determined to show them that he was not to be driven off his beat, and would make Byres believe on Tuesday night that he had been out on the Monday night. Rushbrook’'s object was to have a meeting with Byres, if possible, alone, to tax him with his treachery, and then to take summary vengeance. Aware that Byres slept at the ale-house, he went down there a little before dark, and told him that he intended going out on that night ; that it would be better if, instead of coming on Tues- day, he were to meet him at a corner of one of the covers, which he described, at an hour agreed upon, when he would make over to him the game which he might have procured. Byres, who saw in this an excellent and easy method of trapping Rushbrook, consented to it, intending to inform the keeper, so that he should meet Rushbrook. The time of meeting was arranged for two o'clock in the morning.- Rushbrook was certain that Byres would leave the ale-house an hour or two before the time proposed, which would be more than sufficient @ for his giving information to the keeper. He therefore remained quietly at home till twelve o'clock, when he loaded his gun, and went out without Joey or the dog. His wife per- ceiving this, was convinced that he had not gone out with the intention to poach, but was pursuing his scheme of revenge. She (vatched him after he left the cottage, and observed that he had gone down in the direction of the ale-house ; and she was afraid that there would be mischief between him and Byres, and she wakened Joey, desiring him to follow and watch his father, and do all he could to prevent it. Her communication was made in such a hurried manner, that it was difficult for 3 Joey to know what he was to do, except to ; watch his father’s motions, and see what took @@ place. This Joey perfectly understood, and am he was off in an instant, followed, as usual, by Mum, and taking with him his sack. Our hero crept softly down the pathway, in the direction of the ale-house. The night.was dark, for the moon did not rise until two or three hours before the morning broke, and it was bitterly cold: but to darkness and cold Joey had been accustomed, and although not seen himself, there was no object could move without being scanned by his clear vision. He gained a hedge close to the ale-house. Mum wanted to go on, by which Joey knew that his father must be lurking somewhere near to him; he pressed the dog down with his hand, crouched himself, and watched. In a few minutes a dark figure was perceived by Joey to emerge from the ale-house,- and walk hastily over a turnip-field behind the premises : it had gained about half over, when anotherg@ form, which Joey recognized as his father's, stealthily folowed after the first. Joey waited a little time, and was then, with Mum, on the steps of both; for a mile and a half each party kept at their relative distances, until they camé near a furze bottom, which was about six hundred yards from the cover ; then the steps of Rushbrook were quickened, and those of Joey in proportion; the consequence was, that the three parties rapidly neared each other. Byres—for it was he who had quitted the ale-house—walked along leisurely, having no suspicion that he was followed, RusheLHE POACHER. brook was now within fifteen yards of the pediar, and Joey at even less distance from his father, when he heard the lock of his father’s gun click as he cocked it. as Father,’ said Joey, not over loud, ‘don’t—’ ‘Who's there ?’ cried the’ pe dlar, turning round. ‘The only reply was the flash and re- port of the gun; and the pedlar dropped among the furze. 4 ‘O father !—father !—what have you done ? exclaimed Joey, coming up to him. ‘You here, Joey !’ said Rushbrook, are you here ? “ Mother sent me,’ replied Joey. ‘'To be evidence against me,’ father, in wrath. FO no !—to done, father ? ‘What I almost wish I had not done now,’ plied he, mournfully ; ‘but it is done and— ‘And what, father ?’ {am a murderer, I suppose,’ replied Rush- ‘ Fle would have peached, Joey—have had me transported, to work in chains for the rest of my days, merely for taking a few pheasants. . Let us go hor but Rushbrook did not move, although he proposed so doing. He leant upon his gun, with his eyes fixed in the direction where Byres had fallen. stood by h im—for nearly ten minutes rd was spoken. At last Rushbrook “Why replied his stop you. What have you not a we said— ‘Joey, my boy, I've killed many a man in my time, and I have thought nothing of it ; I slept as sound as ever the next night. But then, you see, I was a soldier, and it was my trade, and I could look on the man IJ had killed without feeling sorrow or shame; but I can't leok upon this man, Toey. He was my enemy ; but I’ve murdered him—TI feel it now. Go up to him, boy—you are not afraid to meet him—and see if he be dead.’ Joey, although generally speaking fear was a stranger to him, did, however, feel afraid ; his hands had often been dyed with the blood of a hare or of a bird, but he had not yet seen death in his fellow-creatures. He advanced slowly and tremulously through the dark to- wards the furze-bush in which the body laid ; Mum followed, raising first one paw and pausing, then the other, and as they came to the body, the dog raised his heaa and gave such a mournful howl, that it induced: our hero to start back again. After a time Joey recovered himself, and again advanced to the body. He leant over it, he could distinguish but the form: he listened, and not the slightest breathing was to be heard; he whispered the pedlar’s name, but there was no reply ; he put his hand upon his breast, and removed it reeking with warm blood. he must be y, who shall we do ?’ ‘We must go home, is is ‘a bad night’s ying. anot he r 9ro0olk and J OF} F cottage, followed by } ‘ Father, dead, returned quite dead, trembling. ’ replied Rushbrook ; 5 work ;’ and, without ex- word until their arrival, led back’ to the CHALE V. The Sins of the Father are visited upon the Child. JANE had remained in a anxiety during hér husband's ab: ing and listening to ev. ry oan minutes raising the latch of the looking out, hopi ng im: return. AS the time went on, her increased ; sl laid her head down on the table and wep she could find no consolation, no alleviation of her anxiety; she dropped down on her knees and p d. She was appealing to the when a blow on the do band's return. The over his cuantenance his gun carelessly on one Side, so that it fell, and rattled against the paved floor; and this one act was to her ominous of evil. He sat down without speaking ; falling back in the chair, and lifting his eyes up to the rafters above, he appeared to in deep thought, and unconscious of h ‘What has happened: trembling she laid shoulder. ‘Don’t speak to me now,’ was the reply. ‘Joey,’ said the frightened woman in whisper, ‘what has he done? Joey answered not, but raised his hand, with the blood which was now ‘dried upon it. Jane uttered a faint cry, dropped on her Imees, and covered her face, while Joey waiked into the back kitchen, and busied himself in removing the traces of the dark deed. A quarter of an hour had elapsed—Joey had returned, and taken his seat upon his low- stool, and not a word had been ex- changed, There certainly is a foretaste of the future punishment which awaits crime; for how dreadful were the feelings of those who were now sitting down inthe cottage! Rushbrook was evidently stupefied from excess of feeling ; first, the strong excitement which had urged him to the deed ; and now from the re-action the prostration of mental power which had succeeded it. Jane dreaded the present and the future—whichever way she turned her State of great I ce, watch- ; every “five door, and to s ech stil Most High, r announced her hus- was a sulky gloom as ente Vv d his wife, her hand on_ hisTA eyes the gibbet was before her--the clanking of chains in her ears; in her vision of the future, scorn, misery, and remorse—she felt only for her husband. Joey, poor boy, he felt for both. Even the dog showed, as he looked up into Joey's face, that he was aware that a foul deed had been done. ‘The silence which it appeared none would venture to break, was at last dissolved by the clock of the village church, solemnly striking zwo. They all started up—it was a warning—it reminded them of the bell tolling for the dead—of time and of ezernity ; but time present quickly effaced for the moment other ideas; yes, it was time to act; in four hours more it would be daylight, and the blood of the murdered man would appeal to his fellow-men forvengeance. The sun would light them to the deed of darkness -—the body would be brought home—the magistrates would assemble—and who would be the party suspected ? “Merciful Heaven!’ exclaimed Jane, ‘what can be done?’ ‘There is no proof,’ muttered Rushbrook. “Yes, there is,’ observed Joey, ‘I left my bag there, when I stooped down to ‘Silence!’ cried Rushbrook. ‘ Yes;’ con- tinued he bitterly to -his wife, ‘this is your doing ; you must send-the boy after me, and now there will be evidence against me; I shall owe my death to you.’ “Oh, say not so! say not so!’ replied Jane, falling down on her knees, and weeping bit- terly as she buried her face in his lap; ‘ but there is yet time,’ cried she, starting up; ‘Joey can go and fetch the bag. You will, Joey : won't you, dear? you are not afraid— you are innocent.’ ‘ Better leave it where it is, mother,’ replied Joey, calmly. Rushbrook looked up at his son with sur- prise; Jane caught him by the arm ; she felt convinced the boy had some reason for what he said—probably some plan that would ward off suspicion—yet how could that be, it was evidence against them, and after looking earnestly at the boy’s face, she dropped his arm. ‘Why so, Joey?’ said she, with ap- parent calmness. ‘Because,’ replied Joey, ‘I have been think- ing aboutiit all this time ; I am innocent, and therefore Ido not mind if they suppose me guilty. The bag is known to be mine—the gun I must throw into a ditch two. fields off. You must give me some money, if you have any ; if not, I must go without it; but there is no time to be lost. I must be off and away from here in ten minutes; to-morrow ask every one if they have seen or heard of me, because I have left the house some time during the night. I shall have a good start before that ; besides, they may not find the pedlar THE POACHER. : for a day or two, perhaps; at all events, not | till sometime after Iam gone; and then, you: see, mother, the bag which is found by him, | and the gun in the ditch, will make them think 7 it is me who killed him ; but they will not be able to make out whether I killed him by acci- 7 dent, and ran away from fear, or whether 14 did it on purpose. So now, mother, that’s™ my plan, for it will save father.’ ‘ ‘And I shall never see you again, my child !"@ replied his mother. : ‘That's as may be. You may go away| from here after a time, mother, when the | thing has blown over. Come, mother, there} is no time to lose.’ a ‘Rushbrook, what say you—-what think] you ?’ said Jane to her husband. : ‘Why, Jane, at all events, the boy must have left us, for, you see, I told Byres, and@ lve no doubt but he told the keeper, ifhe met ¥ him, that I should bring Joey with me. IJ did it to deceive him; and, as sure as I sit ® here, they will have that boy up as evidence against his father.’ ‘To be sure they will,’ cried Joey; ‘anda what could I do? I dare not—I don’t think I¥ could—tell a lie; and yet I would not ’peach# upon father, neither. What can I do—but be¥ out of the way ?’ - ‘ That's the truth—away with you, then, my] boy, and take a father’s blessing with you—™ a guilty father’s, it is true; God forgive me. ™ Jane, give him all the money you have; loses not a moment: quick, woman, quick.’ And ™ Rushbrook appeared to be in an agony. 1 Jane hastened to the cupboard, opened a small box, and poured the contents into the ™ hands of Joey. ‘ Farewell, my boy,’ said Rushbrook ; ‘ your father thanks you.’ 4 ‘Heaven preserve you, my child!’ cried Jane, embracing him, as the tears rained # down her cheeks. ‘You will write—no !a™ you must not—mercy !—mercy!—I shall & never see him again !|’-—and the mother fainted on the floor. The tears rose in our hero’s eyes as he be- held the condition of his poor mother. Once @ more he grasped his father’s hand ; and then, catching up the gun, he went out at the back door, and driving back the dog, who would have followed him, made over the fields as fast as his legs could carry him. * COAP TION ovate ‘The World before him, where to choose.’ WE have no doubt but many of our readers have occasionally, when on a journey, come to where the road divides into two, forkingTHE POACHER. I out in different directions, and, the road being new to them, have not known which of the two branches they ought to take. This happens, as it often does in a novel, to be our case just now. Shall we follow little Joey, or his father and mother ?—that is the question. We believe that when a road does thus divide, the widest of the two branches is generally selected, as being supposed, to be the continuation of the high road. We shall ourselves act upon that principle ; and, as the hero of the tale is of more consequence than characters accessory, we shall follow up the fortunes of little Joey. “As soon as our hero had deposited the gun so that it might be easily discovered by any one passing by, he darted into the high road, and went off with all the speed that he was capable of, and it was not yet light when he found himself at least ten miles from his native village. As the day dawned, he quitted the high road, and took to the fields, keeping a parallel course, so as to still increase his distance ; it was not until he had made fifteen miles, that, finding himself exhausted, he sat down to re- cover himself. From the time that he had left the cottage until the present, Joey had had but one over- whelming idea in his head, which’ was, to escape from pursuit, and by his absence to save his father from suspicion ; but now that he had effected that purpose, and was in a State of quiescence, other thoughts rushed upon his mind. First, the scenes of the last few hours presented themselves in rapid array before him—he thought of the dead man, and he looked at his hand to ascertain if the bloody marks had been effaced ; and then he thought of his poor mother’s state when he quitted the cottage, and the remembrance made him weep bitterly: his own position came next upon him—a boy, twelve years of age, adrift upon the world—how was he to live—what was he to do? ‘This reminded him that his mother had given him money ; he put his hand into his pocket, and pulled it out to ascertain what he possessed. He had £1 16s.; to him a large sum, and it was allin silver. As he became more composed, he began to reflect upon what he had better do ; where should he go to?--London. It was a long way, he knew, but the farther he was away from home, the better. Besides, he had heard much of London, and that every one got employment there. Joey resolved that he would go to London ; he knew that he had taken the right road so far, and having made up his mind, he rose up, and proceeded. He knew that, if possible, he must not allow himself to be seen on the road for a day or two, and he was puzzled how he was to get food, which he already felt would be very 5 acceptable ; and then, what account was he to give of himself, if questioned? Such were the cogitations of our little hero as he wended his way till he came to a river, which was too deep and rapid for him to attempt to ford— he was obliged to return to the high road to cross the bridge. He looked around him before he climbed over the low stone wall, and perceiving nobody, he jumped on the footpath, and proceeded to the bridge, where he suddenly faced an old woman with a basket of brown cakes, something like ginger bread. ‘Taken by surprise, and hardly know- ing what to say, he inquired if a cart had passed that way. ‘Yes, child, but it must be a good mile a- head of you,’ said the old won ‘and you must walk fast to over : “Ihave had no*k eakfast. yet, and I am hungry ; do you sell your cakes ?’ do I make them for? *Yes, chifd, what else three a penny, and c Joey felt in his poc had selected a sixpence, and pulling it out, desired the old woman to give him cakes for it, and, taking the pile in his hand, he set off as fast-as he could. As soon as he was out of sight, he again made his way into the fields, and bre fasted upon half his store, He then continue his journey until nearly one oclo when, tired out with his exertions, as soon as he had finished the remainder of his cakes, he laid down under a rick of corn, and fell fast asleep, having made twenty miles since he started. In his hurry to escape pursuit, and the many thoughts which occupied his brain, Joey had made no observation on the weather; if he had, he probably would have looked after some more secure shelter than the lee-side of a haystack. He slept soundly, and he had not been asleep more than an hour, when the wind changed, and the snow fell fast ; never- theless, Joey slept on, and probably never would have awakened more, had it not been that ashepherd and his dog were returning home in the evening, and happened to pass close to the haystack. By this time Joey had been covered with a layer of snow, half-an- inch deep, and had it not been for the dog, who went up to where he laid, and com- menced pawing the snow off of him, he would have been passed by undiscovered by the shep- herd, who, after some trouble, succeeded in rousing our hero from his torpor, and half dragging, half lifting him, contrived to lea him across one or two fields, until they ar- rived at a blacksmith’s shop, in a small vil- lage, before Joey could have been said to have recovered his scattered senses. Two hours’ more sleep, and there would have been no further history to give of our little hero. He was dragged to the forge, the fire ofwhich glowed under the force of the bellows, and by degrees, as the warmth reached him, he was restored to self-possession, To the inquiries made as to who he was, and from where he came, he now answered as he had before arranged in his mind. His father and mother were a long way before him ; he was going to London, but having been tired, he nad fallen asleep under the haystack, and he was afraid that if he went not on to London directly, he never might find his father and mother again, ‘Oh, then,’ replied the shepherd, ‘ they have gone on before, have they? Well, you |} catch them, no doubt.’ The blacksmith’s wifey who had been a party to what was going on, now brought up a little warm ale, which quite re-established Joey ; and at the same time a wy aggon drove up to the door, and stopped at the black- smiith’s shop. ‘I must have a shoe tacked on the old mare, my friend,’ said the driver. ‘You wont be long ?’ ‘Not five minutes,’ replied the smith. ‘You're going to London ?’ iwes, Sure,” ‘Here’s a poor boy that has been left be- hind by his father and mother somehow— you wouldn’t mind giving him a lift ?’ ‘Well, I don't know: I suppose I must be paid for it in the world to come.’ ‘ind good pay too, if you earn it,’ observed the blacksmith. ‘ Well, it won't make much difference to my eight horses, I expect,’ said the driver, looking at Joey; ‘so come along, youngster ; you may perch yourself on top of the straw, above the goods,’ ‘First come in with me, child,” said the wife of the blacksmith ; “you must have some good victuals to take with you—so, while you shoe the horse, John, I'll see to the boy. The woman put before Joey a dish in which were the remains of more than one small joint, and our hero commenced his attack without delay, ‘ Have you any money, child ?’ inquired the woman, joey, who thought she might expect pay- ment, replied, ‘Yes, ma'am, I’ve got a shil- -ing ; and he pulled one out of his pocket, and laid it on the table. ‘Bless the child! what do you take me for, to think that I would touch your money? You are » long way from I.ondon, yet, aithough you have got such a chance to get there. Do you know where to go when you get there ?’ “Yes, ma’am,’ replied Joey; ‘I shall get work in the stables, I believe.’ 16 THE POACHER. ‘Well, I dare say that you will; but in the meantime you had better save your shilling— so well find something to put this meat and bread up for your journey, Are you quite warm now ?’ * Yes, thank’ee, ma'am.’ Joey, who had ceased eating, had another warm at the fire, and ina few minutes, having bade adieu, and giving his thanks to the humane people, he was buried in the straw below the tilt of the waggon, with his provi- sions deposited beside him, and the waggon went on its slow and steady pace, to the tune of its own jingling bells. Joey, who had quite recovered from his chill, nestled antong the Straw,.congratulating himself that he should now arrive safely in London, without more questioning. And such was the case: in three days and three nights, without any further adventure, he found himself, although he was not aware of itin Oxford Street, some- what about eight or nine o'clock in the even- ing. ‘Do you know your way now, boy ?’ said the carman. ‘I can ask it,’ replied Joey, ‘as soon as I can go to the light and read the address. Good-bye, and thank you, continued he, glad at last to be clear of any more evasive replies. The carman shook him by the hand as they passed the Boar and Castle, and bade him farewell, and our hero found himself alone in the vast metrepolis. What was he to do? He hardly knew— but one thought struck him, which was, that he must find a bed for the night. . He wan- dered up and down Oxford Street for some time, but every one walked so quick that he was afraid to speak to them: at last a little girl, of seven or eight years of age, passed by him, and looked him earnestly in the face. ‘Can you tell me where I can get a bed for the night ?’ said Joey. ‘Have you any brads ?’ was the reply. ‘What are those?’ said Joey. ‘Any money, to be sure; you’re green— quite, ‘Yes, I have a shilling, ‘That will do—come along, and you shall sleep with me.’ Joey followed her very innocently, and very glad that he had been so fortunate. She led him to a street out of Tottenham Court Road, in which there were no lamps—the houses, however, were large, and many stories high. ‘Take my hand,’ said the girl, ‘and mind how you tread.’ Guided by his new companion, Joey arrived at a door that was wide open : they entered, and, assisted by the girl, he went up a dark staircase, to the second story. She opened ? Dies hie hk sslenideaity Sars gagsFITE PC aroom-door, when Joey found himse pany with about twenty o about the same age, of were fin com- other children. of both sexes. Here floor of the room, In the centre were several beds on the which was spacious. huddled together on the floor, round a tallow candle, a or ten of the inmates, two of them playii with a filthy pack of cards, while the Bice looked over them: were la down or on the ral beds. is my bed,’ said the girl; f you are tired you, can turn £3 at Onees the. sist ing of juvel ; but set udo- such aa beyond the until they are ripe not He dressed then le another discovery, very farthing of his had been ab- stracted from ie pock Of this unpleasant fact he venture to complain to one or two with Bey Money ] oe other beds with their him, called him a greenhorn, 7 r made use of other languag which -e let Joey know the nature “Ob , four and without a eat a good of the ny bundled | out of e iy found hin the , and very much inclined to pre stree re is no portion of the world, small it is in comparison with the whole, in whi there is more to be fot an 1 to eat and drink, more comfortable lodg , or accom- modation and convenience of every kind, than in the metropolis of England, provided you have the means to obtain it; but notwith- standing this abundance, there is no place, probably, where you will find it more difficult to obtain a portion of it, if you happen to have an empty pocket. “Joey went into ashop here and there to ask employment—he was turned < y every- vhere. He spent the first day in this manner, endl at night, tired and hungry, he laid down as ch to ings ACHER, 17 and fell shiver- on the stone steps of a portico, asleep. The next morning he awo ing with the cold, faint with -hur He asked at th : areas for something to eat, but no one wouid give him anything. Ata pump he obtained a ceil of water-—that was all he could obtain, forit cost nothing. At nother day passed without food, and the poor boy again sheltered himself for the night at a rich man’s door in Berkeley Square. ; LO CHAPTER VIE: If you want Employment go to London. ‘THE exhausted lad awoke again, and pursued his useless task of appeals for food and em- ployment. It wasa bright d: iy, and there was some little warmth to be collected by basking in the rays of the sun, when our hero wended his w through ~St. Famed Park, faint, hungry, and disconsolate.. There were seve- ral people seated on the benches; and Joey, weak as he was, did not venture to go near them, but talent along. At last, after wan- dering up own, looking for pity in avewpael as they passed, and receiving none, he felt he could not stand much and emboldened by desperation, he ched a bench that was ee by one At first he only rested: on the arm of , but, as the person tare down ap- not to observe him, he timidly took a the fartherend. ‘The personage who cupied the other part of the bench, was a man dressed a a morning suit @ da mzlitatre and black stock. He had clean gioves and a small cane in his hand, with which he was de- scribing circles on the gravel before him, evidently in deep thought. In height he was full six feet, and his proportions combined strength with symmetry. His features were remarkably handsome, his dark hair hada natural curl, and his whiskers and mustachios (for he wore those military appendages) were evidently the objects of ance attraction and solicitude. - We may as-well here observe, that although so favoured by nature, still there would have been considered something want- ing in him by those who had been accustomed to move in the first circles, to ne > him the refined gentleman. His movements and car- were not inelegant, but es re was a ain retinue wanting. He bowed well, but it was not exactly the bow of a gentleman, nursery-maids as they passed by said, -me, what a handsome gentleman !’ but : the remark been made by a higher class, it would have been quali ified into ‘What a handsome man!’ His age was apparently about five-and-thirty—it might have been Banc 7 rea at essomething more. Aftera short time he left off his mechanical amusements, and turning round, perceived little Joey at the farther end. Whether from the mere inclination to talk, or that he thought it presuming in our hero to seat himself upon the same bench, he said to him— ‘I hope you are comfortable, my little man ; but perhaps you've forgot your message.’ ‘I have no message, sir, forI know no one: and I am not comfortable, for I am starving,’ replied Joey, in a tremulous voice. ‘Are you in earnest now, when you say that, boy; or is it that you're humbugging me? Joey shook his head. ‘I have eaten no- thing since the day before yesterday morning, and I feel faint and sick,’ replied he at last. His new companion looked earnestly in our hero's face, and was satisfied that what he said was true, “As [hope to be saved,’ exclaimed he, ‘it’s my opinion that a little bread and butter would not be a bad thing for you. Here,’ continued he, putting his hand into his coat pocket, ‘take these coppers, and go and get some- thing into your little vitals.’ ‘Thank you, sir, thank you, kindly. But { don’t know where to go; I only came up to London two days ago.’ ‘Then follow me as fast as your little pins can carry you, said the other. They had not far to go, fora man_was standing close to Spring Garden Gate, with hot tea and bread and butter, and in a few moments Joey's hunger was considerably appeased. ‘Do you feel better now, my little cock ? ‘Yes, sir, thank you.’ ‘That’s right, and now we will go back to the bench, and then you shall tell meall about ‘ yourself, just to pass away the time. Now,’ Said he,’ as he took his seat, ‘in the first place, who is your father, if you have any; and if you haven’t any, what was he?’ ‘Father and mother are both falive, but they area long way off, Father wasa soldier, and he has a pension now.’ ‘A soldier! Do you know in what regiment ?’ “Yes, 1t was the 53rd, I think.’ ‘By the powers, my own regiment! And what is your name, then, and his ?’ ‘Rushbrook,’ replied Toey. ‘My pivot man, by all that’s holy. haven't you nicely dropped on your feet ?” ‘JI don't know, sir,’ replied our hero. “But Ido; your father was the best fellow I had in my company—the best forager, and always took care of his officer, as a good man Should do. If there was a turkey, or a goose, or a duck, or a fowl, ora pig within ten miles ofus, he would have it: he was the boy for poaching. . And now tell me (and mind Now 1S LAL OA CHER, you tell the truth when you meet with a friend) what made you leave your father and mother ?” ‘I was afraid of being taken up—’ and here Joey stopped, for he hardly knew what to Say ; trust his new acquaintance with his father's. secret he dare not, neither did he like to tell what was directly false ; as the reader will perceive by his reply, he partly told the truth, ‘Afraid of being taken up! Why, what could they take up a spalpeen like you for 2’ ‘ Poaching,’ replied Joey ; ‘father poached too: they had proof against me, so I came away—with father’s consent.’ ‘Poaching ! well, I’m not surprised at that, for if ever it was in the blood, it is in yours —that’s truth. And what do you mean to do now ?’ ‘Anything I can to earn my bread.’ ‘What can you do—besides poaching, of course? Can you read and write ?’ “Qh, yes.’ ‘Would you like to be a servant—clean boots, brush: clothes, stand behind-a cab, run messages, carry notes, and hold your tongue ?’ ‘I could do all that, I think—I am twelve years old.’ ‘The devil you are! Well then, for your father’s sake, I'll see what I can do for you, till you can do better. I'll fit you out asa tiger, and what’s more, unless I am devilish hard up, I won’t sell you. So come along. What's your name ?” “oeyet ‘Sure that was your father’s name before you, I now recollect ; and should any one take the trouble to ask you what may be the name of your master, you may reply with a safe con- science, that it’s Captain O' Donahue. Now, come along. Not close after me—you may as well keep open file just now, till I’ve made you look a little more decent.’ CHAPTER VIIL. A Dissertation upon Pedigree, OuR readers will not perhaps be displeased if we introduce Captain .O'Donahue more par- ticularly to their notice: we shall therefore devote this chapter to giving some account of his birth, parentage, and subsequent career. If the father of Captain O'Donahue was to be believed, the race of the O’Donahues were kings in Ireland, long before the O’Connors vere ever heard of. How far this may be correct we cannot pretend to offeran opinion, further than, that no man can be supposed to know so much of a family’s history as theFHE POACHER, déscehdant himself. The documents were never laid before us, and we have only the positive assertion of the Squireen O’Dona- hue, who asserted not only. that they were kings in Ireland before the O’Connors, whose pretensions to ancestry he treated with con- tempt, but further, that they were renowned for their strength, and were famous for using’ the longest bows in battle that were ever known or heard of. Here we have circum- stantial evidence, although not proof. If strong, they might have been kings in Ireland, for there ‘might has been right’ for many centuries ; and certainly their acquirements were handed down to posterity, as no one was more’famous for drawing the long bow than the Squireen O’Donahue. Upon these points, however, we must leave our readers to form their own opinions. Perhaps some one more acquainted with the archives of the ee sliy may be able to set us right if we are wrong to corroborate our testimony if we are In his preface to ‘Anne of Geierstein,’ Walter Scott observes, that ‘errors, however trivial, ought, in his opinion, never to be pointed out to the author, without meeting witha candid and respectful acknowledgment.’ Following the example of so great a man, we can only say, that if any gentleman can prove or disprove “the assertion of the Squireen O'Donahue, to wit, that the O’ Donahues were kings of Ireland long before the O'’Connors were heard of, we shall be most happy to acknowledge the favour, and insert his re- marks in the next edition. should be further obliged to the same party, or, indeed, any other, if they would favour us with an idea of what was implied by a king of Ireland in those da that is to say, whether he held a court, taxed his subjects, collected revenue, kept up a standing army, sent ambassadors to foreign countries, and di d all which kings do nowadays? or whether his shillelagh was his sceptre, and his domain som¢ : furze-crowned hills and.a bog, the intricacies of which were known only to himself? hattior he was ar- rayed in jewelled robes, with a crown of gold weighing on his temples? or whether he went bare-legged and bare-armed, with his bare locks flowing in luxurious wildness to the breeze? We request an answer to this in full simplicity. We observe that even in Ireland, now, a fellow six ee -t high, and stout in pro- portion, is called a ‘prince of a fellow,’ al- though he has not ae ithal to buy a paper of tobacco to supply his dhudeen: and, arguing from this fact, we are inclined to think that a few more inches in stature, and commen- surate muscular increase of power, would "Sir XT Ve 19 in for mer times have raised the Sheir appa- rent’ to the dignity of the Irish throne. But these abstruse speculations have led us from our history, which we must now resume. Whatever may once have been the impor- tance of the house of O’Donahue, one thing is certain, that there are many ups and downs in this world ; every family in it has its wheel of fortune, w hi ch revolves faster or slower as the fates decree, and the descendant of kings before the O’Connors’ time was now de- scended into a apes of viceroy, Squireen O'Donahue being the steward of certain wild estates in the county of Galway, belonging to a family, who for many years had shown a decided aversion to the natural beauties of the country, and had thought proper to migrate to where, if people were not so much attached to them, they were at all events more civilized. These estates weré extensive, but not lucrative, They abounded in rocks, brushwood, and woodcocks during the season ; and although the Squireen. O’Donahue did his best, if not for his employer, at least for himself, it was with re difficulty that he contrived to sup- port, with anything like respectability (which in that part of the country means ‘dacent clothes to wear}, a very numerous family, lineally cess nded from the most ancient of all the kings of Ireland. Before the squireen had obtained his em- ployment, he he vd sunk his rank and travelled much—as a courier—thereby gaining much knowledge of the world. If, therefore, he had no wealth to leave his children, at all events he could impart to them that know- ledge which is said to be better than worldly possessions. Having three sons and eight daughters, all of them. growing up healthy and strong, W ith commensurate < appetites, he soon found that it was necessary to get rid of them as fast as he could. His eldest, who, strange to say, for an O’Donahue, was a quiet lad, he had, asa favour, lent to his brother, who kept a small tobaeconist and grocers shop in Dublin, and his brother was so fond of him, that eventtally varroll O'Donahue was bound to him as an aj prentice. It certainly was a degradation for the descendant of such ancient kings to be weighing out pennyworths of sugar, and sueP anes halfpenny papers of tobacco to the old apple and fish women ; but still there we must leave the heir-apparent while we turn to the second son, Mr. Patrick O’Donahue, whose history we are now re- lating, having already made the reader ac- quainted with him by an introduction in St. James's Park. aeCHAPTER IX, In which the Advice of a Father deserves peculiar Attention. IT may be supposed that. as steward of the €states. Squireen O' Donahue fluence over the numerous ten perty, and this influence he took the most of, test was rewarde d by had some So“I’m. told’ ever y day of my life, I'l] for one of his sons, in a regiment then r: aising cate the best use of them why ‘n I start; but in Ireland, and thi s offer was too good to be it’s the Starting I don't like, and that’s the refused. ~ So, one fine day, Squireen O’Dona- real truth.’ hue came home from Dublin, well tered with mud, and found his son also well bespattered with mud, having returned home from a very successf tion against the w oodcocks, ‘Patrick, my jewel,’ said the taking a seat and wiping his face, for he THE POACHER. in- ants on the pies be care to make His assistance ina political con- the offer of an ensigney bespat+ Patrick : just ful expedi- squireen, ‘I tell you to go forth into the world as an to come back and be the greatest man of your about not or officer, and make your fortune ; a generai, family. And don’t be too unhappy ing skinned. Before fe m a general.’ aA nd VOl li vea good pa ir of legs. ‘ The reader may be ference shown by Patrick ‘at communicated by his father Mr. Patrick O?Don: thue was This cooled his national ardour ; be confessed that th vere ue the. i and every excuse, you are older wiser, dead or alive, you'll be skinned, I'll answer for it. a ell, father, 1’]] go; but I ex xpect there’] a good deal OF ground to march over before surprised at the indif- itelligence ; but the fact was, very deep in love. it must for Ing : was _a~more lov ely creature Ln Judith M‘ Crae rather warm with his Tide, ‘you’re a made never existed. To part ae her was the only 2 or } man. difficulty, and cll his family feelings were J . B 1. . ‘And well made too, father, if the girls but a cloak to thc real cause of his unwilling- are anything of judges,’ replied Patrick. ness. You put me out.’ replied the squireen ; ‘Nevertheless, vou my st start to-morrow, ‘you ve more to be vain: of than your my bc a, 6g said hic father igure, “ “W hat Must be, must,’ replied Patrick, ‘so And what may that be that you’re dis- there's an end of the matter, [pf just go out coursing about, father ? for a bit of'a walk, just to stretch my legs.’ ONT Ny Pcs US ieee eee ; Bees : * = Nothing more or ess, nor better nor 1 ley require a deal of Stretching, Pat, worse, but you're an ensign in his Majesty's considering you've been twenty milés, at new regiment—the number has esc; iped my least, this morning, over the mountains,’ re- memory. : ae plied the squireen. But Patrick was out of ‘I'd rather be-a colonel, father, replied hearing ; he had leapt over a stone wall which Patrick, musing, - ‘The colonel's to come, you spalpeen, ’ th le Squireen. ‘And the fortune to make, I plied Patrick. “You’ve just hit it whole ee before you to pick and ‘Well,’ replied P no objection. ‘No objection ! Why of your skin with delight ? expect,’ ; but haven’t you atrick, after a pause might jump high enough to break in the caling.’ ‘There's no ceiling to break, “replied Pat- ¢ rick, looking up at the rafters. ‘That’s true enou zh; but stil] you might L FO out of your seven senses in a rational sort ofa w ay. ‘I really can’: see for why, father You tell me " dear. I’m to leave MY poor old | mother, who doats upou me; my sisters, who are fond of me; my friends here [patting the dogs], who follow me; the hills, that T love; and the woodcocks, which I shoot shot at mys self, and buried ]ij] Without being skinne » tO go to be shealing.’ ‘Won't it be for ‘the last time, Patrick ?’ re- plied Judith, with her apron up to her eyes. ‘If I’ve any voice in the matter, I say no. Please the pigs, I’ll come back a colonel.’ ‘Then youll be no match for Judith M ‘Crae,’ replied the sobbing girl. Z ‘Shoot easy, my Judith, t that’s touching my honour ; if I'm a general it will be all the same.’ ©Qh; Patrick ! Patrick !’ Patrick folded Judith in his arms, took one kiss, and then hastened out of the house, saying—‘ Remember the shealing, Judith, dear, there we'll talk the matter over e and comfortable Patrick, returned to his d his baie Ge and s house, where he isters in tears. They by-tl abe did set oive them much trouble from its extent; they only had to mend every individual article. His father was sitting down by the hearth, and when he saw Patrick, he said to him—‘ Now just come here, my boy, and take a stool, while you listen to me, and learn a little worldly wis- dom, for I may not have much time to talk to you when we are at Dublin.’ Patrick took a seat, and was all attention. ‘You'll just observe, Pat, that it’s a very ‘fine thing to be an officer in the king’s army ; nobody dares to treat you ill, although you may ill-treat others, which is no small advan- tage in this world.’ ‘There's truth in that,’ replied Patrick. ‘You see, when you get into an enemys country, you may help yourself; and, if you look sharp, 's very pretty pickings—all in there's a quiet way, you understand.’ ‘het. indeed.’ ti Observe, Pat, that; as .one officers, the king expects you to appear and live like a gentleman, give only he forgets to g you the means of so doing; you must, there- fore, take all you can get from his Majesty, and atl 1¢ people must make up the differ- CV Ce ‘That's a matter o’ course, ‘You'll soon see your’ way clear,. and find out what you may be permitted to do, and what you may not; for the king expects you to keep up the character ‘of a gentleman as well as the appearance.’ ‘O’ course,’ ‘Mayvhap you may be obliged to run in debt a littlek—a gentleman may do that ; may- hap you may not be able to pay—that's a 11 of his ’ said Patrick gentleman’s case very often: if so, never go so far as twenty pounds; first, because the law don't reach; and secondly, because twenty pound is quiteemough to make a man suffer for the good of his country.’ _‘There’s sense in that,' father.’ ‘And, Patrick, recollect that people judge by appe: irances in this world, especially when they ve nothing else to go by. If you talk small, your credit will be small ; but if you talk large, it will be just in proportion.’ “I perceive, father. ‘It's not much property we said county of Galway, that’s you must talk of this property as if I was the squire, and not the steward ; nd when you talk of the quantity of woodcocks you have bagged, you must say on oz7 property.’ I understand, fathe ‘And you must curse your stars at being a younger brother; it will be an excuse for your having no money, but will make them believe it’s in the family, at all events a pe receive, ’ replied Patrick. ‘There's one thing more, Pat ; it’s an Irish regiment, so you must get out of it assoon as bossible by exchange.’ For why ?’ ‘This for why. You will be among those born too near home, and who may doubt all you say, because your story may interfere with their own. Get into an English regiment by all means, and there you'll be beyond the reach of contradiction, which ain’t pleasant.’ ‘True enough, father.’ ‘Treasure up all I have told you—it’s worldly wisdom, and you have your fortune to make ; so now recollect, never hold back at a forlorn hope; volunteer for everything ; volunteer to be blown from acannon’s mouth, so that they will give you promotion for that Same ; volunteer to go all over the world, into the other world, and right through that again into the one that comes: after that, if there is any, and tken one thing will be certain, either that you’ll be a colonel or general, or else ——" ‘Else what, father?’ ‘That you won't require to be made either, seeing that you'll be past all making; but luck’s aes Ca lucky it is, by-the-by, “that I have a little of the squire’s rent in hand to fit you out with, or how we should have managed the saints only know. As it is, I must sink it on the next year’s account ; but that’s more easy to do than to fit you out with no money. I must beg the tenants off, make the potato crop fail entirely, and report twenty, by name at least, dead of starvation. Serve him right for spending his money out of Old Ireland. It's only out of real pathriotism that I cheat him—just to spend the money 1n the country. possess in this certain ; but22 And now, Patrick, I’ve done ; now you may go and square your accounts with Judith, for I know now where the cat jumps; but I'll leave old. Time alone for doing his work.’ Such was the advice of the squireen to his son; and, as worldly wisdom, it was not so bad ; and, certainly, when a lad is cast adrift In the world, the two best things you can bestow on him area little worldly wisdom and a_ little money, for without the former, the latter and he will soon part company. Thenext day they set off for Dublin, Patrick’s head being in a confused jumble of primitive good feeling, Judith M‘Crae, his father’s ad- vice, and visions of future greatness. He was fitted out, introduced to the officers, and then his father left him his blessing and his own way to make in the world. Ina fortnight the regiment was complete, and they were shipped to Liverpool, and from Liverpool to Maid- stone, where,-being all newly-raised men, they were to remain for a time to be disciplined. 3efore the year had expired, Patrick had fol- lowed his father’s advice, and exchanged, re- ceiving a difference with an ensign of a regi- ment going on foreign service. He was sent to the West Indies: but the seasons were healthy, and he returned home anensign. He volunteered abroad again after five years, and gainéd his lieutenant's commission, from a death vacancy, without purchase. After a fifteen years’ hard service, the de- sired captain's commission came at last, and O‘Donahue, having been so unsuccessful in his military career, retired upon half-pay, de- termined, if possible, to offer his handsome person in exchange for competence. But, during the fifteen years which had passed away, a great change had come over the in- genuous and unsophisticated Patrick O‘Dona- hue ; he had mixed so iong with a selfish.and heartless world, that his primitive feelings had gradually worn away. Judith had, indeed, never been forgotten ; but she was now at rest, for, by mistake, Patrick had been re- turned dead of the yellow fever, and_at the intelligence she had drooped like a severed snowdrop, and died. The only tie strong enough to induce him to return to Ireland was therefore broken, his father’s worldly ad- vice had not been forgotten, and O‘Donahue considered.the world as his oyster. Expen- sive in his habits and ideas, longing for com- petence, while he vegetated on half-pay, he was now looking out for a matrimonial specu- lation. His generosity and his courage re- mained with him—two virtues not to be driven out of an Irishman—but his other good quali- ties lay in abeyance ; and yet his better feel- ings were by no means extinguished ; they were dormant, but by favourable circum- stances were again to be brought into action, LAE POACHER. The world and his necessities made him what he was ; for many were the times, for years afterwards, that he would in his reveries sur- mise how happy he might have been in his own wild country, where half-pay would have been competence, had his Judith been spared to him, and he could have laid his head upon her bosom, CHAPTER? XK: In which Major M‘Shane narrates some curious Matrimonial Speculations. OuR hero was soon fitted out with the livery of a groom, and installed as the confidential servant of Captain O‘Donahue, who had lodgings‘on the third floor in a fashionable street. He soon became expert and useful, and, as the captain breakfasted at home, and always ordered sufficient for Joey to make another cold meal off during the day, he was at little or no expense to his master. One morning, when Captain O'Donahue was sitting in his dressing-gown at breakfast, Joey opened the door, and announced Major M ‘Shane. ‘Is it yourself, O‘Donahue?’ said the major, extending his hand; ‘and now, what d’ye think has brought me here this fine morning ? It's todo a thing that's rather- unusual with me,—neither more nor less than to pay you the £20 which you lent me a matter of threé years ago, and which, I dare say, you never expected to'see anything but the ghost of.’ ‘Why, M‘Shane, if the truth must be told, it will be something of a resurrection when it appears before me,’ replied O‘Donahue; ‘Ff considered it dead and buried ; and, like those who are dead and buried, it has been long forgotten,’ ‘ Nevertheless, here it is, In four notes— one, two, three, four: four times five are twenty; there’s arithmetic for you, and your money to boot, and many thanks in the bar- gain, by way of interest. And now, O‘Dona- hue, where have you been, what have you been doing, what are you doing, and what do you intend todo? That's what I call a com- prehensive inquiry, and a very close one too.’ ‘IT have beenin London a month, I have done nothing, I am doing nothing, and I don't know what I intend to do. You may take that for a comprehensive answer.’ ‘I'll tell you all-about myself without your asking. I have been-in London for nearly two years, one of which I spent in courting, and the other in matrimony,’ “Why, you don't mean to say that you are married, M‘Shane ; if sO; as you've been married a year, you can tell me, am I to give you joy?’ | j Sire atl dha aTHE POACHER. 22 ‘Why, yes, I believe you may; there's nothing so stupid, O‘Donahue, as domestic happiness, that’s a fact.; but, altogether, I have been so large a portion of my life doubtful where I was to get a dinner, that I think, on the whole, I have made a very good choice.’ ‘And may I inquire who is the party to whom Major M‘Shane has condescended to sacrifice his handsome person ?’ ‘Is it handsome you mane? As the ugly lady said to the looking-glass, I beg no re- flections—you wish to know who she is, well, then, you must be content to listen to all my adventures, from the time we parted, for she is at the end of them, and I can’t read back- wards.’ “Il am at your service, so-begin as you please.’ ‘Let me see, O‘Donahue, where that we parted ?’ . ‘If I recollect, it was at the landing made at ——, where you were reported killed.’ ‘Very true, but that, I give my honour, was all a lie; it was fat Sergeant Murphy that was killed, instead of me. was a terrible fellow, that Sergeant M1 Ey ne got .himself killed on purpose, because he never Could have passed his accounts: well, was it he fought like a devil, so peace be with him. I was knocked down, as you know, with a bullet in my thigh, and as I could not stand, I sat upon the carcass of Sergeant Murphy, bound up my leg, and meditated on sublunary affairs. I thought what a great rogue he was, that Sergeant Murphy, how he'd gone out of the world without absolution ; and then I thought it very likely that he might have some money about him, and how much better it would be that I should have it to comfort me in prison than any- rascally Frenchman ; so I put my hand in his pocket and borrowed his purse, which was, taking the difference of size, as well lined as himself. Well, as you had all retreated and left me to be taken prisoner, I waited very patiently till’ they should come and carry me to the hospital, or wherever else they pleased. They were not long coming for me: one fellow would have passed his bayonet through me, but I had my pistol cocked, so he thought it advisable to take me prisoner. I was taken into the town, not to the hospital or the prison, but quartered at the house of an old lady of high rank and plenty of money. Well, the surgeon came and very politely told me that he must cut off my leg, and I very politely told him to go to the devil ; and the old lady came in and took my part, when she saw what a handsome leg it was, and sent for another doctor at her own expense, who promised to set me on my pins in less than a month. Well, the old lady fell in love with me ; and although she was not a quite the vision of youthful-fancy, as the say- ing is, for she had only one tooth in her head, and that stuck out half an inch beyond her upper lip, still she had other charms for a poor devil like me ; so 1 made up my mind to marry her, for she made cruel love to me as I laid in bed, and before I was fairly out of bed the thing was settled, and a week afterwards the day was fixed ; but her relatives got wind of it, for, like an old fool, she could not help blabbing, and so one day there came a file of soldiers, with a corporal at their head, inform- ing me that I was now quite well, and there- fore, if it was all the same to me, I must go to prison. This was anything but agreeable, and contrary to rule. As an officer, 1 was en- titled to my parole; and so I wrote to the commanding officer, who sent for me, and then he told me I had my choice, to give up the old lady, whose friends were powerful, and would not permit her to make a fool of herself (a personal remark, by-the-by,: which it was unhandsome to make to a gentleman in my circumstances), or to be refused parole and remain in prison, and that he would give me an hour to decide; then he made me a very low bow, and left me. I was twisting the affair over in my mind, one moment think- ing of her purse, and carriage and doubloons, and another of that awful long tooth of hers, when one of her relatives came in and said he had a proposal to make, which was, that I should be released and sent to Gibraltar, with- out any conditions, with a handsome sum of money to pay my expenses, if I would pro- mise to give up the old lady now and for ever. That suited my book; I took the money, took my leave, and a small vessel took me to Gib- raltar : so, after all, you see, O‘Donahue, the thing did not turn out so bad. I lost only an old woman with a long tooth, and I gained my liberty.’ ‘No; you credit.’ ‘And with money, which is quite as good ; so when I returned and proved myself alive, I was reinstated, and had all my arrears. paid up. What with Sergeant Murphy's purse, and the foreign subsidy, and my arrears, [ was quite flush; so I resolved to be circum- pect, and make hay while the sun shone ; notwithstanding which, I was as nearly trapped by a cunning devil of a widow. ‘Two days more, and I should have made a pretty kettle of fish of it.’ ‘What, at your age, M‘Shane ? ‘Ah, bother ! but she was a knewing one _-a widow on a first floor, a good-looking, buxom, a fine armful, and about thirty—met her at a party—pointed out to me as without encumbrance, and well off—made up to her, escorted her home—begged permission to got out of that affair with24 call, was graciously received—-talked of her departed husband, thought me like him— everything so uncomfortable—plenty of plate —good furniture — followed her — received notes by a little boy in sky-blue, and silver Ssugar-loaf buttons—sent me all her messages —one day in the week to her banker's to cash a check. Would you believe tl cunning of the creature? She used to draw out 125 every week, sending me for the money, and, as I found out afterwards, paid it in again in fifties every fortnight, and she only had #50 a o Weeds. Wasn't. | reguiarly humbugged ? Made proposals—was accepied—all settled, and left off talking about her departed. One > J h i e wedding, leard a noise Tf ‘ Rokk 98 i day, and only-two days before t found the street door of ind | between her and her landlady at the top of the stairs, I waited at the bottom... The landlady was insisting upon her rent, and having all her plate back again—my charming widow entreating for a little delay, as she was to be m urried—landlady came downstairs, red as a turkey-cock, so I very politely begged her to walk into the parlour, and I put a few questions, when [| my in- done a very wise thing, for I don’t want to present any wife at Court, and I have a very comfortable home.’ ‘You have done wise thing, in my opinion, M'‘Shi have a wife who makes money, instead of one who spends it.’ ‘ And, moreover, I have found my bargain better than I anti icipated, w which is seldom the case in this world of treachery and deceit. She has plenty of money, and is putting by more every year.’ ‘Which you have the control of, at your disposition, do you mean to say ?’ ‘Why, yes, I may say that zow ,; but, O‘Donahue, that is owing to my circum- ction and delicacy. At first starting, I letermined that she should not think that it was only her money that I wanted ;- so, after we were married, I continued to find self, which, paying nothtng for board and g and washing, I could’ easily do Bpou ali-pay ; and I have done so ever ( il just now. ny had not been married a week before I saw that she expected I would make inquiries into the state of her finances, but I would not. At last, finding that I would not enter into the business, she did, and told me that she had £17,000 Consols laid by, and that the business was worth £1000 per annum (you may fish at Cheltenham a long while, O‘Dona hue, before you get such al jaul as th 1at). So I told_her I was very glad she was well off, and then I pretended to go fast asleep, as I one day, as she was carving a_ beefsteak which a 25 never interfered with her, and never asked for money. At last she didn’t like it, and offered it to me ; but I told herI had enough, and did not want it; since which she has been quite annoyed at my not spending money; and when I told her this morning that there was a brother officer of mine arrived in town, to whom I had owed some money for a long while, she insisted upon my taking money to pay it, puta pile of bank- notes in my hand, and was quite mortified when she found I only wanted £20. Now you see, O'Donahue, I have done this from principle. She earns the money, and therefore, she shall have the control of it as long as we are good friends ; and, upon my honour, I really think I love her bette than I ever thought I could love a y woman in the world, for she has the temper, the kindness, and the charity of an angel, although not precisely the figure ; but one can’t have everything in this world ; 1 so now you have the whole of my story, and what do you think of it ” ‘You must present me to your. wife, M‘Shane.’ ‘That I will with pleasure. She’s like her rounds of beef—it’s cut and come again ; but her heart is a beauty, and so is her beefsteak- ie—when you taste it.’ CHAPTER XE. In which an Interchange and Confidence takes place. ‘AND now, O'Donahue,’ said M‘Shane, ‘if you are not yet tired of my company, I should like to hear what you have been doing since we parted: be quite as explicit, but not quite so long- winded, as myself, for I fear that I tired you.’ ‘I will be quite as explicit, my good fellow; but I have no such marvellous adventures to relate, and not such a fortunate wind-up. I nave been to Bath, to Cheltenham, to Har- rowgate, to Brighton, and everywhere else where people meet, and people are met with, who would not meet-or be met with elsewhere. I have seen many nice girls ; but the nice girls were, like myse If, almost penniless; and I have seen many ill-favoured, who had money ; the first I could only afford to look at—the latter I have had some dealings with. I have been refused by one or two, and I might have mar- ried seven or eight! but, sonrehow or other, when it came near the point, the vision of a certain angel, now in Heaven, has risen before me, and I have not had the heart or the heartlessness to proceed, Indeed, I may26 LHE POACHER. safely say that I have'seen but one person ten thousand a year, and she was as poor as since we parted who ever made the least im- my dear Judith was, that she should have pression on me, or whom I could fancy in any taken her place—that’s the truth. I thought degree to replace her whom I have lost, and that I never could love again, and that my she, I fear, is lost also; so we may as well heart was as flinty as a pawnbroker's; but [ Say no more about it. I have determined to found out my mistake when it was too late,’ marry for money, as you well know; but it ‘And did she return you the compliment ?’ appears to meas if there was something which ‘That Iwas not indifferent to her, I may invariably prevents the step being taken; without vanity believe. I had a five minutes and, upon my honour, fortune seems so in- alone with her just before we parted, and I clined to balk me in my wishes, that I begin took that opportunity of saying how much to snap my fingers at her, and am becoming pain it was to part with her, and for once I quite indifferent. ~ I suffer now under the evil told the truth, for I was almost choking when of poverty ; but itis impossible to say what I said it. I’m convinced that there was sin- other evils may be in store if I were to change cerity in my face, and that she saw that it was iny condition, as the ladies say. Come what there ; so she replied, “If what you say is will, in one thing I am determined—that if I true, we shall meet at St. Petersburgh next marry a girl for money, I will treat her well, winter ; good-bye, I shall expect you.” ’ and not let her find it out: and as that may ‘Well, that was as much as to say come, add to the difficulty of a nian’s position when at all events,’ he is not in love with his wife, why, all-I can ‘It was ; Istammered out my determina- say is, Captain O'Donahue doesn’t go cheap, tion so to do, if possible; but I felt at the that’s decided.’ time that my finances rendered it impossible “You're right, my jewel ; there's not such a —so there was an end of that affair. By my broth of a boy to be picked up every day in hopes of salvation, I’d not only go to St, the week. Widows might bid for you, for, Petersburgh, but round the whole world, and without /flattery, I think you a moral of a to the north pole afterwards, if I had the man, and an honour to Old Ireland. 3ut, means only to see her once more.’ O’Donahue, begging your pardon, if it’s not ‘You're in a bad way, O‘Donahue; your a secret, who may have been this lady who heart's gone and your money too. Upon my appears to have bothered your brains nota soul I pity you; but it’s always the case in little, since she could make you forget some- this world. When I wasa boy, the best and body else ?’ ripest fruit was always on the top of the wall, “I met her at the Lakes of Cumberland, and out of my reach. Shall I cail to-morrow, and being acquainted with some of the party, and then, if you please, I’ll introduce you to was invited to join them; I was ten days in Mrs. M‘Shane?’ her company at Windermere, Ambleside, Der- ‘I will be happy to see you and your good wentwater, and other places, She was a wife, M‘Shane; health and happiness to you, foreigner, and titled.’ Stop, while I ring for my little factotum to let ‘Murder and Irish! you don't say so ? you out.’ “Yes ; and moreover, as I was informed by ‘ By-the-by, a sharp boy that, O'Donahue, those who were with her, has large property with an eye as bright asa hawk. Where did in Poland. She was, in fact, everything that you pick him up? I could desire—handsome, witty, speaking ‘In St. James's Park:’ English and several other languages, and ‘Well, that’s an odd place to hire a servant about two or three and twenty years old.’ 11%; = ‘And her name, if it’s no offence to ask it?" ‘Do you recollect Rushbrook in my com- ‘Princess Czartorinski.’ pany ?’ ‘And a princess in the bargain? And ‘To be sure I do—your best soldier, and a did you really pretend to make love to a famous caterer he was at all times,’ princess ?' ‘Tt is his son,’ ‘Am not I an Irishman, M‘Shane? and is ‘And, now I think of it, he’s very like him, a princess anything but a woman, after all? only somewhat better looking.’ = : By the powers! I’d make love to, and run O‘Donahue then acquainted M ‘Shane with away with, the pope-himself, if he were made the circumstances attending his meeting with = of the same materials as Pope Juan is said to Joey, and they separated. have been.’ i The next day, about the same time, ‘Then, upon my faith, O‘Donahue, I believe M‘Shane came to see his friend, and found you—so now go on.’ O‘Donahue dressed, and ready to go out with ‘I not only made love to her, but, in making him. love to her, I got most terribly singed myself, ‘Now, O‘Donahue, you mus'n’t be in such and I felt, before I quitted her, that if I had a hurry ta see Mrs, M‘Shane, for I haveLTE POACHER. omething to tell you which will make het look more pretty in your eyes than she other- wise might have done upon first introduction. Take your chair again, and don’t be putting on your gloves yet, while you listen to a little conversation which took place between us last night, just before we dropped into the arms of Murfy. I’ll pass over all the questions she asked about you, and all the compliments I paid you behind your back ; because, if I didn’t, it would make you blush, Irishman as you are; but this she did say,—-that it was great kindness on your part to lend me that money, and that she loved you for it ; upon which I replied, I was sorry you were not asy in your mind, and so very unhappy : upon which she, in course, like every woman, asked me why ; and then I told her merely that it was a love affair, and a long story, as if I wished to go to sleep. This made her more curious, so, to oblige her, I stayed awake, and told her just what you told me, and how the winter was coming on, and you not able to keep your appointment. And what d’ye think the good soul said? ‘‘ Now,” says she, ‘‘M‘Shane, if you love me, and have any gratitude to your friend for his former ,kind- ness, you will to-morrow take him money enough, and more than enough, to do as he wishes, and if he gains the wife he can repay you ; if not, the money is not an fee ‘«That’s very kind of you, dearest,’ “but then will you consent to another thing ? for this may prove a difficult affair, and he may want me with him ; and would you have any objection to that, dearest-?” for, you see, O‘Donahue, I took it into my head that I might be of the greatest use to you; and, moreover, I should like the trip, just by way of alittle change. ‘‘Couldn’t he do without you ?’ replied.she gravely. ‘I’m afraid not ; and although I thought I was in barracks for life, and never to leave you again, yet still for his sake, poor fellow, who has been such a generous fellow to me—” ‘‘An’ how long would you be away?’ said she. ‘‘ Why, it might be two months at the most,” replied I ; ““but whocan tellit to a day?” ‘‘ Well,” said she, ‘‘I don’t like that part of the concern at all; but still, if it is necessary, as you say, things shouldn't be done by halves,”’ and then she sighed, poor soul. ‘* Then I won't go,’ says I... ‘ Yes,” says. she, after a pause;.-‘I think it’s your duty, and therefore you must.”’ ‘* T’ll do just what you wish, my soul,” replied I; ‘‘but let’s talk more about it to-morrow.” This morning she brought up the subject, and said that she had made up her mind, and that it should be as we had said last night ; and she went to the drawer and took out three hundred pounds in gold and notes, and said that if it was not enough, we had only to write for 27 more. Now ain’t and here’s the mon ‘M‘Shane, she is a jewel, not because she has given me money, but because her heart's in the right place, and always will be. But I really do not like taking you away with me.’ ‘Perhaps you don’t think I’d be of any use ?” ‘Yes, Ido not doubt but that you will be, although at present I do not know how.’ ‘But I do, for I’ve thought upon it, and I shall take it very unkind if you don’t let me go with you. I want a little divarsion ; for you see, O’Donahue, one must settle down to domestic happiness by degrees.’ ‘Be it so, then ; all I fear is, I shall occa- sion pain to your excellent wife.’ ‘She has plenty to do, and that drives care away; besides, only consider the pleasure you'll occasion to her when I come back.’ ‘I forgot that. Now, if you please, I'll call and pay my respects, and also return my grateful thanks.’ ‘Then, come along.’ Captain O‘Donahue found Mrs. M‘Shane very busily employed supplying her customers. She was, as-M‘Shane had said, a very good- looking woman, although somewhat corpu- lent ; and there was an amiability, frankness, and kindness of disposition so expressed in her countenance, that it was impossible not to feel interested with her, They dined toge- ther, . O'Donahue completely established himself in her good graces, and it was agreed that on that day week the gentlemen should embark for Hamburg, and proceed on to Petersburg, Joey to go with them as their little valet. she a jewel, O‘Donahue ? > CHAPER RCE: An Expedition, as of, yore, across the Waters for a Wife A we THE first step taken by O‘Donahue was to obtain .a passport for himself and suite; and here there was a controversy, M‘Shane having made up his mind that he would sink the officer, and travel as O‘Donahue’s servant, in which capacity he declared that he would not only be more useful, but also swell his friend’s dignity. After a long combat on the part of O'Donahue, this was consented ‘to, and the passport was filled up accordingly, ‘But, by St. Patrick ! I ought to get some letters of introduction,’ said O‘Donahue; ‘and how is that to be managed—at all events to the English ambassador ? Let me see—I'll - go to the Horse Guards.’O'Donahue went accordingly, and, as was always the case there, was admitted imme- diately to an audience to the Commander of the Forces. O'Donahue put his case forward, Stating that he was about to proceed on a secret: mission to Russia, and requested his Royal Highness to give him a few letters of Introduction. His Royal Highness very pro- perly observed, that ifsent on a secret mission, he would, of ¢ourse, obtain all the necessary introductions from the proper quarters, and then inquired of O' Donahue what his rank was, where he had served, &c. To the latterquestion, O'Donahue gave a very satisfactory reply, and convinced the Duke that he was an officer of merit. -Then came the question as to his secret mission, which his Royal Highness had never heard of. ‘May it please your Roval Highness, there’s a little mistake about this Same secret mission not account of government that I'm going, but on my own secret service ;’ and O'Donahue, finding him- self fairly in for it. confessed that he was after oo lS on alady of high rank, and that if he did not obtain letters of introduction, he should not probably find the means of entering the society in which she was to be found, and that as an officer who had served faithfully, he trusted that he should not be refused. His Royal Highness laughed at his disclo- sure, and, as there was no objection to giving O'Donahue a letter or two, with his usual good-nature he ordered them to be written, and having given them to him, wished him every success. O'Donahue bowed to the ground, and qnitted the Horse Guards, de- lighted with the success of his impudent attempt. Being thus-provided, the party set oft ina vessel bound to Hamburg, where they arrived without any accident, although very sea-sick ; from Hamburg they proceeded to Lubeck, and re-embarked at Travemiinde in a brig, which was bound for Riga: the wind was fair, and their passage was short. On their arrival they put up at an hotel, and finding themselves in a country where English was not understood, O’Donahue proceeded to the house of the English consul, informing him that he was going on a secret mission to Petersburg, and showing, as evidences of his respectability and the truth of his assertions. the letters given him bv his Royal Highness. These were quite sufficient for the consul, who immediately offered his services, Not being able to procure at Riga a courier who could speak French or English, the consul took a great deal of trouble to assist them in their long journey to Petersburg. He made outa list of the posts, the number of versts, and the money that was to be paid; he changed some , ? - . . of O’Donahue’s gold into Russian paper LE POACHER. g money, and gave all the necessary instrue-™ tions. The great difficulty was to find any™ carriage to carry them to the capital, but at last they found an old cabriolet on four wheels 3 which might answer, and, bidding adieu to the ¥ consul, they obtained horses, and set off. ‘Now, M‘Shane, you must take care of the money, and pay the driver,’ said O'’ Donahue, pulling out several pieces of thick paper, some coloured red, some blue, and others of a dirty white. ‘Is this money?’ said M‘Shane, with as- tonishment. ‘Yes, that’s roubles.’ ‘ ‘Roubles, are they? I wonder what they'd? call them in Ireland; they look like soup- tickets.’ - ‘Never mind. And now, M‘Shane, there are two words which the consul has told me to make use of : oneis core ; and when you say that, it means ‘‘Go fast,” and you hold up a small bit of money at the same time.’ ‘Score / well, that’s a word I shan't forget.’ ‘But, then, there’s another, which is % Scorae.’ ; ‘And what may be the English of that 2 “Why, that means “' Go Jaster ,’ and with that you hold up a larger piéce of money.’ ‘Why, then, it’s no use remembering Score at all, for Scorae will do much better ; so we need not burden ourselves with the first at all. Suppose we try the effect of that last word upon our bear-skin friend who is driving !’ M ‘Shane held up:a rouble, and called out to the driver—‘ Scorae!’ The fellow turned his head, smiled, and lashed his horses until 2 they were at the full speed, and then looked 4 back at them for approval. ‘By the powers, that’s no fool of a word ! it will take us all the way to St. Petersburg as fast as we wish.’ ‘We do not sleep on the road, but travel night and day,’ said O’Donahue, ‘ for there is no place worth sleeping at.’ ‘And the ’ating, O’Donahue ?’ = ‘We must get that by signs, for we have no am other means.’ ee On that point they soon found they had no difficulty ; and thus they proceeded, without, speaking a word of the language, day and night, until they arrived at the capital. At the entrance their passports were de- manded, and the officer at the guard-house came out and told them that a Cossack would accompany them. A Cossack, with a spear 2 as long as a fir-tree, and a beard not quite so long, then took them in-charge, and _ trotted before the carriage, the driver following him at a slow pace. ‘Ain't we prisoners ?” inguired M‘Shane. ‘I don’t know, but it looks very like it,’ re« plied O’Donahue. ii A,LHE POACHER however; was not the. case. “The age drove to a splendid street called the Nefisky Perspective, and as soon as it stopped at the entrance of an |} 1otel, the Cossack, after Speaking to the landlord, who came out took his departure, A journey of four hundred miles night, is no joke : our travellers fel] fast asleep in “their Spacious apartment; and it was not till the next day that they found themselves clean and comfortable, Joe ey being dressed in a rich livery, as a sort of page, and M ‘Shane doing duty as valet when others were present, and when sittin g alone with O’Donahue. taking his fair share of the bottle. ‘Two days after their arrival the landlord procured for O’Donahue a courier who could speak both English and French as well as Russia most every other language. It was 1 ved by O’Donahue and M‘Sh lane, in council, to dress him up in a splendid uni- form ; and a carriage having been hired for the month, O’Donahue felt th: at he was ina position to. present his credentials to the Eng- lish ambassador and the other parties for whom he had received letters of introduction. iS, and CHAPTER XIII. Ss some [Information relative to th of St. Petersburg. FOR 300 roubles a month, O’Donahue had procured a dtosk y very hand Isomely fitted up ; the shaft horse was a splendid trotter, and the other, a beautiful l-shaped- animal, capered about, curving Be neck until his nose almost touched his k nee, and prancing, so as to be the admiration of the passers-by. His coach- man, whose name was Athenasis, had the largest beard in St. Petersburg ; : Joey was the smallest tiger ; Dimitri one of. the tallest and handsomest yagers. Altogether, Can O'Donahue had laid out his money well; and on a fine, aw day, he set off to present his letters to the English ambassador and other parties. Alt hough the letters were very short, it was quite sufficient that they were written by so distinguished and so universal] yv beloved a person as his Royal Highness. The ambas- sador lord -Sti Hi, immediately desired O’ Donahue to consider his house open to him, requesting the pleasure of his company to dinner on the followit day, and offered to present him to the emperor at the first levée. O ‘Donahue took his le eave, delighted with his success, and then drove to the hotel of the Princess Woronzoff, Count Nesselrode, and Prince Gallitzen, where he found Ing himself &G equally weil received. After his visits were all p O'Donahue sported his Jae equipage on the English and and up and down ‘the Neffs for an tae or Avot and then hotel. ‘Iam very s SKY returned to the ‘said O'Donahue, after he had narrated to all that had taken place, ‘ that I permitted you to put yourself down on the pass} ort as valet in the foolish Way you have. You would have enjoyed yourself as much as I pr ‘obably shall, and have been in your proper position in society.’ ‘Then I’m not sorry atall, O'] ahue, and I'll tell you wh iy. I should hi uve enjoyed my- self, I do not doubt—but I should have en- joyea myself too much fter dining’ with ambassadors, and prince 1d counts, and all that thing—should [ *h ave gone back comfortable and contented to Mrs. M‘Shane and the cook’s shop? No, no, ’mnot ex- actly reconciled is; and if I were to be drinking champ: agne, and ’ating French kick. shaws with the Rus lan nobility for three or four months, dancing perhaps with princesses, and whispering | in the ears of duchesses, would: 1Cmy nose turn up with contempt at the beefsteak -ple, a mee Mrs. M ‘Shane, with all her kind smiles sek twice as corpu- lent as ever? No, no Pm better her I'ma wise man, although I : i ‘ Well, perhaps you.are, M I do not like that I should be money in this way Ww ithout your haying shate of it at least.’ ‘My share of it—now, O’Donahue, suppose I had come over here on my own account, where should I have been? I could not have mustered up the amiable impu dence you di to persuade the commander-in-chief to give me letters to the ambassador: nor could I have got up such a turn-out, nor have fitted the turn-out so well as you do. Ishould have been as stupid as an owl, just doing what I have done the whole of the Plecsed morning, for want of your company—looking after one of the floating bri ‘oss the river, and spit- ting into the stream, just to add my mite to the Baltic Sea.’ ‘I’m sorry you were not better amused.’ ‘T was amused ; for 1 was thinking of the good-humoured face of Mrs. M ‘Shane, which was much better than being in high company, and etting her entirely. Let me alone for amusing myself after my own fashion, O’ Donahue, and that’s all I wish. I suppose you have heard nothing in your travels about your Powlish Princess?’ ‘Of course not ; it will require some tact to bring in her name—I must do it as if by mere accident,’ port aS: 1 ene30 Shall I ask the courier if she isan acquain- tance of his ? ’ ‘ «An acquaintance, M‘shane > ‘J dont mean on visiting terms ; but if he knows anything about the family, or where they live ? “No, M‘Shane, we do not know mucl shall dine at the ambassador's to-morrow, there will be a large party. During the day, invitations parties were brought in from Gallitzin and Princess Woronzoff. ‘The plot thickens fast, as the saying iss observed M‘Shane; ‘you'll be certain to meet your fair lady at some of these places.’ ‘That is what I trust to do,’ replied O’Dona- hue ; ‘if not, as soon as I’m intimate, I shall make inquiries about her; but we must first see how the land lies.’ O'Donahue dined at the ambassador's, and went to the other parties, but did not meet with the object of his search. Being a good musician, he was much in request in so musical a society as that of St. Petersburg. ‘The em- peror was still at his country palace, and O’ Donahue had been more than a fortnight at the capital without there being an oppor- tunity for the ambassador to present him at court. Dimitri, the person whom O'Donahue en- gaged as courier, was a very clever, intelli- gent fellow ; and as he found that. O Dona- hue had all the liberality of an Irishman, and was in every respect a most indulgent master, he soon had his interest at heart. Perhaps the more peculiar intimacy between O'Dona- hue and M'‘Shane, as a valet, assisted Dimitri in forming a good opinion of the former, as the hauteur and distance generally preserved by the English towards their domestics are very displeasing to the continental servants, who, if permitted to be familiar, will not only serve you more faithfully, but be satisfied with more moderate wages. Dimitri spoke English and French pretty well, German -and_ Rus- sian of course perfectly. He was a Russian by birth, had been brought up at the Found- ling Hospital at Moscow, and therefore was not a serf. He soon became intimate with M‘Shane: and as soon as the latter dis- covered that there was no intention on the part of Dimitri to be dishonest, he was satis- fied, and treated him with cordiality. ‘Tell your master this,’ said Dimitri, ‘never to give his opinion on_ political matters before any one while in Petersburg, or he will be reported to the government, and will be looked upon with suspicion. All the servants and couriers here, indeed every. third person you meet is an agent of police,’ [ think you had better not , 1 of him at present. I fand for eyening the Prince THE POACHER. ‘Then it’s not-at all unlikely that you're one yourself,’ replied M ‘Shane. ‘Tam so,’ replied Dimitri, coolly, ‘and all the better for your master. I shall be ordered to make my report in a few days, and I shall not fail to do so.’ ‘ And what will they ask you ?’ said M ‘Shane. ‘‘Fhey will ask me first who and what your master is? Whether I have discovered from you, if he is of family and importance in his own country?,whether he has expressed any political opinions? and whether I have dis- covered the real business which brought him here ? ‘And what will you reply to all this ? an- swered M'‘Shane. ‘Why, I hardly know. I wish I knew what he wished me to say, for he is a gentle- man whom [ am very fond of, and that’s the truth ; perhaps you can tell me ?’ ‘Why, yes, I know a good deal about him, that's certain. As for his family there's not a better in Ireland or England, for he’s royal if he had his right.’ ‘What ! exclaimed Dimitri. ‘Assure a$ I’m sitting in this old arm-chair, didn’t he bring letters from the brother of the present king? does that go for nothing in this country of yours ? or do you value men by the length of their beards ?’ ‘Men are valued here not by their titles, but by their rank as officers. A general isa greater man than a prince,’ replied Dimitri. ‘With all my heart, for then I’m some- body,’ replied M ‘Shane. ‘You?’ replied the courier. “J mean my master,’ returned M‘Shane, correcting himself, ‘for he’s an officer, and a good one too.’ ‘Yes, that may be; but you said yourself, ’ replied the courier, laughing... ‘My good friend, a valet to any one in Petersburg is no better than one of the mujiks who work inthe streets, Well, I know that our master is an officer, and of high rank ; as for his political opinions, I have never heard him express any, except his admiration of the city, and of course of the emperor.’ ‘Most decidedly ; and of the empress also,’ replied M ‘Shane. ‘That is not at continued Dimitri, laughing. ‘In fact, he has no busi- ness to admire the empress.’ ‘But he admires. the government and the laws,’ said M‘Shane : ‘and you may add, my good fellow—the army and the navy—by the powers, he’s all admiration, all over !—you may take my word for it.’ ‘Well, I will do so; but then there is one other question to reply to, which is, why did he come here? what is his business ?' ‘To look about him, to be sure ; to spend all necessary,’THE POACHER. pe 31 his money like a gentleman; to give his letters of introduction; and to amuse him- self,’ replied M‘Shane. ‘ But this is dry talk- ing, so, Dimitri, order a bottle of champagne, and then we'll wet our whistle before we go on.’ ‘Champagne! will your master stand that ?” inquired Dimitri. ‘Stand it, to be sure, and he’d be very angry if he thought I did not make myself comfortable. Tell them to put it down in the bill for me ; if they doubt the propriety, let them ask my master.’ Dimitri went and ordered the champagne. As soon as they had a glass, Dimitri observed, ‘Your master is a fine liberal fellow, and I would serve him to the last day of my life ; but you see that the reasons you give for your master being here are the same as are given by everybody else, whether they come as spies or secret emissaries, or to foment insurrec- tion ; that answer, therefore, is considered ag no answer at all by the police (although very often a true one), and they will try to find out whether it is so or not.’ ‘What other cause can a gentleman like him have for coming here? He is not going to dirty his hands with speculation, informa- tion, or any other botheration,’ -replied M ‘Shane, tossing off his glass. ‘TI don't say so ; but his having letters from the king’s brother will be considered suspi- cious.’ “The devil it will! now in our country that would only create a suspicion that he was a real gentleman—that’s all.’ ‘You don’t understand this country,’ replied Dimitri. ‘No, :it beats my comprehension entirely, and that’s a fact; so fill-up your glass. 1 hope it’s not treason ; but if it is, I can’t help saying it. My good friend Dimitri , ‘Stop,’ said Dimitri, rising and shutting the door, ‘now, what is it 2’ ‘Why, just this; I haven’t seen one good- looking woman since I’ve been in this good- looking town of yours ; now, that’s the truth.’ ‘There’s more truth than treason “in that,’ replied the courier : ‘but still there are some beautiful women among the higher classes.’ ‘It’s to be hoped so, for they’ve left no beauty for the lower, at all events.’ ‘We have very beautiful women inPoland,’ said the courier. ‘Why don’t you bring a few here, then?” ‘There are a great many Polish ladies in Petersburg at this moment.’ ‘Then go down and order another bottle,’ said M‘Shane, ‘and we’ll drink their healths.’ The second bottle was finished, and M‘Shane, who had been drinking before, became less cautious, 2 “You said,’ observed he, ‘that you have many Polish ladies in Petersburg ; did you ever hear of a Princess Czartowinky ; I think that’s the name ?’ : s oat you mean,’ replied Dimitri ; ure I did; I served in the family some years ago, when the old prince was alive. But where did you see her?’ ‘In England, to be sure.’ ‘Well, that’s probable, for she has just re- turned from travelling with her uncle,’ ‘Is she now in Petersburg, my good fel- low ?’ ‘I believe she is—but why do you wish to know ?’ “Merely asked—that’s all.’ ‘Now, Macshanovich,’—-for such was the familiar way in which Dimitri addressed his supposed brother-servant—‘I suspect. this Princess Czartorinski is some way connected with your master’s coming here, Tell me the truth—is such the case? I’m sure it. is.’ ‘Then, you know more than I do,’ replied M ‘Shane, correcting himself, ‘for I’m not exactly in my master’s secrets ; all that. I do know is, that my master met her in England, and I thought her very handsome.’ ‘And so did he?’ ‘ That’s as may be ; between ourselves, I’ve an idea he was a little smitten in that quarter ; but that's only. my own opinion, nothing more. ‘Has he ever spoken about her since you were here ?’ said Dimitri. ‘Just once, as I handed his waistcoat to him ; he said—‘“ I wonder if all the ladies are as handsome as that Polish princess that we met in Cumberland ?”’’ ‘If I thought he wished it, or cared for her, I would make inquiry, and soon find out all about her; but otherwise, it’s no use taking the trouble,’ replied the courier. ‘Well, then, will you give me your hand, and promiseto serve faithfully, if I tell you all I know about the matter?’ ‘ By the blessed St. Nicholas, I do! replied Dimitri ; ‘ you may trust me.’ ‘Well, then, it's my opinion that my master’s over head and ears in love with her, and has come here for no other pur- pose,’ ‘Well, I’m glad you told me that ; it will satisfy the police.’ ‘The police; why, murder and - Irish ! you're not going to inform the police, you villain ?’ ‘Not with whom he is in love, most cer- tainly, but-that he has come here on that account ; it will satisfy them, for they have no fear of a man that’s in love, and he will not be watched. Depend upon it, I cannot do a better thing to serve our master,’LHE 32 ‘Well, then, perhaps you are right. I don’t like this champagne-—get a bottle of Bur- gundy, Dimitri. Don't look so hard—it’s all right. The captain dines out every day, and has ordered me to drink for the honour of the house.’ ‘He's a capital master, replied Dimitri, who had begun to feel the effects of the former bottles. As soon as the third bottle was tapped, M‘Shane continued — ‘Now, Dimitri, I’ve given my opinion, and I can tell you, if my master has, as I suspect, come here about this young lady, and suc- ceeds in obtaining her, it will bea blessed thing for you and me; for he’s as generous as the day, and has plenty of money. Do you know who she is ?” ‘To besure I do; she is an only daughter of the late Prince Czartorinski, and now a sort of ward under the protection of the em- peror. She inherits all the estates, except one which was left to found an hospital at War- saw, and is arich heiress. It is supposed the emperor will bestow her upon one of his generals... She is at the palace, and a maid of honour to the empress.’ ‘Whew ! whistled M‘Shane be a difficulty ?’ “won’t there ‘I should think so,’ replied the courier gravely. “tie must .run away with her,’ said M'‘Shane, aftera pause. ‘How will he get to see her ?’ ‘He will not see her, so as to speak with her, in the palace; that is not the custom 7} here; but he might meet her elsewhere -#@-be Sure, at.a party ora b: all,’ said M ‘Shane. ‘No, that would not do; ladies and gen- tlemen keep very much apart here in genera company. He might say a word ortwo when dancing, but that is all.’ ‘But how is he to meet her then in this cursed place of yours, if men and women keep at arm's length ?' ‘That must depend upon her. does she love him ?’ ‘Well, now, that’s a home question; she never told him she did, and she never told me, that’s certain ; but still I’ve an idea that she does.’ ‘Then all I can say, Macshanovich, is, that your master had better be very careful what he is about. Of course, he knows not that you have told me anything; but as soon as he thinks proper to trust me, I then will do my utmost in his service.’ ‘You speak like a very rational, intelligent courier,’ replied M‘Shane, ‘and so now let us finish the bottle. Here’s good luck to Captain O'Donahue, alive or dead : Tell me, sensible, POACHER. and now—please the fleas—I'll be asleep in less than ten minutes.’ CHAPTER -XFYV, Going to Court, and Courting. WHEN M'‘Shane awoke the next morning, he tried to recall what had passed between “him and Dimitri, and did not feel quite convinced that he had trusted him toomuch. ‘I think,’ said he, ‘it was all upon an zf_ Yes, sure; zf O’Donahue was in love, and zf she was, Yes, I’m sure that it was all upon z/. ~ How- ever, I must go and tell O’Donahue what has taken place.’ M'‘Shane did so; and O’Donahu little thought, replied; ‘ Well, e, after a I don’t know: perhaps it’s all for the best ; for you see I must have trusted somebody, and the diffi- culty would have been to know whom to trust, for everybody belongs to the police here I believ e: I think, myself, the fellow is honest ‘ at all events, I can make it worth his while to be SO. t fe would not have told me he belonged to the police if he wished to trap us,’ replied M ‘Shane. “That's very true, and on the whole I think we could not do better. But we are going on too fast; who knows whether she meant any- thing by neat she said to me when we parted ; or, if she did then, whether she may not have altered her mind since ? ‘Such things have been— O'Don ahue.’ And will be, as long as the world lasts, However, to-morrow I am to be presented— perhaps I may see her. iD glad that I know that I may chance to meet her, as I shall now be on my guar rd." And what shall I say ‘Say that you mentioned her name, and where she was, and that I had only replied, that | Hau like to see her again.’ ‘Exactly ; that will leave it an open ques- tion, as the saying is,’ replied M’Shane. > next day O’Donahue, in his uniform, drove to the ambassador’s hotel, to accompany that's a- fact, to Dimitri 2’ tT} i DE him to the Annishkoff palace, where he was to be presented to the emperor. O'’Donahue was most graciously received—the emperor walking up to him, as he stood in the circle, and inquiri ing after the heaith of his Royal Highness the Commander-in-Chief, what ser- vice he had been employed upon, &c. He then told O’Donahue that the empress would be most glad to make his acquaintance, and hoped that he would make a long stay at St. Petersburg.LHE POACHER. It was witha quickened pulse that O’Dona- hue followed the ambassador into the em- press’s apartments. He had not waited there more than five minutes, in conversation with the ambassador, when the doors opened, and the empress, attended by her chamberlain, and followed by her ladies in waiting and maids of honour, entered the room. O'’Dona- hue had made up his mind not to take his eyes off the empress until the presentation was over. As soonas he had ‘kissed hands, and answered the few questions which were graciously put to him, he retired to make room for others, and then, for the first time, did he venture to cast his eyes on the group of ladies attending theempress. The first that met his view were unknown, but, behind all the rest, he at length perceived the Princess Czartorinski, talking and laughing with another lady. After a short time she turned round, and their eyes met. The princess recognized him with a start, and then turned away and put her hand up to her breast, as if the shock had taken away her breath. Once more she turned her face to O'Donahue, and this time he was fully satis- fied by her looks that he was welcome. Ten minutes after, the ambassador summoned O’Donahue, and they quitted the palace. ‘“T have seen her, M ‘Shane,’ said O’Dona- hue; ‘she is more beautiful, and I am more in love than ever. And now, what am I to do?’ ‘ That’s just the difficulty,’ replied M ‘Shane. ‘Shall I talk with Dimitri, or shall I hold my tongue, or shall I think about it while you go to dinner at the ambassador's ?’ ‘I cannot dine out to-day, M‘Shane. I will write an excuse./ “Well, now, I do believe you’re in for it in good earnest. My love never spoiled my appetite; on the contrary, it was my appetite that made me fall in love.’ ‘I wish she had not been a princess,’ said O’Donahue, throwing himself on the sofa. ‘That’s nothing at all here,’ replied M‘Shane. ‘A princess is to be had. Now, if she had been a general it would have been all up with you. Military rank is everything here, as Dimitri says.’ ‘She's an angel,’ replied O’Donahue, with a sigh, ‘That's rank in heaven, but goes for nothing in Petersburg,’ replied M ‘Shane. ‘Dimitri tells me they've c7vz/ generals here, which I conceive are improvements on our staff, for devil a civil general I’ve had the pleasure of serving under.’ ‘ What shall I*do,’ said O’Donahue, getting up and preparing to write his note to the am- bassador. ‘Eat your dinner, drink a bottle of cham- ’ 33 pagne, and then I’ll come and talk it over with you ; that’s all you can do at present. Give me the note, and Ill send Dimitri off with it at once, and order up your dinner.’ M ‘Shane's advice not being very bad, it was followed. O’Donahue had finished his dinner, and was sitting by the fire with M‘Shane, when there was a knock at the door. M‘Shane was summoned, and soon returned, ‘saying, ‘There’s a little fellow that wants to speak with you, and won't give his message. He’s a queer little body, and not so bad-looking either, with a bolster on the top of his head, and himself not higher than a pillow ; a pigeon could sit upon his shoulder and peck up peas out of his shoes ; he struts like a grenadier, and, by the powers! a grenadier’s cap would serve as an extinguisher for him. Shall I show him in ?’ ‘Certainly,’ replied O‘Donahue. The reader may not be aware that there is no part of the globe where there are so many dwarfs as at St. Petersburg ; there is scarcely an hotel belonging toa noble family without one or two, if not more; they are very kindly treated, and are, both in appearance and temper, very superior to the dwarfs occasionally met with elsewhere. One of this diminutive race now entered the room, dressed in a Turkish costume; he was re< markably well made and handsome in person ; he spoke sufficient French to inquire if he ad- dressed himself to Captain O' Donahue ; and on being replied to in the affirmative, he gave him a small billet, and then seated himself on the sofa with all the freedom of a petted menial. O'Donahue tore open the note ; it was very short :— ‘As I know you cannot communicate with me, 1 write to say that I was delighted at your having kept your promise. You shall hear from me again as soon as I know where I can meet you; in the meantime be cautious. The bearer is tobetrusted; he pelt me. aia O’Donahue pressed the paper to his lips, and then sat down to reply. We shall not trouble the reader with what he said ; it is quite sufficient that the lady was content with the communication, and also at the report from her little messenger of the Captain's be- haviour when he had read her billet. Two or three days afterwards, O’Donahue received a note from a German widow lady, a Countess Erhausen, particularly requesting he would call upon her in the afternoon, at three o’clock. As he had not as yet had the pleasure of being introduced to the countess, although he had often heard her spoken of in the first society, O’Donahue did not fail in 234 THE POACHER. his appointment, as he considered that it was you must do so to avoid suspicion. You have } possible that the Princess Czartorinski might been here very often, and your equipage has been be connected with it; nor was he déceived; constantly seen at the door. bres supposed for/on his entering the saloon, he found the you do not come on my account, it will be in- princess sitting on the sofa with Madame quired why -you do come: and there is no Erhausen, a young and pretty woman, not keeping a secret at Petersburg. After it is more than twenty-five years of age. ‘Ihe supposed that it is a settled affair between us, princess rose, and greeted Captain O’Donahue, we then may consider what next ought to be and then introduced the countess as her first. done. My regard for my cousin alone ine cousin. A few minutes after his introduction, duces me to consent to this ; indeed; it is the the countess retired, leaving them alone. only way she could avoid future misery,’ O'Donahue did not lose this Opportunity of ‘But is the emperor so despotic on these pouring out the real feelings of his heart. points ?’ ‘You have come a long way to see me, ‘An emperor is not to be trifled with ; a Captain O'Donahue, and I ought to be. ward of the emperor is considered sacred—at grateful,’ replied the princess; ‘indeed Ihave least, so far. that if a Russian were to wed one much pleasure in renewing our acquaintance.’ without permission, he probably would be O’Donahue, however, did not appear satis- sent to Siberia. With an Englishman it is fied with this mere “admission : he became different, perhaps ; and, once married, you eloquent in his own cause, pointed. out the would be safe, as you could claim the pro- cruelty of having brought him over to see her tection of your ambassador: The great point again if he was not to be rewarded, and, _ is, to let it be supposed. that you are about to after about an hour's pleading, he was sitting marry some one. else ; and then, suspicion on the sofa by her side, with her fair hand in not being awakened, you may gain your his, and his arm-round her slender waist. wish.’ They parted, but through the instrumentality ‘But tell me, madame,—tiat I may be safe of the little dwarf, they often met again atthe from ‘the emperor's. displeasure is true—but Same rendezvous. Occasionally they met in would the princess, after he discovered it? - society, but before others they were obliged Could he not take her away from me, and to appear constrained and formal; there was send her to Siberia for disobedience ? little pleasure in such meetings, and when ‘I hope. by the means I propose, to get you O'Donahue could not see the princess his both clear of the emperor—at least till his dis- chief pleasuue was to call upon Madame pleasure is softened down. Me he cannot Erhausen and talk about her. hurt ; he can only order me. out. of. his “You are aware, Captain O'Donahue,’ said dominions., As. for the princess, I should the countess, one day, ‘that there will be a think, that, if once married to you, she would great difficulty to overcome in this affair. Thé be safe, for you could claim the protection ef Princess is a sort of ward of the emperor's, the ambassador for her, as your wife, as well and it is said that he has already, in his own as for yourself. Do you comprehend me a\ Maind, disposed of her hand.’ now ?’ ‘I am aware of that,’ replied O'Donahue, ‘I do, madame; and may blessings follow ‘and I know no other means than running you for your kindness, I shall in. future act J away with her,’ but by your directions ?’ : ‘That would never do,’ replied the ‘That is exactly what I wished you to say; countess ; ‘you could not leave Petersburg and so now, Captain O'Donahue, farewell.’ without passports ; nor could she leave the palace for more than an hour or two without being missed. You would soon be discovered and then you would lose her for ever.’ CHAPTER SEV, ‘Then what can I do, my dear madame? \ Runaway anda heuer 2 . £ away a < arc Irs . Shall I throw myself upon the indulgence of : ? the emperor?’ “WELL, now,’ said M‘Shane, after he had ‘No, that would not answer either; she is been informed by O'Donabue of what had 800 rich a prize to be permitted to go into passed between him and the countess,—<‘ this foreign hands, I'll tell you what you must is all very pretty, and looks very well ; but first do.’ tell me, are we to trust that fellow, Dimitri ? ‘ I'm all attention,’ Can we do without him? I should say not, “You must make Jove to me,’ replied the when it comes ‘to the finale; and is it not countess. ‘Nay, understand me; I mean dangerous to keep him out of our confidence, . that you must appear to make love to me, and being such a sharp, keen-witted fellow ? Nay, the report of our marriage must be spread. more, as he has Stated his wish to serve you he emperor will not interfere in such a case ; in any way, it is only treating him fairly. HeTHE POACHER, knows the little dwarf who has been here so often; indeed, they were fellow-servants in the Czartorinski family, for he told me so. I would trust him.’ ‘ I think so, too; but we must not tell him all ‘No, that we certainly need not, for he will find it out without telling.’ ‘Well, M‘Shane, do as you please; but, on second thoughts, I will speak to the countess to-morrow.’ O'Donahue did so, the countess called upon the princess at the palace, and the next morn- ing O’Donahue received a note, stating that Dimitri was to be trusted. O’Donahue then sent for the courier, and told him that he was about to put confidence in him on a promise of his fidelity. ‘T understand you, sir, and all you intend to do; there is no occasion to say anything more to me, until you want my assistance. I will not, in the meantime, neglect your in- terest, for I hope to remain with you, and that is the only reward I ask for any services I may perform. I have only one remark to make now, which is, that it will be necessary, a few days before-you leave Petersburg, to let me know, that I may advertise it.’ ‘ Advertise it !’ ‘Yes, sir, you. must advertise your depar- ture, that you may not run away in debt. Such is the custom; and without three notices being sput in the Gazette, the police will not give you your passport.’ ‘I am glad that you mentioned it. Of course you are aware that I am paying atten- tion to the Countess Errhausen, and shall leave Petersburg with her, I trust, as my wife 2”. ‘I undesstand, sir, and shall take care that your intimacy there shall be known to every- body.’ #0 Saying, Dimitri left the room. The winter now set in with unusual severity. The river was one mass of ice, the floating bridges had been removed, the Montagnes- Russes became the amusement of the day, and the sledges were galloping about in every direction. For more than a month O’Donahue continued his pretended addresses to the fair cousin of the princess, and during that time he did not once see the real object of his attachment ;.indeed, the dwarf never made his appearance, and all communication, except an occasional note from her to the countess, was, from prudence, given up. The widow was rich, and had often been pressed to renew her bonds, but had preferred her liberty. O’Donahue, therefore,, was looked upon as a fortunate man, and congratulated upon his success. Nor did the widow..deny the projected union, except in a manner so ag 35 to induce people to believe in the certainty of its being arranged. O'’Donahue’s equipage was always at her door, and it was expected that the marriage would immediately take place, when O’Donahue attended a levée given by the emperor on the feast of St. Nicholas. The emperor, who had been very civil to O’Donahue, as he walked past him, said. ‘ Well, Captain O’Donahue, so 1 under- Stand that you intend to run away with one of our fairest and prettiest ladies—one of the greatest oniaments of my court ?’ ‘I trust that I have your Majesty’s per- mission so to do ?’ replied O’ Donahue, bowing low. ‘O, certainly you have; and, our best wishes for your happiness.’ ‘I humbly thank your Majesty,’ replied O'Donahue ; ‘still I trust your Majesty does not think that I wish to transplant her to my own country altogether, and that I shall, be permitted to reside, for the major part of thé ear, in. your Majesty's dominions.’ ‘Nothing will give me greater pleasure ; and it will be a satisfaction to feel that I shall gain instead of lose by the intended marriage.’ ‘By the powers! but I will remind him of this, some day or another,’ thought O’Dona- hue. ‘Haven’t I his permission to the mar- riage, and to remain in the country ?’ I’verything was now ripe for the execution of the plot.. The countess gave out that she was going to her country-seat, about ten miles from St. Petersburg ; and it was natu- rally supposed that she was desirous that the marriage should be private, and that she intended to retire there to have the ceremony performed; and O’Donahue advertised his departure in the Gazette. ‘The Princess Czartorinski produced a letter from the countess, requesting her, as a favour, to obtain leave from the empress to pass twe or three days with her in the country ; and the empress, as the countess was first cousin to the princess, did not withhold her consent ; on the contrary, when the princess left the palace, she put a case of jewels in her hand, saying,‘ These are for the bride, with the good wishes and protection of the empress, as long as she remains in this country.’ One hour afterwards O’ Donahue was rewarded for all his long forbearance by clasping his, fair one in his arms. A priest had been provided, and was sent forward to the country chateau, and at ten in the morning all the parties were ready. The princess and her cousin set off in the carriage, followed by O’Donahue, with M ‘Shane and his suite, Everything was en régle. The passports had been. made out for Germany, to which country it was reported the countess would proceed a few days after the marriage, and the princess was to return moreover,36 to the palace. As soon as they arrived at the chateau the ceremony was performed, and O'Donahue obtained his prize ; and to guard against any mishap, it was decided that they should leave the next morning, on their way to the frontier. Dimitri had been of the greatest use, had prepared against every diffi- culty, and had fully proved his fidelity. The parting between the countess and her cousin was tender. ‘How much do I Owe, dear friend,’ said the princess. ‘What risk do you Incur for me? How will you brave the anger of the emperor ?’ ‘I care little for his anger. Tama woman, and not a subject of his; but, before you go, you must both write a letter—your husband to the emperor, reminding him of his having given his consent to the marriage, and his wish that he should remain in his dominions ; and let him add his sincere wish, if permiited, to be employed in his Majesty’s service. You, My dear cousin, must write to the empress, reminding her of her promise of protection, and soliciting her good offices with the em- peror. I shall play my own game; but, depend upon it, it will all end ina laugh.’ O'Donahue and _ his wife both wrote their letters, and O’Donahue also wrote one to the English ambassador, informing him of what had taken place, and requesting his kind offices. As soon as they were finished, the countess bade them farewell, saying, ‘I shall not send these letters until you are well out of reach, ‘depend upon it; and, with many thanks for her kindness, O’Donahue and his bride bade her adieu, and set off on their long journey: ‘The carriage procured for their journey was What is called a German batarde, which is very similar to an English chariot with coach- box, fixed upon a sleigh. - Inside were O’Donahue ard his young bride, M‘Shane referring to ride outside on the box with Rory. that he might not be in the way, asa third person invariably is, with a newly-mar- ried couple. The snow was many feet deep on the ground, but the air was dry, and the sun shone bright. ‘The bride was handed in, enveloped ina rich mantle of sable; O’Dona- hue followed, equally protected against the cold ; while M‘Shane and Joey fixed them- selves on the box, so covered up in robes of wolf-skins, and wrappers of bear-skins for their feet, that vou could see but the tips of their noses. On the front of the sleigh, below the box of the carriage, were seated the driver and the courier; four fiery young horses were pawing with impatience ; the signal was given, and off they went, at the rate of sixteen miles an hour. ‘Where's the guns, Joey, and the pistols, and the ammunition ?’ inquired M'‘Shane ; LHE POACHER. ’ ‘we're going through a wild I expect.’ ‘I have put theny in myself, and I can lay my hands on them immediately, sir,’ replied Joey; ‘the guns are behind ‘us, and your pistols and the ammunition are at my feet ; the captain's are in the carriage.’ ‘That's all right, then: I like to know vhere to lay my hands upon my tools, Just have the goodness to look at my nose now anc then, Joey, and if you see a white spot on the tip of it, you'll be pleased to tell me, and I'll do the same for you. Mrs. M‘Shane would be anythinz but pleased if I came home with only half a handle to my face.’ The journey was continued at the same rapid pace until the close of-the day, when they arrived at the post-house; there they stopped, M'‘Shane and Joey, with the assist- ance of the courier, preparing their supper from the stores which they brought with them. After supper they retired, O’Donahue and his wife sleeping in the carriage, which was arranged so as to form a bed if required ; while M‘Shane and Joey made it- out how they could upon the cloaks, and what litle straw they could procure, on the floor of the post-house, where, as M‘Shane said the next morning, they ‘had more bed-fellows ‘than were agreeable, although he contrived to get a few hours’ sleep in spite of the jumping vagabonds.’ When they rose the next morn- ing, they found that the snow had just bégun to fall fast. As soon as they had breakfasted they set out, nevertheless, and proceeded at the same pace. M ‘Shane telling Joey, who Was, as well as himself, almost imbedded in it before the day was half over, that it was ‘better than rain, at all events ; to be sure that was cold comfort, but any comfort is better than none. O'Donahue’s request for M ‘Shane to come inside was disregarded ; he Was as tough as little Joey, at all events, and it would bea pity to interrupt the conversa- tion. About four o'clock they had changed their horses at a small village, and were about three miles on their last stage, for that day's journey, when they passed through a pine forest. ‘There’s a nice place for an ambuscade, Joey, if there were any robbers about here; observed M‘Shane. ‘Murder and_ Irish! What's those chaps running among the trees so fast, and keeping pace with us? | say, Dimitri,” continued M ‘Shane, pointing to them, ‘what are those ?’ ‘The courier looked in the direction pointed out, and as soon as he had done so, spoke to the driver, who, casting his eyes hastily in the direction, applied the lash to his horses, and Set off with double speed. ‘Wolves, sir,’ replied the eourier, who then | sort of country,THE POACHER. 37 pulled out his pistols, and commenced loadine them. _ “Wolves !’ said M‘Shane, ‘and hungry enough, I'll warrant ; but they don’t hope to make a meal of us, do they? At all events we will give them a little fight for it. Come, Joey, I see that Dimitri don’t like it, so we must shake off the snow, and get our ammu- nition ready.’ This was soon done; the guns were un- strapped from the back of the coach-box, the pistols got from beneath their feet, ‘and all were soon ready, loaded and primed. “It's lucky there’s such a mist on the win- dows of the carriage, that the lady can’t see what we're after, or she’d be ‘ened, per- haps,’ said Joey. The rapid pace at which the driver had put his horses had for a time left the wolves in the rear ; but now they were seen following the carriage at about a quarter of a mile distant, having quitted the forest and taken to the “Here they come, the devils! one, two, hree—there are seven of them. I suppose is what they call a covey in thes2 parts. you ever wolf-hunting before, }:2y ?’ don’t call this wolf-hunting,’ replied ‘I think the wolves are hunting us.’ It’s all the same, my little poacher—it’s a nt, at all events. are gaining on us we shall soon come to an explanation.’ ‘The courier now climbed up to the coach- box to reconnoitre, and he shook his head, telling them in very plain English that he did not like it; that he had heard that the wolves were out, in consequence of the extreme seve- ’ the weather, and that he feared that dark before they were at the end of it. ‘Have you ever been chased by them before?’ said Joey. ‘ Yes,’ replied the courier, ‘more than once ; horses that they are so anxious to get ‘Three of our horses are very good, but the fourth is not very well, the driver says, and he is fearful that he will not hold out ; however, we must keep them off as long as we can ; we must not shoot at them till the last moment.’ ‘Why not 2?’ inquired M ‘Shane. ‘Because the whole pack would scent the blood at miles, and redouble their efforts to come up with us. ‘There is an empty bottle by you, sit ; throw it on the road behind the arriage ; that will stop them for a time.’ ‘An empty bottle stop them! well, that’s queer : it may stop a man drinking, because he can get no more out of it. However, as you please, gentlemen ; here's to drink my it’s the 1 ie / health, bad manners to you,’ said M‘Shane, throwing the bottle over the Carriage. The courier was right: at the sight of the bottle in the road, the wolves, who are of a most suspicious nature, and think that there Sa trap laid for them in everything, stopped short, and gathered round it cautiously ; the Calriage proceeded, and in a few minutes the animals were nearly out of sight. ‘Well, 4 bothers me_ entirely,’ said M‘Shane ; ‘an empty bottle is as good to them as a charged gun.’ ‘But look, sir, they are coming on again,’ said Joey, ‘and faster than ever. I suppose they were satisfied that there was nothing in it. The courier mounted again to the box where Joey and M‘Shane were standing. ‘TI think you had a ball of twine,’ said he to Joey, ‘when you were tying down the baskets ; where is it?’ ‘It is here under the cushion,’ replied Joey, searching for and producing it. ‘What shall we find to tie to it?’ said the courier; ‘something not too heavy—a bottle won't do.’ ‘What's it for?’ inquired M ‘Shane. ‘To trail, sir,’ replied the courier. ‘To trail! I think they’re fast enough upce- our trail already; but if you want to he > them, a red herring’s the thing.’ ‘No, sir;.a piece of red cloth would do better,’ replied the courier. ‘Red cloth! One would think you were fishing for mé el,’ rephed M‘Shane. ‘Will this piece of black cloth do, which was round the lock of the gun ?_said Joey. ‘Yes, I think it will,’ replied the courier. ‘The courier made fast the cloth to the end of the twine, and throwing it clear of the car- iage, let the ball run out, until he had little e than the bare end in his hand, and the cloth was about forty yards behind the car- lage, dragging over the snow. ‘‘They will not pass the cloth, sir,’ said the ‘they think that it’s a trap.’ enough the wolves, which had been gaining fast on the carriage, w retreated again ; and although they continued the pur- suit, it was ata great distance. ‘We have an hour and a haif mote to go before we-arrive, and it will be dark, Im afraid,’ said the courier; ‘all depends upon the horse holding out; I’m sure the pack is not far behind.’ ow many are there in courier ; a pack ?’ in- s shoulders. ‘ Perhaps two or three hun “Oh! the devil! .Don't I home with Mrs. M ‘Shane.’ For half an hour they continuec their rapid wisn I was at38 pace, when the horse referred to showed symptoms of weakness. Still the wolves had not advanced beyond the piece of black cloth which trailed behind the carriage. ‘I think that, considering that they are so hungry, they are amazing shy of the bait,’ said M‘Shane. ‘By all the powers, they've stopped again |’ Os ‘The string has broke, sir; and they are examining the cloth,’ cried Joey. ‘Is there much line lett? courier, with some alarm. : “No, it has broken off by rubbing against the edge of the carriage behind.’ The courier spoke to the driver, who now rose from his seat and lashed his horses furiously : but although three of the horses were still fresh, the fourth could not keep up with them, and there was every prospect of his being dragged dowron his knees, as more than once he stumbled and nearly fell. In the meantime the wolves had left the piece of cloth behind them, and were coming up fast with the carriage. ‘We must fire on them now, sir,’ said the courier, going back to his seat, ‘or they will tear the flanks of the horses.’ M’Shane and Joey seized their guns, the headmost wolfwas now nearly ahead of the carriage ; Joey fired, and the animal rolled over in the snow. ‘That's a good shot, Joey; load again ; here's at another. M‘Shane fired, and missed the animal, which rushed forward; the courier’s pistol, however, brought it down, just as he was springing on thehindmost horses. O’Donahue, astonished at the firing, now lowered down the glass, and inquired the reason. M'‘Shane replied, that the wolves were on them,-and that he'd better load ‘his pistols in case they were required. The wolves hung back a little upon the second one falling, but still continued the chase, although at a more respectable dis- inquired the tance. The road was now ona descent, but the sick horse could hardly hold on_ his legs. > ‘A little half-hour more and we shall be in the town,’ said the courier, climbing up to the coach-seat, and looking up the road they had passed. ‘ But St. Nicholas preserve us !’ he exclaimed ; and he turned round and spoke in hurried accents to the driver in the Russian language. . . thot Again the driver lashed furiously, but in vain ; the poor horse was dead beat. : ‘What is the matter now?’ inquired M ‘Shane. “Do you see that black mass coming down the hill? it’s the main pack of wolves ; I fear we are lost ; the horse cannot go on.’ LHE POACHER. ‘Then why not cut his traces, and go on with the three others ?’ cried Joey. ‘The boy is right,’ replied the man, ‘and there is no time to lose.’ The courier went down on the sleigh, spoke to the driver in Russian, and the horses were pulled up. The courier jumped out with his. knife, and com- menced cutting the traces of the tired horse, while the other three, who knew that the wolves were upon them, plunged furiously in’ their harness, that they might proceed. It was a trying moment. The five wolves now came up; the first two were brought down by the guns of M'‘Shane and Joey, and O’Donahue killed a third from the carriage windows. One of the others advanced furiously, and sprang upon the horse which the courier was cutting free. Joey leapt down, and put his pistol to the animal's head, and blew out his brains, while M‘Shane, who had followed our hero, with the other pistol disabled theonly wolf that remained. But this danger which they had escaped from was nothing compared to that which threatened them ; the whole pack now came sweeping like a torrent down the hill, witha Simultaneous yell which might well strike error into the bravest. The horse, which had fallen down when the wolf seized him, was still not clear of the sleigh, and the other three were quite unmanageable. M‘Shane, Joey, and the courier at last drew him clear from the track ; they jumped into their places, and away they started again like the wind, for the horses were maddened with fear. The whole pack of wolves was not one hundred yards from them when they recommenced their ‘Speed, and even then M‘Shane considered that there was no hope. But the horse that was left on the road ptoved their salvation ; the starved animals darted upon it, piling themselves one on the other, snarling and tearing each other in their conflict for the feast. It was soon over; in the course of three minutes the carcass had disappeared, and the major portion of the pack renewed their pursuit ; but the carriage had proceeded too far ahead of them, and their speed being now uninterrupted, they gained the next vil- lage, and O'Donahue. had the satisfaction of leading his terrified bride into the chamber at the post-house, where she fainted as soon as she was placed in a chair. “Ti tell you what, Joey, I’ve had enough | of wolves for all my life,’ said M‘Shane ; ‘and Joey, my boy, you're a good shot in the first place, and a brave little fellow in the next; here's a handful of roubles, as they call them, for you to buy lollipops with, but I don’t think you'll find a shop that sells them here- abouts. Never mind, keep your sweet tooth a ae TyTHE POACHER. till you get to old England again; and after I tell Mrs. M‘Shane what you have done for us this day, she will allow you to walk into a leg of beef, or round a leg of mutton, or dive into a beefsteak pie, as long as you live,-whe- ther it be one hundred years more or less, I’ve said it, and don't you forget it ; and now, as the wolves have not made their supper upon us, let us go and see what we can sup upon ourselves,’ CHAP? ERY var Return to England. THE remainder of the journey was completed without any further adventure, and they at last found themselves out of the Russian dominions, when they were met by the uncle of the princess, who, as a Pole, was not sorry that his niece had escaped from being wedded toa Russian. He warmly greeted O’ Donahue, as his connection, and immediately exerted all the interest which he had at the court to pacify the emperor. When the affair first became known, which it soon did, by the princess not returning to court, his Majesty was anything but pleased at being outwitted ; but the persuasions of the empress, the plead- ing of the English ambassador, who exerted himself strenuously for O’ Donahue, with the efforts made in other quarters, and, more than all, the letter of O’Donahue, proving that the emperor had given his consent (unwittingly, it is true), coupled with his wish to enter into his service, at last produced the desired effect, and after two months a notice of their pardon and permission to return was at last de- spatched by the empress. O’Donahue con- sidered that it was best to take immediate advantage of this turn in his favour, and retrace his way to the capital. M ‘Shane, who hac been quite long enough in the situation of a domestic, now announced his intention to return home; and O’Donahue, aware that he was separating him from his wife, did not, of course, throw any obstacle in the way of his departure. Our little’ hero, who has lately become such a cypher in our narrative, was now the subject of consideration. O’Donahue wished him to remain with him, but M ‘Shane opposed it. ‘T tell you, O’Donahue, that it’s no kind- ness to keep him here ; the boy is too good to be a page at a lady's shoestring, or evena servant to so great a man as you are yourself now: besides, how will he like being buried here in a foreign country, and never go back to old England ?” ‘But what will he_do better in England, M ‘Shane ?” ao J ‘Depend upon it, major,’ said the princess, for she was now aware of M‘Shane’s rank, ‘I will treat him like a son.’ ‘Still he will be a servant, my lady, and that's not the position—although, begging your pardon, an emperor might be proud to be your servant; yet that’s not the position for little Joey.’ ‘ Prove that you will do better for him, M'‘Shane, and he is yours; but without you do, I am too partial to him to like to part with kim. His conduct on the journey—— ,! ‘Yes, exactly ; his conduct on the journey, when the wolves would have shared us out between them, is one great reason for my objection. He is too good for a menial, and that’s the fact. You ask me what I intend to do with him ; it is not so easy to answer that question, because, you see, my lady, there’s a certain Mrs. M‘Shane in the way, who must be consulted; but. I think that when I tell her, what I consider to be as near the truth as most things which are said in this world, that if it had not been for the courage and activity of little Joey, a certain Major M ‘Shane would have been by this eaten and digested by a pack of wolves, why, I then think, as Mrs. M‘Shane and I have no child, nor prospect of any, as I know of, that’she may be well inclined to come into my way of thinking, and of adopting him as her own son ; but, of course, this cannot be said without my consulting with Mrs. M‘Shane, seeing as how the money is her own, and she has a right to do as she pleases with it. ‘That, indeed, alters the case, replied O’Donahue, ‘and I must not stand in the way of the boy’s interest; still I should like to do something for him.’ ‘You have done something for him, O’ Donahue ; you have prevented his starving ; and if he has been of any use to you, it is ‘but your reward—so you and he are quits. Well, then, it is agreed that I take him with me?’ ‘Yes,’ replied O’Donahue, ‘I cannot refuse my consent after what you have said.’ Two days after this conversation the parties separated, O’Donahue, with his wife, accom- panied by Dimitri, set off on their return to St. Petersburg ; while M‘Shane, who had provided him with a proper passport, got into the diligence, accompanied by little Joey, on his way back to England. CHAPTER XVII. The Day after the Murder. WE must now return to the village of Grass- ford, and the cottage in which we left Rush- brook and his wife, who had been raised upfrom the floor by her husband, and, having now recovered from her swoon, was crying bitterly for the loss of her son, and the dread of her husband's crime being discovered. For some time Rushbrook remained in silence, looking at ihe embers in the grate: Mum sometimes would look piteously in his master’s face, at other times he would slowly approach the weeping woman. The intelligence of the animal told him that something was wrong. Finding himself unnoticed, he would then go to the door by which Joey had quitted, snuff at the crevice, and return.to his master’s side. ‘I'm glad that he's off,’ at last muttered Rushbrook ; ‘ he's a fine boy, that.’ ‘Yes, he is,’ replied Jane ; ‘ but when shall I behold him again ?’ ‘ By-and-by, never fear, wife.. We must not stay in this place, provided this affair blows over.’ ‘Tf it does, indeed !’ ‘Come, come, Jane, we have every reason to hope it will; now, let’s go to bed; it would not do, if any one should happen to have been near‘the spot, and to have found out what has taken place, for us _to be dis- covered not to have been in bed all night, or even for’a light to be seen at the cottage by any early riser. Come, Jane, let’s to bed,’ Rushbrook and his wife retired, the light was extinguished, and all was quiet, except conscience, which still tormented and kept Rushbrook turning to the right and left con- tinually. Jane slept not: she listened to the wind ; the slightest noise—the crowing of the cock—startled -her, and soon footsteps were heard of those passing the windows. They could remain in bed no longer. Jane arose, dressed, and lightec fire : Rush- 1 the brook remained sitting on the side of the bed in deep thought. ‘I've been thinking, Jane,’ said he, at last, ‘it would be better to make away with Mum,’ ‘With the dog ? Why, it can’t speak, poor thing. No—no—don't kill the poor dog.’ ‘He can't speak, but the dog has sense; may lead them to the spot.’ ‘And if he were to do so, what then? it would prove nothing.’ ‘No! only it would go harder against Joey.’ ‘ Against the boy! yes, it might convince them that Joey did the deed; but, still, the very killing of the animal would look sus- picious : tie him up, Rushbrook; that will do as well.’ ‘ Perhaps better,’ replied he ; ‘tie him up in the back kitchen, there’s a good woman.’ Jane did so, and then commenced preparing the breakfast ; they had taken. their seats, When the latch of the door was lifted up, and Furness, the schoolmaster, looked in. This he THE POACHER: he was often in_the habit of doing, to call Joey out to accompany him to school. ‘Good-morning,’ he said; ‘now, where's my friend, Joey ?’ ‘Come in, come in, neighbour, and shut the door,’ said Rushbrook ; ‘I wish to speak to you. so, my missus will give you a good one.’ ‘Well, as Mrs. Rushbrook does make everything so good, I don't care if I do, al- though I have had breakfast. But where's my friend, Joey ? the lazy little dog ; is he not up yet? Why, Mrs. Rushbrook, what's the matter ? you look distressed.’ ‘Tam, indeed,’ replied Jane, putting her apron to her eyes. ‘Why, Mrs. Rushbrook, what is it?’ in- quired the pedagogue. ‘Just this ; we are in great trouble about Joey. When we got up this morning we found that he was not in bed, and he has never been home since.’ ‘Well, that is queer; why, young scamp be gone to 2’ ‘We don’t know; but we find that he took my gun with him, and I’m afraid—— and here Rushbrook paused, shaking his head, ‘Afraid of what ?’ ‘That he has gone poaching, and has been taken by the keepers.’ ‘ But did he ever do so before fr’ ‘Not by night, if he did by day. I cant tell; he always has had a hankering that way. ‘Well, they do whisper the same of you, neighbour. Why do you’keep a gun?’ ‘I've carried a gun alt my life,’ replied Rushbrook, ‘and I don’t choose to be without one; but that’s not to the purpose; the question is, what would you advise us to do ?: ‘Why, you see, friend Rushbrook,’ replied the schoolmaster, ‘advice in this question bes comes rather difficult. poaching, as you imagine, and has been taken up, as you suspect, why, then, you will soon hear of it : you, of course have had no hand in it.’ ‘Hand in it!—hand in what?’ replied Rushbrook. like him with a gun ?’ ‘T should think not; and therefore it i§ evident that he has acted without the concurs tence of his parents. but, still, it will not help Joey ; neither do I think you will be able to recover the gun} where can the which I anticipate will become a deodand tog the lord of the manor.’ ‘But, the child—what will become of him # exclaimed Jane. ‘What will become of him? why as he is of tender years, they will not transport him— Mayhap you'll take a cup of tea ; if That will acquit you g™ ici taints Siete Bag hte eas eh aero aie If Joey has been ‘Do you think we trust a child at least, I should think not; they may im=§THE POACHER. prison him for a few months, and order him to be privately whipped. I do not see what you can do but remain quiet. I should re- commend you not to say.one syllable about it until you hear more.’ ‘ But suppose we do not hear ?’ ‘That is to suppose that he did not go out with the gun to poach, but upon some other expedition.’ ‘What else could the boy have gone out for ?’ said Rushbrook, hastily. ‘Very true; it is not very likely that he went out to commit murder,’ replied the peda- gogue. At the word ‘murder’ Rushbrook started from his chair ; but, recollecting himself, he sat down again. ‘No, no, Joey commit murder !’ he. ‘Ha; = ha, ha—no,; murderer.’ ‘I should suspect not. Well, Master Rush- brook, I will dismiss my scholars this morn- ing, and make every inquiry for you. Byres will be able to ascertain very soon, for he knows the new keeper at the manor house.’ ‘Byres help. you, did you say? No, no, res never will,’ replied Rushbrook, solemnly. And why not, my friend ? Why,’ ‘replied Rushbrook, recollecting himself, ‘he has not been over cordial with me lately.’ ‘Nevertheless, depend upon it, he will if he can,’ replied Furness ; ‘if not for you, he will for me. Good-morning, Mrs. Rushbrook, I will hasten away now; but will you_not go with me?’ continued Furness, appealing to Rushbrook. ‘T will go another way; it’s no use both going the saine road.’ - ‘Very true,’ replied the pedagogue, who had his reasons for not wishing the company of Rushbrook, and Furness then left the house. Mr. Furness found all his “boys assembled in the schgolroom, very busily employed thumbing their books; he ordered silence, and informed them, that in consequence of Joey being missing, he was going to assist his father to look after him; and therefore they would have a holiday for that day.. He then ranged them all ina row, made them turn to the right face, clap their hands simultaneously, and disperse. Although Mr. Furness had advised secrecy to the Rushbrooks, he did not follow the advice he had given; indeed, his reason for not having Rushbrook to be with him was, that he might have an opportunity of com- municating his secret through the village, which he did by calling at every cottage, and informing the women who were left at home, that Joey Rushbrook had disappeared last cried no, Joey is no 4I night, with his father’s gun, and that he was about to goin quest of him. Some nodded and smiled, others shook their heads, some were not at all surprised at it, others thought that things could not go on so for ever. : Mr. Furness having collected all their various opinions, then set off to the ale-house, to find Byres the pedlar. When he arrived, he found that Byres had notcorhe home that night, and where he was nobody knew, which was more strange, as his box was up in his bed- chamber. Mr. Furness returned to the village intending to communicate this infor- mation to Rushbrook, but, on calling, he found that Rushbrook had gone out in search of the boy. Furness then resolved to go up at once to the keeper's lodge, and solve the mystery. He took the high road, and met Rushbrook returning. ‘Well, have you gained any tidings? in- quired the pedagogue. ‘None,’ replied Rushbrook. ‘Then it's my opinion, my worthy friend, that we had better at once proceed to the keeper's cottage and make inquiry ;— for, strange to say, I have been to the ale-house, and my friend Byres is also missing. ’ ‘Indeed !’ exclaimed Rushbrook, who had now completely recovered his self-possession. ‘Be itso, then ; -let us go the keeper's.’ They soon arrived there, and found the keeper at home, for he had returned to his dinner. Rushbrook, who had been cogitating how to proceed, was the first to speak. ‘You haven't taken my poor Joey, have you, sir?’ said he to the keeper. ‘ Not yet,’ replied the keeper, surlily. ‘You don't mean to say that you know nothing about him?’ replied Rushbrook. ‘Yes. I know something about him and about you too, my chap,’ replied the keeper. ‘But, Mr. Lucas,’ interrupted the peda- gogue, ‘allow me to put you in possession of the facts. It appears that this boy—a boy of great natural parts, and who has been for some time under my tuition, did last night, but at what hour is unknown to his discon- solate parents, leave the cottage, taking with him his father’s gun, and has not been heard of since.’ ‘Well, I.only hope he’s shot himself, that’s all,’ replied the keeper. ‘So you have a gun, then, have you, my honest chap?’ continued he, turning to Rushbrook. ‘Which,’ replied Furness, ‘as I have in- formed him already, will certainly be forfeited as a deodand to the lord of the manor + but, Mr. Lucas, this is not all; our mutual friend, 3yres, the pediar, is also missing, having left the Cat and Fiddle last night, and not having been heard of since.’ =‘ Indeed | that makes ‘out a different case,pn bo THE POACHER. and must be inquired into immediately. I think you were not the best of friends, were you?’ said the keeper, looking at Rushbrook ; and then he continued, ‘Come, Mary, give me my dinner, quick, and run up as fast as you can for Dick and Martin: tell them to come down with their retrievers only. Never fear, Mr. Furness, we will soon find it out. Never fear, my chap, we’ll find your son also, and your gun to boot. You may hear more than you think for.’ ‘All I want to know,’ replied Rushbrook, fiercely, for his choter was raised by the sneers of the keeper, ‘is, where my boy may be.’ So saying, he quitted the cottage, leaving the schoolmaster with the keeper. As Rushbrook returned home, he revolved in his mind what had passed, and decided that nothing could be more favourable for himself, however it might turn out for Joey. This conviction quieted his fears, and when the neighbours came in to talk with him, he was very cool and collected in his replies. In the meantime the keeper made a hasty meal, and, with his subordinates and the dogs, set off to the covers, which they beat till dark without success. The gun, however, which Joey had thrown down in the ditch, had been picked up by one of the labourers returning from his work, and taken by him to the ale- house. None c uld identify the gun, as Rushbrook had n_ver permitted it to be seen. Lucas, the keépei, came in about an hour after dusk, and immediately took possession of i€, Such were the events of the first day after Joey’s departure. Notwithstanding that the snow fell fast, the Cat and Fiddle was, as it may be supposed, unusually crowded on that night. Various were the surmises as to the disappearance of the pedlar and of little Joey. The keeper openly expressed his opinion that there was foul play somewhere, andit was not until near midnight that the ale-house was deserted, and the doors closed. Rushbrook and his wife went to bed ; tired with watching and excitement, they found oblivion for a few hours in a restless and un- refreshing sleep. CHAPTER XVIII. A Coroner's Inquest. Day had scarcely dawned when the keeper and his satellites were again on the search. ‘The snow had covered the ground for three or four inches, and, as the covers had been well examined on the preceding day, they now left them and went on in the direction towards where the gun had been picked up. This brought them direct to the furze bottom, where the dogs appeared to quicken their movements, and when the keepers came up with them again, they found them lying down by the frozen and stiffened corpse of the pedlar. ‘Murder, as I expected,’ said Lucas, as they lifted up the body, and scraped off the snow which covered it; ‘right through his heart, poor fellow; who would have ex- pected this frcm such a little varmint? Look about, my lads, and see if we can find any- thing else. What is Nap scratching at ?—a bag—take it up, Martin. Dick, do you go for some people to take the body to the Cat and Fiddle, while we see if we can find any- thing more.’ In a quarter of an hour the people arrived, the body Was carried away, while the keeper - went off in all haste to the authorities. Furness, the schoolmaster, as soon as he had obtained the information, hastened to Rushbrook’s cottage, that he might be the first to convey the intelligence. Rushbrook, however, from the back of the cottage, had perceived the people carrying in the body, and was prepared. “My good people, Iam much distressed, but itmust be told ; believe me, I feel for you— your son, my pupil, has murdered the pedlar,’ 3 ‘Impossible !’ cried Rushbrook. ‘It is but too true ; I cannot imagine how a boy, brought up under my tuition—nay, Mrs. Rushbrook, don’t cry—brought up; may say, with such strict notions of mo- rality, promising so fairly, blossoming so sweetly ——’ : *Henever murdered the pedlar !’ cried Jane, whose face was buried in her apron. ‘Who then could have ?’ replied Furness. ‘He never shot him intentionally, I'll swear,’ said Rushbrook ; ‘if the pedlar has come to his death, it must have been by some accident. I supposethe gun went off some- how or other; yes, that must be it: and my poor boy, frightened at what had taken place, has run away,’ ‘ Well,’ replied the schoolmaster, ‘such may + have been the case; and I do certainly feel as if it were impossible that a boy like Joey, brought up by me, grounded in every moral duty—I may add, religiously and _ piously in- structed—could ever commit such a horrible crime.’ ‘Indeed, he never did,’ replied Jane ;-‘I am sure he never would do sucha thing,’ ‘Well, I must wish you good-bye now, my poor people ; I will go down to the Cat and Fiddle, and hear what they say,’ cried the pedagogue, quitting the cottage. ‘Jane, be careful,’ said Rushbrook - > four te Sapna Wah sph eaatialeLHE POACHER, great point now is to say nothing. I wish that man would not come here,’ ‘Oh, Rushbrook !’ cried Jane, ‘what would I give if we could live these last three days Over again !’ ‘Then imagi Jane, what I would give !’ replied Rushbrook, striking his forehead ; ‘and now say no more about it.’ At twelve o'clock the next day the magis- trates met, and the corc Ss inquest was held upon the body of the pedlar. On examina- tion of the body, it was ascertained that a charge of small shot had d directly through the heart, so as asion imme- diate death ; that the murder had not been committed with the view of robbing, it was evi- dent, as the pedlar’s purse, watch, and various other articles were found upon his person. The first person examined was a man of the name of Green, who had found the gun in the ditch. The gun was produced, and he de- posed to it: ng the one which he had picked up, and given into the possession of the keeper ; but no one could say to whom the gun might belong. The next party who gave his evidence was Lucas, the game-keeper. He deposed that he knew the pedlar, Byres; and that, being anxious to prevent poaching, he had offered him a good sum if he would assist him in convicting any poacher ; that Byres had then confessed to him that he had often received game from Rushbrook, the father of the boy, and still continued to do so, but Rushbrook had treated him ill, and he s determined to be revenged upon him, and get him~-sent out of the country; that Byres had informed him on the Saturday night before the murder was committed, that Rushbrook was to be out on Monday night to procure game for him, and that if he looked.out sharp he was certain to be taken.’ Byres had also informed him that he had never yet found out when Rushbrook left his cottage or returned, although he had been tracking the boy, Joey. As the boy was missing on Monday morning, and Byres did not return to the ale-house, after he went out on Saturday night, he presumed that it was on the Suhday night.that the pedlar was murdered. The keeper then farther deposed as to the finding of the body, and also of a bag by the side of it; that the bag had evidently been used for putting game in, not only from the smell, but from the feathers of the birds which were still remaining inside of it. ‘The evidence as to the finding of the body and the bag was corroborated by that of Mar- tin and Dick, the under-keepers. Mr. Furness then made his appearance to give voluntary evidence, notwithstanding his great regard expressed for the Rushbrooks, 43 He deposed that, calling at the cottage on Monday morning for his pupil, he found the father and mother in great distress at the dise appearance of their son, whom they stated to have left the cottage some time during the night, and to have taken away his father’s gun with him,.and that their son had not since returned ; that he pointed out to Rush« brook the impropriety of his having a gun, and that Rushbrook had replied that he had carried one all his life, and did not choose to be without one; that they told him they sup- posed that he had gone out to poach, and was taken by the keepers, and had requested him to go and ascertain if such was-the fact. Mr. Furness added that he really imagined that to be the case, now that he saw the bag, which he recognized as haying been once brought to him by little Joey with some potatoes, which his parents had made him a present of; that he could swear to the bag, and so could several others as well as himself. Mr. Fur- ness then commenced a long flourish about his system of instruction, in which he was stopped by the coroner, who said that it had nothing to do with the business. It was then suggested that Rushbrook and his wife should be examined. There was a demur at the idea of the father and mother giving evidence against their child, but it was over-ruled, and in ten minutes they both made their appearance, Mrs. Rushbrook, who had been counselled by her husband, was the first examined; but she would not answer any question put to her. She did nothing but weep; and to every question her only reply was, ‘If. he did kill him it was by accident ; my boy would never commit murder.’ Nothing more was to be obtained from her; and the magistrates were so moved by her distress, that she was dis- missed. Rushbrook trembled as he was brought in and saw the body laid out on the table ; but he soon recovered himself, and became nerved and resolute, as people often will do in ex- tremity. He had made up his mind to answer some questions, but not all. ‘ Do you know at what time your son the cottage ?” ‘I do not.’ ‘Does that gun belong to you ?’ ‘Yes, it is‘mine, ’ ‘Do you know that bag ?’ ‘Yes, it belongs to me.’ ‘It has been used for putting game into— has it not?’ ‘I shall not answer that question. on trial.’ Many other questions were put to him, but he refused to answer them; and as they would all more or less have criminated himself as a left I’m not4 poacker, his refusals were admitted. Rush- brook had played his game well in admitting the gun and bag to be his property, as it was of service tu him, and no harm to Joey. After summing up the whole evidence, the coroner addressed the jury, and they returned a unani- mous verdict of Wilful Murder against Joseph Rushbrook the younger; and the magistrates directed the sum of £200 to be offered for our z > hero’s apprehension CHAPTER XLX. A Friend in need is a Friend indeed. RUSHBROOK and Jane returned to their cot- tage. Jane closed the door, and threw hersel into her hus)and’s arms. ‘You are saved, at least,’ she cried: ‘thank Heaven for that! You are, spared. Alas! we do not know how much we love till danger comes upon us.’ Rushbrook was much affected: he loved his wife, and had good reason to love her. Jane was a beautiful woman, not yet thirty ; tall in her person, her head was finely formed, yet apparently small for her height: her features were full of expression and sweetness. Had she been born to a. high station, she would have been considered one of the greatest belles. As it was, she was loved by those around her; and there was a dignity and commanding air about her which won admiration and respect. No one could feel more deeply nan she did the enormity of the offence committed by her husband; and yet never in any moment since her marriage did she cling so earnestly and so closely by him as She did now. She was of that bold and daring temperament, that she could admire the courage that propelled to the crime, while the crime itself she abhorred. It was not, therefore, anything surprising that, at sucha moment, with regard for a husband to whom she was devoted, she thought more of the danger to which he was exposed than she did of the crime which had been committed. To do Rushbrook himself justice, his person and mind were of no plebeian mould= He was a daring, venturous fellow, ready at any emergency, cool and collected in danger, had a pleasure in the excitement created by the difficulty and risk attending his nocturnal pur- suits, caring little or nothing for the profits. He, as well as his wife, had not been neglected in point of education: he had been born in humble life, and had, by enlisting, chosen a path by which advancement became impos- sible; but, had Rushbrook been an officer instead of a common soldier, his talents would LHE POACHER.’ probably have been dirécted to more noble channels, and the poacher and pilferer for his captain might have exerted his dexterity so as to have gained honourable mention. His courage had always been remarkable, and he was looked upon by his officers—and so he was by his companions—as the most steady and collected man under fire to be found in the whole company. We are the creatures of circumstances. Frederick of. Prussia had no opinion of phrenology ; and one day he sent for the pro- fessor, and dressing up a highwayman and a pickpocket in uniforms and orders, he desired the phrenologist to examine their heads, and give his opinion as to their qualifications. The savant did so, and, turning to the king, said, ‘Sire, this person,’ pointing to the high- wayman, ‘whatever he may be, would have been a great general, had he been emploved. As for the other, he is quite in a different line. He may be, or, if-he is not. he would make, an admirable financier.’ The king was satis- fied that there was some truth in the science : ‘for,’ as he very rightly observed, ‘what is a general but a highwayman, and what is a financier but a pickpocket ?’ ‘Calm yourself, dear Jane,’ said Rush- brook ; ‘all is well now.’ “All well !—yes ; but my poor child— £200 offered for his apprehension! If they were to take him ?!’ ‘IT have no fear of that ; and if they did, they could not hurt him. It is true that they have given their verdict ; but still they have no positive proof.’ ‘But they have hanged people upon less proof before now, Rushbrook.’ ‘Jane,’ replied Rushbrook, ‘our boy shall never be hanged—I promise you that; so make your mind easy.’ 4 ‘Then you must confess, to save him ; and I shall lose you.’ A step at the door interrupted their colloquy. Rushbrook opened it, and Mr. Furness, the schoolmaster, made his appearance. ‘Well, my good friends, I’m> very sorry the verdict has been such as it is, but it cannot be helped ; the evidence was too strong, and it was a sad thing for me to be obliged to give mine.’ ‘You ! exclaimed Rushbrook ; ‘why, did they call you up ?’ “Yes, and put me on my oath. An oath, to a moral man, is a very serious responsibility ; the nature of an oath is awful ; and when you consider my position in this place, as the in- culcator of morals and piety to the younger branches of the community, you must not be Surprised at my telling the truth.’ ‘ And what had you to tell ?’ inquired Rushe brook, with surprise.THE POACHER. ‘ Had to tell !—why, I had to tell what you told me this morning ; and I had to prove the bag as belonging to you; for you know you sent me some potatoes in it by little Joey, poor fellow. Wilful murder, and two hundred pounds upon apprehension and conviction ! Rushbrook looked at the pedagogue with surprise and contempt. ‘Pray, may I ask how they came to know that anything had passed between us yester- day morning, for, if I recollect right, you de- sired me to be secret.’ ‘Very true, and so I did; but, then, they knew what good friends we always were, | suppose, and so they sent for me, and obliged me to speak upon my oath.’ ‘I don’t understand it,’ replied Rushbrook ; ‘they might have asked you questions, but how could they have guessed that I had told you anything ?’ ‘My dear friend, you don’t understand it ; but, in my situation, looking up to me, as very one does, as an example of moral recti- tude and correctness of conduct, —as a pattern to the juvenile branches of the community, — you see——' ‘Yes, I do see that, under such circum- stances, you should not go to the alehouse and get tipsy two days, at least, out of the week,’ replied Rushbrook, turning away. ‘And why do I goto the alehouse, my dear friend, but to look after those who indulge too freely—yourself for instance ? How often have I seen you home?’ ‘Yes, when you were drunk.and I was——’ Jane put her hand upon her husband's mouth. ‘And you were what, friend?’ inquired Furness, anxiously. ‘Worse than you, perhaps. And now, friend Furness, as you must be tired with your long evidence, I wish you a good night.’ ‘Shall I see you down at the Cat and Fiddle ?’ ‘ Not for some time, if ever, friend Furness, that you may depend upon.’ ‘Never go to the Cat and Fiddle! A little wholesome drink drowns care, my friend ; and, therefore, although I should be sorry that you indulged too much, yet, with me to look after you—— ‘And drink half my ale, eh? No, no, friend Furness, those days are gone.’ ‘Well, you are not in a humour for it now —but another time. Mrs. Rushbrook, have you a drop of small beer ?’ ‘T have none to spare,’ replied Jane, turn- ing away; ‘you should have applied to the magistrates for beer.’ ‘O, just as you please,’ replied the peda- gogue; ‘it certainly does ruffle people's temper when there is a verdict of wilful murder, and two hundred pounds for appre- 45 hension and conviction of the offender. Good night.’ Furness went out. Rushbrook watched till he was out of hear- ing, and then said, ‘ He’s a scoundrel.’ ‘I think so too,’ replied Jane ; ‘but never mind, we will go to bed now, thank God for his mercies, and pray for his forgiveness. Come, dearest.’ The next morning Mrs. Rushbrook was in- formed by the neighbours that the school- master had volunteered his evidence. Rush- brook’s indignation was excited, and he vowed revenge, Whatever may have been the feelings of the community at the time of the discovery of the murder, certain it is that, after all was over, there was a strong sympathy expressed for Rushbrook and his wife, and the condolence was very general. The gamekeeper was avoided, and his friend Furness fell into great disrepute, after his voluntarily coming forward and giving evidence against old and sworn friends. The consequence was, his schooi fell off, and the pedagogue, whenever he could raise the means, became more ip- temperate than ever. One Saturday night, Rushbrook, who had resolved to pick a quarrel with Furness, went down to the alehouse. Furness was halli- drunk, and pot-valiant. Rushbrook taunted him so as to produce replies. One word brought on another, till Furness challenged Rushbrook to come outside and have it c This was just what Rushbrook wished, after half an hour Furness was carried home beaten to a mummy, and unable to leave lis bed for many days. As soon as this revenge had been taken, Rushbrook, who had long made up his mind so to do, packed up and quitted the village, no one knowing whither he and Jane went ; and Furness, who had lost «ll means of subsistence, did the same in a very few days afterwards, his place of retreat being equally unknown. banged the cottage door as he CHAPTER XX. In which we again follow up our Hero’s destiny. AFTER the resolution that Major M ‘Shane came to, it is not to be surprised that he made, during their journey home, every inquiry of Joey relative to his former life. ‘To these oey gave him'a very honest reply in every- thing except that portion of his history in which his father was so seriously implicated ; he had the feeling that he was bound in honour not to reveal the circumstances con-46 THE POACHER. nected with the murder ofthe pedlar. M‘Shane is impossible to Say; but having been there was Satisfied, and they arrived in London for a year and a half, and arrived at the age without further adventure. AS soon as of fourteen, he had just returned from the M ‘Shane had been embraced by his wife, he holidays with three guineas in his pocket, for fave a narrative of his adventures, and did M‘Shane and his: ‘wife were very generous not forget to praise little Joey as he deserved. and very fond of their protégé; when a cir- Mrs. M ‘Shane was all gratitude, and then it cumstance occurred Which again ruffled the was that M'‘Shane expressed his intentions smooth current of our hero’s existence, towards our hero, and, as he expected, he He was walking out as all boys do walk out found his amiable wife wholly coincide with in decent schools, that is, ina long line, two him in opinion, It was therefore decided by two, as the animals entered Noah’s Ark, that Joey should be put to a school, and be when a sort of shabby-genteel man passed properly educated, as soon as an establish- their files. He happened to cast his eyes ment that was eligible could be found. upon Joey, and stopped. ‘ Master Joseph Their full intentions towards him, however, Rushbrook. lam most happy to see you once were not communicated to our hero; he was more,’ said he, extending his hand. Joey told that he was to go to school, and he looked up into his face; there was no “mMis- willingly submitted : it was not, however, for take: it was Furness, the schoolmaster. three months that M‘Shane would part with ‘Don't you recollect me, my dear boy ? him : a difficulty was raised against every es- Don't you recollect him who taught the in- tablishment that was named. During this fant idea how to shoot? Don't you recollect time little Joey was very idle, for there was you old preceptor ?’ nothing for him to do. Books there were ‘Yes,’ replied Joey, none, for Mrs. M‘Shane had no time to read, collect you very well.’ and Major M‘Shane no inclination. Hjs only ‘Iam delighted to see you ; you know you resort Was to rummage over the newspapers were my fairest pupil, but we are all scattered which were taken in for the benefit of the now; your father and mother have gone no customers, and this was his usual employment. one knows where » you went away, and I also One day, in turning over the file, he came to could no longer Stay. What pleasure it is to the account of the murder of the pedlar, with meet you once more |" the report of the coroner's inquest. He rea Joey. did ‘not ’ respond exactly to the all the evidence, particularly that of Furness, pleasure. The stoppage of the line had the schoolmaster, and found that the verdict caused some confusion, and the usher, who was wilful murder, with a reward of #4200 for had followed it, NOW came up to ascertain the his apprehension. The term, wilful murder, cause. ‘This is my old pupil, or rather I he did not exactly comprehend ;' so, after should Say; my young pupil; but the best laying down the paper, with a beating heart pupil I ever had. I am most delighted. to he went to Mrs. M‘Shane, and asked her see him, sir,’ said Furness, taking off his hat. what was the meaning of it. ‘May I presume to ask who has the charge “Meaning, child ?’ replied Mrs. M‘Shane, of this dear child at this present moment >’ who was then very busy in her occupation, ‘it The usher made no difficulty in Stating the means, child, that a person is believed to be name and residence of the preceptor, and, guilty of murder, and, if taken up, he will be having gained this information, Furness shook hanged by the neck till he is dead.’ Joey by the hand, bade him farewell ‘But,’ replied Joey, suppose he has not Wishing him every happiness, walked away, committed the murder ?’ Joey's mind was confused during the re- “Well then, child, he must prove that he mainder of his walk, and it was not until their has not.’ return home that he could reflect on what ‘And suppose, although he has not com- had passed. That Furness had given evi- mitted it, he cannot prove it ?’ dence upon the inquest he knew, and he had ‘Mercy on me, what a number of supposes! penetration, when he read it, to feel that there why, then he wil] be hanged all the same, to was no necessity for Furness having given such be sure.’ evidence. He also knew that there was a re- A fortnight after these queries, Joey was ward of two hundred pounds -for his appre- sent to school ; the master was a very decent hension ; and when he thought of Furness’s man, the mistress a very decent woman, the apparent kindness, and his not reverting to a tuition was decent, the fare was decent, the subject so important as wilful-murder h scholars were children of decent families; al- been found against him, he made up his mind together, it was a decent establishment, and that Furness had behaved so with the purpose in this establishment little Joey made very of lulling him into security, and that the next decent progress, going home every half year. day he would certainly take him up, for the How long Joey might have remained there it sake of the reward. colouring up, ‘TI re- » and, avingTHE POACHER. Now, although we have not stopped our narrative to introduce the subject, we must here observe that Joey’s love for his parents, particularly his father, was ‘unbounded ; he longed to see them again; they were con- stantly in his thoughts, and yet he dared not mention them, in consequence of the mystery connected with his quitting his home. He fully perceived his danger: he would be apprehended, and being so, he must either sacrifice his father or himself. Having weighed all this in his mind, he then reflected upon what should be his course to Steer. Should’ he go home to acquaint. Major M‘Shane? He felt that he could trust him, and would have done so, but he had no right to trust any one with a secret which involved his father’s life. No, that would not do; yet, to leave him and Mrs. M‘Shane after all their kindness, and without a word, this would be too ungrateful. After much cogitation, he resolved that he would run away, so that all clue to him should be lost; that he would yrite a letter for M‘Shane, and leave it. -He wrote as-follows :— ‘Dear Sir,—Do not think me ungrateful, for I love you and Mrs. M‘Shane dearly, but I have been met by a person who knows me, and will certainly betray me. I left my father’s home, not for poaching, but a murder that was committed’; / was not guilty. This is the only secret I have held from you, and the secret is not MINE. I could not disprove it, and never will. I now leave because I have been discovered by a bad man, who will certainly take advantage of having fallen in with me. We may never meet again. I can say no more, except that I shall always pray for you and Mrs. M‘Shane, and remember your kindness with gratitude. ‘Yours truly. ‘JOEY M‘SHANEF.’ Sincéhis return from St. Petersburg, Joey had always, by their request, called himself Joey M‘Shane, and he was not sorry when they gave him the permission, although he did not comprehend the advantages which re to accrue from taking the name. oey, having finished his letter, sat down and cried bitterly—but in a school there is no f and He performed his exercise, and repeated his les- sons, as if nothing had happened and nothing was about to happen, for Joey was in essence a little stoic. At night he went to his room with the other boys; he could only obtain a small portion of his clothes, these he put up ein a handkerchief, went softly downstairs about one o’clock in the morning, put his retiring place for venting your feelings, he was compelled to smother his tears. 47 letter, addressed to M‘Shane, on the halk table, opened the back door, climbed over the play-ground wall, and was again on the road to seek his fortune. But Joey was much improved during the two years. since he had quitted his father's house. Before that, he was a reflective boy ; now, he was more capable of action and Ceci- sion. His ideas had been much expanded from the knowledge of the world gained during his entry, as it were, into life ; he had talked much, seen much, listened much, and thought more; and naturally quiet in his manner, he was now a gentlemanlike boy. At the eating-house he had met ,with every variety of character ; and as there were some who frequented the house daily, with those Joey had become on intimate terms. He was no longer a child, but a lad of undaunted courage and presence of mind ; he had only one fear, which was that his father’s crime should be discovered. And now ‘he was again adrift, with a small bundle, three guineas in his pocket, and the world before him. At first, he had but one idea, that of removing to a distanee which should elude the vigilance of I’urness, and he therefore walked on, and walked fast. Joey was capable of great fatigue; he had grown considerably, it is true, during the last two years ; still he was small for his age; but every muscle in his body was a wire, and his strength, as had been proved by his school- matés, was proportionate. He was elastic as india-rubber, and bold and determined as one who had been all his life in danger. CHAPTER XXL The Scene is again shifted, and the Plot advances, [Ir will be necessary that for a short time we again follow up the fortunes of our hero's parents. When Rushbrook and Jane had quitted the village of Grassford, they had not come to any decision as to their future place of abode ; all that Rushbrook felt; was a de- sire to remove as far as possible from the spot where the crime had been committed. Such is the feeling that will ever possess the guilty, who, although they may increase their dis- tance, attempt in vain to fly from their con- sciences, or that all-seeing eye which follows them everywhere. Jane had a similar feeling, but it arose from her anxiety for her husband. They wandered away, for they had sold every- thing before their departure, until they found themselves in the West Riding of Yorkshire, and there they at length settled in a small vil- lage, Rushbrook easily obtained employ-48 THE POACHER. ment, for the population was Scanty, and town immediately. He did so, and found, to some months passed away without anything his astonishment, that he was the heir-at-law occurring of interest. to a property of £7000 per annum—with Rushbrook had never taken up his employ- the only contingency, that he was, as nearest ment as a poacher since the night of the mur- of kin, to take the name of Austin. Having der of the pedlar; he had abjured it from entered into all the arrangements required by that hour. His knowledge of woodcraft was, the legal gentleman, he returned to Yorkshire, hoyever, discovered, and he was appointed with £500 in his pocket, to communicate the first, as under, and eventually as head keeper intelligence to his wife; and when he did So, to a gentleman of landed property in the and embraced her, she burst into tears. neighbourhood. In this situation they had ‘Rushbrook, do not think I mean to re. remained about a year, Rushbrook giving full proach you by these tears ; but I cannot help Satisfaction to his employer, and compara- thinking that you would have been happier tively content (for no man could have such a_ had this never happened. Your life will be crime upon his conscience, and not pass doubly sweet to you now, and Joey’s absence occasional hours of misery and remorse), and will be a source of more vexation than ever, Jane was still mourning in secret for her only Do you think that you will be happier ?’ and darling child, when one d Ly a paper was ‘Jane, dearest! I have been thinking of it put into Rushbrook’s hands by his master, as well as you, and, on reflection, I think I desiring him to read™an advertisement which — shall be safer. Who would know the poacher it contained, and which was as follows -— Rushbrook in the gentleman of £7000 a- ‘If Joseph Rushbrook, who formerly lived in year, of the name of Austin? Who would the village of Grassford, in -the county of dare accuse him, even if there were suspicion ? Devon, should: be still alive, and willmake his I feel that once in another county, under residence known ‘o Messrs. Pearce, James, and another name, and in another Situation, I Simpson, of 14, Chancery Lane, he will hear shall be safe; of something greatly to his advantage. Should ‘But our poor boy, should he ever come he be dead, and\this advertisement meet.the “back —— eyes of his heirs, they are equally requested ‘Will also be forgotten. He will have to make the communication to the above grown up a man, and, having another name, address.’ will never be recognized : they will not ever ‘What does it mean, sir ?’ inquired Rush- know what our former name was,’ brook. ‘I trust that it will be as you say. What “It means thai, if you are that person, in do you now mean to do ?’ all probability there is some legacy bequeathed ‘I shall say that I have a property of four to. you:by a relative,’ replied Mr, S——: ‘is or five hundred pounds left me, and that I it you ?” intend to go up to London,’ replied Rush- ‘Yes, sit,’ replied Rushbrook, changing brook. colour ; ‘I did once live at Grassford.' ‘Yes, that will be wise; it will be an ex- ‘Then you had better write to the parties cuse for our leaving this place, and will be no and make yourself known. I will leave you clue to where we are going,’ replied Jane. the newspaper.’ Rushbrook gave up his situation, sold his ‘What think you, Jane?’ said Rushbrook, furniture, and quitted Yorkshire. In a few as soon as Mr. —— had quitted. weeks afterwards he was installed into his new ‘I think he is quite right,’ replied Jane. property, a splendid mansion, and situated in “But, Jane, you forget—this may be a the West of Dorsetshire. Report had gone trap; they may have discovered something before them; some said that a common la- about—you know what I mean,’ bourer had come into the property, others ‘Yes, I do, and I wish we could forget it; said it was.a person in very moderate circum- but in this instance I do not think you have stances; as usual, both these reports were anything to fear. There is no reward offered contradicted bya third, which represented him for your apprehension, but for my poor boy’s, as ahalf-pay lieutenant in the army. Rush- who is now wandering over the wide world ; brook had contrived to mystify even the soli- and no one would go to the expense to appre- citor as to his-situation in life: he Stated ‘to hend you, if there was nothing to be gained him thathe had retired from the army, and by it,’ lived upon the government allowance ; and ‘True,’ replied Rushbrook, after a minute’s_ it Was in consequence of a reference to the reflection ; ‘but, alas! Iam a coward now— solicitor, made by some of the best fainilies in I will write.’ the neighbourhood, who wished to ascertain Rushbrook wrote accordingly, and, in re- if the new comers were people who could be ply, received a letter enclosing a bank-bill for visited, that this third report Was spread, and £20, and requesting that he would come to universally believed. We have already ob. \ Z 2 :THE POACHER. served that Rushbrook was fine, tall man ; and if there is any class of people who can be transplanted with success from low to high life, it will be those who have served in the army. The stoop is the evidence of a low- bred, vulgar man_; the erect bearing equally so that of a gentleman. ‘ Now, the latter is gained in the army, by drilling and disci- pline, and being well dressed will provide for all else that is required, as far as mere per- sonal appearance is concerned.. When, there- fore, the neighbours called upon Mr. and Mrs. Austin they were not Surprised to find an erect, ‘military-looking man, but they were very much surprised to find him matched with such a fine, and even eles: nt-looking woman, as his wife. Timid at first, Jane had suffi- cient tact to watch others and copy ; and before many months had passed in their new position, it would have been difficult to sup- pose that Mrs. Austin had not been born in the sphere in which shethen moved. Austin was brusque, and abrupt in his manners as before ; but still there was always a reserve about him, which he naturally felt, and which assisted to remove the impression of vul- garity. People who are distant are seldom considered ungentlemanlike, although they may be considered unpleasant in their man- ners. It is those who are too familiar who obtain the character of vulgarity. Austin, therefore, was respected, but not liked ; Jane, on the contrary, whose beauty had now all the assistance of dress, and whose continued inward mourning for her lost son had improved that beauty by the pensive air which she wore, was a deserved and universal favourite. | People of course said that Austin was a harsh husband, and pitied poor Mrs. Austin ; but that people always do. say ifa woman is not inclined to mirth. Austin found ample amusement in sporting over his extensive manor, and looking after his game. In one point the neighbouring gentlemen were surprised, that, although so keen a sportsman himself, he never could be prevailed upon to convict a poacher. Hewas appointed a magistrate, and being most liberal in all his subscriptions, was soon considered as a great acquisition to the county. His wife was much sought after, but it was invari- ably observed that, when children were men- tioned, the tears stood in her eyes. Before they had been a year in their new position, they had acquired all the knowledge and tact necessary; their establishment was on a handsome scale ; they were visited by and paid visits to all the aristocracy and gentry, and were as popular as they could have desired to be. But were they happy?. Alas! no. Little did those who envied Austin his property and establishment imagine what a load was on his 49 mind—what a corroding care was wearing out his existence. Little~ did they imagine that he would gladly have resigned all, and been once more the poacher in the village of Gragg- ford, to have removed from his conscience the deed of darkness which he had committed, and once more have his son by his side. And poor Jane, her thoughts were day and night upon one object—where was her child? It deprived her of rest at night ; she remained meditating on her fate for hours during the day ; it would rush into her mind in the g t scenes and the happiest moments; jt Was one ince t incubus—one continual source of misery. Of her husband she thought less ; for she knew how sincerely contrite he was for the deed he had done—how bitterly he had repented it ever since, and how it would, as long as he lived, be a source of misery—a worm that would néver die, but gnaw till the last hour of his existence. But her boy—her noble, self-sacrificed little Joey! —he and his destiny were ever in her thoughts ; and gladly would she have been a pauper applying for relief, if she had but that child to have led upin her hand. And yet all the county thought how happy and contented the Austins ought to be, to have suddenly come into possession of so much wealth. ’Ti8 God alone that knows the secrets of the heart of man. CHAPTER XXII. A very long Chapter, but in which our Hero obtains Employment in a very short Time. THE preparatory establishment for young gen- tlemen to which our hero had been sent, was situated on Clapham-rise. Joey did not think it prudent to walk in the direction of London ; he therefore made a cut across the country, so as to bring him, before seven o’clock in the morning, not very far from Gravesend. The night had been calm and beautiful, for it was in the month of August ; and it had for some time been broad deylight when our hero, who had walked fifteen or sixteen miles, sat down to repose himself ; and. as he remained quietly seated on the green turf on the wayside, he thought of his father and mother, of the kind- ness of the M ‘Shanes, and his own hard fate, until he became melancholy and wept; and, as the tears were rolling down his cheeks, a little girl, of about ten years old, very neatly dressed, and evidently above the lower ranks of life, came along the road, her footsteps so light as not to be perceived by Joey; she looked at him as she passed, and perceived that he was in tears, and her own bright, pretty face became clouded *in a moment, 250 Joey did not look up, and, after hesitating awhile, she passed on a few steps, and then she looked round, and observing that he was still Weeping, she paused, turned round, and came back to him; for a minute or two she stood before him, but Joey was unconscious of her presence, for he was now in the full tide of his grief, and, not having forgotten the pre- cepts which had been carefully instilled into him, he thought of the God of Refuge, and he arose, fell on his knees, and ae ed. The little girl, whose tears had already been sum- moned by pity and sympathy, dropped her basket, and knelt by his side at she prayed, for she knew not what the prayer was for, but from an instinctive feeling of respect towards the Deity which her new companion was addressing, and a feeling of kindness to- wards one who was evidently suffering. Joey lifted up his eyes, and beheld the child on her knees, the tears rolling down her cheeks; he hastily wiped his eyes, for until that moment he imagined that he had been alone; he had . been praying on account of his Joneliness—he looked up, and he was not alone, but there was one by his side who pitied him, without knowing wherefore ; he felt relieved by the sight. They both-regained their feet at the same time, and Joey went up to the little girl, and, taking her by the hand, said; ‘ Thank you.’ ‘Why do you cry?’ said th ‘Because Iam unhappy ; replied Joey. “No home!" said the little girl ; ‘it is boys who are in rags and starving, who have no home, not young gentlemen dressed as you are. ‘But I have left my home,’ replied Joey. ‘Then go back agai in—how eal they will be to see you !’ “Yes, indeed they ‘but I must not.’ ‘You have not done anything wrong, have you? No, I’m sure you have not—you must be a good boy, or you would not have prayed.’ ‘No, I have done nothing wrong, but I must not tell you any more.’ Indeed, Joey was much more communi- cative with the little girl than he would have been with anybody else; but he had been surprised into it, and, moreover, he had no fear of being betrayed by such innocence. He now recollected himself, and changed the conversation. ‘And where are you going to?’ inquired he. ‘I am going to school at Grav esend. I go there every morning, and stay till the evening. This is my dinner in my basket. Are you hungry ?’ ‘No, not particularly.’ e little girl. I have no home,’ would,’ replied Joey, Cy THE POACHER. «Are you going to Gravesend ?” ‘Yes,’ replied Joey. ‘What is your name a ‘Emma Phillips. ‘Have you a father and mother ?’ ‘J have no father ; a little while after I was born.’ ‘And your mother——’ ‘Lives with grandmother, you see there through the large trees. he was killed fighting “ at that house And 4 what are you going to do with yourself ?- WilL4| you come home mother all you have told me, and she is very@ kind, and will write to your friends.’ ‘No, no; you must not do that ; ing to seek for employment.’ “Why, what can you do ?’ ‘I hardly know,’ replied Joey; ‘but I can work, and am willing to work, so I hope I shall not starve.’ With such conversation they continued their way, until the little girl said, ‘ There is my school, so now I must wish you good- ‘bye.’ ‘Good-bye : I shall not forget. you, ‘replied loey, ‘although we may never meet again, Tam gow Tears stood in the eyes of our hero, as they re- | luctantly unclasped their hands and parted. Joey, once more left alone, now meditated : | what was the best course for him to pursue. The little Emma’s“words, ‘ men dressed as you are,’ he did not alter his attire. This he resolved to do immediately ; the only idea which had presented itself to his mind w as, if possible, to find some means of getting back to Captain = would receive @ O’Donahue, who. he was sure, him, if he satisfied him that it was not safe for 4 him to remain in England; but, he confess to him the truth or not? point our hero was not decided, so he put off @ the solution of it till another opportunity. A Slop warehouse now attracted his attention; he looked into the door after having ex amined | the articles outside, and seeing th at a Sailor- boy was bargaining for some clothes, he went™ in as if waiting to be served, but, in fact, more to ascertain the val ue of the articles which he™ wished to purchase. a red frock and pair of blue trowsers, and at ast obtained them from the Jew for 14s. oey argued that, than the lad, he ought to pay less ; for the same-articles, but the Jew, scdnned in his own mind the suit of clothes® which pay more. Joey was, however, ‘firm, and@ about to leave the shop, when the Jew called | him back, and, after much haggling, Joey ob- tained the dress for 12s. clothes, Joey begged permission to be permit- @ ted to retire to the back shop and put them on to ascertain if they fitted him, to which Not young gentle- 9 reminded him of the #) remarks and suspicions which must ensue if™ then, must ™ On this ®| as he was much smaller a he asked who hada 1 Joey had on, argued that he ought to 7 Havi ing paid for the 3 = | with me? and I'll tell my# The sailor had cheapened @THE POACHER, the Jew consented. , which, from the description given by his young sailor friend, he was convinced was tle fellow, all said the w oman at and put it away LHE POACHER. should and has a warm heart, and trusts them who have no she loses j So now I'll go and speak to her, for she'll be alongside of us when i goon find you when I you the telling a bumboat ; it had all the articles aescribed © by him, as well as many others, such as porter™ in bottles, a cask probably containing beer ; 1eeks, onions, and many ae heterogeneous | matters; and, moreover, there was a fats woman Seated in the ion The waterman shoved in with his boats hook, and the wherry grounded. ‘The fat personage got out, and the waterman handed 7 to sber: a basket, a long book, and _ several other articles, which she appeared to consider indispensable ; among others, a bundle which lookea like dirty linen for the wash. ‘Dear me! how shall I ¢ get up all these® things ?’ Secaned the woman : ‘and, Wil-#| liam, you cant leave the boat, and there's) nobody hen to help me.’ \ ‘I'll heip you,’ said Joey, coming down the steps: ‘what shall I carry for you ?’ ‘Well, you are a good, kind boy,’ replied¥ she; ‘can you carr) that bundle? I'll manage all the rest. = | Joey tossed the bundle on his shoulder in a 4| moment. ‘Weil, you are a strong little chap,’ said the waterman. ‘He is a very nice little fellow, and a kind one. Now, come along, and I'll not forget you.’ { Joey followed with the bundle, until they arrived at a narrow door, not eighty yards ™ from the landing-place, and the woman asked/ him if he would carry it upstairs to the first floor, which he did. ‘Do you want me any more?’ said Joey, setting down the bundle. No, dear, no; but I must give you some- 4) thing for your trouble. What do you ex- pect : pe 7 | ‘ Nothing at all,’ replied Joey ; ‘and I shall not take anything; you're very welcome ; @ good-bye ;’ and, so saying, Joey walked down @ Stairs, although the woman hallooed after him, and rece GH GRR his peregrination in the streets of Gravesend ; but-he was soon tired of walking on the © pavement, which was none of the best, and he then shoneli th iat he would go out into the country, ar nd enjoy the | green fiel ds ; so off he set, the same way that @ he came into the town, passed by the school ™ of little Emma, and trudged away on the road, stopping every now and then to examine what attracted his notice ; watching a bird if it sang on the branch of a tree, and not moving lest he should frighten it away ; at times sitting down by the road- side, 4 meditating on the past and the future. Them day was closing in,a BC ISe) was still amusing himself as every boy who has been confined in a schoolroom would do: he sauntered on until he came to the very spot where he had¥ been crying, and had met arn little Emma andTHE POACHER. Phillips ; and as he sat down again he thought of her sweet little face, and her kindness to- wards him— and there heremained some time till he was roused by some one singing as they went aloug the road. He looked up, and perceived it was the little girl, who was re- turning from school. Joey rose immediately, and w alked towards her to meet her, but she did not appear to recognise him, and would have | d him if he had not said, ‘ Don’t you know me.’ “Yes, I do now, I did dress; and, ? replied she, smiling, ‘but not at first—you’ have put on another I have been thinking of you all day— do you know, I've got a black mark for not saying my lesson,’ added the little girl, with a sigh. And, then, it is my fault,’ ‘I'm very sorry.’ “O, never mind ; it is the first that I have had for a long while, and I shall tell mamma why. But you are dressed asa Sailor-boy— are you going to sea?’ ‘No, I believe not—I hope to have employ- ment in the. town here e, and then I shall be able to see you sometimes, when you come from school. May I walk with you as far as your own house ?’ ‘Yes, I suppose so, if you like it.’ Joey walked with her until they came to the house, which was about two hundred yards farther. ‘But, said Joey, make me a promise.’ ‘What is that ?” 1 keep my secret. replied Joey ; hesitating, You must You must not tell your mother that you saw me first in what you ‘called gentleman’s clothes—it might do me harm—and indeed it’s not for my own sake I ask it. Don’t say a word about my other clothes, or they may ask me questions which I must not answer, for it’s not my secret. I told you more this morning than I would -have told any one else—I did, indeed.’ ‘Well,’ replied the little girl, after thinking a little, ‘I suppose I have no right to tell ecret, if lam begged not to do it, so I will say nothi ing about your clothes. But I must ell mother that I met you.’ ‘O. yes; tell her you met me, and that I was looking for some work, and all that, and to-morrow or next day I will let you know if | getany.’ ‘Will you come.in now ?’ said Emma. ‘No, not now; I must see jif I can get this employment promised for me/ and then I shall see you again; if I shout? ot see you again, I shall not forget you, a Ai I won’t—Good- ie # Emma bade him ates ¢ "and they separated, and Joey remained and watched her till 53 she disapeared under the ‘porch of the entrance. Our hero returned towards Gravesend in rather a melancholy mood ; there was some- thing so unusual in this meeting with the little girl—something so uncommon in the svIMp athy e expressed by her—that he felt pain at parting. But it was getting late, and it was time that he kept his appointment with his friend, the sailor boy. Joey remained at the door of the eating house for about a quarter of an hour, when he perceived the sailor lad coming up the street. He went forward to meet him. ‘O, here we are. - Well, young: fellow, I’ve seen the old woman, and_had along talk with her, and she won't believe there’ can be another in the world like her Peter, but I per- suaded her to havea look at you, and she has consented ; so come along, for I must be on board again in half an hour.’ Joey followed his new friend down the Street, until they came to the very door to which he had carried the bundle. The sailor boy mounted the stairs, and turning into the room at the first landing, Joey beheld the woman whom he had assisted in the morn- ing. ‘Here he is, Mrs. Chopper, and if he won’t suit you, I don’t know who will,’ said the boy. ‘He's a regular scholar, and can sum up like winkin.’ This character, given so SpAbiOUeNy by his new. see a made Joey stare, and the woman looked hard into Toeve s face: ‘Well, now, said she, ‘where have I seen you before? Dear me? and fe zs like poor Peter, as you said, Jim; I vow he1 you before to-day,’ re wried a bundle up for you.’ ied Joey, ‘for I c: tAner a 7 \11 7 r And so you did, and would have no money for your trouble. Well, Jim, he is like poor Péter. ‘I told youso, old lady ; ay, and he'll just do for you as well as Peter did; but Ill leave, you to settle matters, for I must be abvard.’ So saying, the lad tipped a wink to Joey, the meaning of which our hero did not under- stand, and went downstairs. ‘Well, now, it’s very odd; but do you know you are like poor Peter, and the more I look at you the more you are like him: poor Peter 1 did you hear how I lost him ?’ ‘Yes, the sailor lad told me this morn- ing. ‘ Poor fellow! he held on too fast ; most seople drown by not holding on fast enough : fe was a good boy, and very smart indeed ; and so it was you who helped me this morn- ing when I missed poor Peter so much? Well, it showed you had a good heart, and I54 THE POACHER. love that ; and where did youmeet with Jim and so you come down here to go to Paterson ?” sea !’ ‘I met him first in a slop-shop, as he calls ‘If I could not do better.’ it, when I was buying my clothes,’ ‘But you shall do better, my good boy. I “Well, Jim’s a wild one, but he has a good will try you instead of poor Peter, and if you heart, and pays when he can. I’ve been told are an honest and good, careful boy, it will by those who know his parents, that he will be much better than going to sea. Dear me! have property by-and-by. Well, and what how like he is,—but now I mus? call you can you do? I am afraid you can't do all Peter : it will make me think I have him with Peter did.’ me, poor fellow “Iean keep your accounts, and I can be ‘If you please,’ said Joey, who was. not honest and true to you.’ sorry to exchange his name. “Well, Peter could not do more: are you ‘Well, then, where do you sleep to-night ?’ sure you can keep accounts, and sum up ‘I did intend to ask for a‘bed at the house totals ?’ where I left my bundle.’ ‘Yes, to be sure I can ; try. me.’ ‘Then, don't do so; go for your bundle, “Well, then, I will : here is pen, ink, and and you shall sleep in Peter’s bed (poor fellow, paper. Well, you are the very image of Peter, his last was a watery bed, as the papers. say), and that’s a fact. Now write down beer, 8¢@.; and then to-morrow merning you can go off tobacco, 4d. ; is that down ?’ with me.’ ares. Joey accepted the offer, went back for his ‘Let me see: duck for trowsers, 35. 6d. ; bundle, and returned to Mrs, Chopper in a beer again, 4d. ; tobacco, 4d. ; is that down? quarter of an hour; she was then preparing Well, then, say beer again, 8d. Now sum her supper, which Joey was not sorry to par- that all up.’ take of ; after which, she led him into a small Joey was perfect master of the task, and, as room, in which was a small bed without he handed over the paper, announced the curtains; the room itself was hung round whole sum to amount to 5s; 10d. with strings of onions, papers of sweet herbs, “Well,’ says Mrs. Chopper, ‘it looks all and flitches of bacon; the floor was strewed right; but just stay here a minute while I gO with empty ginger-beer bottles, oakum in and speak to somebody.’ Mrs. Chopper left bags, and many other articles. Altogether, the room, went downstairs, and took it to the the smell was anything but agreeable. bar-girl at the next public-house to ascertain ‘Here is -poor Peter’s bed,’ said. Mrs. if it was all correct. Chopper: ‘I changed his sheets the night ‘Yes, quite correct, Mrs. Chopper,’ replied before he was drowned, poor fellow! Can TI the lass. trust you to put the candle out ? ‘And is it as good as Peter's was, poor ~ ‘O, yes}; I'll be very careful.’ fellow ?’ ‘Then, gooc-night, boy. Do you ever say ‘ Much better,’ replied the girl. your prayers? poor Peter always did.’ “Dear me! Who would have thought it? ~ ‘Yes, I do,’ replied Joey ; ‘ good-night.’ and so like Peter too !’ Mrs. Chopper left the room, Joey threw Mrs. Chopper came upstairs again, and open the window-—for he was almost suffo- took her seat.—‘ Well,’ said she, and now cated, —undressed himself, put out the light, what is your name ?” and, when he had said his prayers, his * Joey.’ thoughts naturally reverted to the little Emma ‘Joey what ?’ who had knelt with him-on the road-side. *Joey—O‘Donahue,’ replied our héro, for he was fearful of giving the name of M‘Shane. ‘And who are your parents ?’ _ ‘ They are poor people,’ replied Joey, ‘and CHAPTER XXIII. live a long way off.’ ‘And why did you leave them ?’ Joey had already made up his mind to tell his former story; ‘I left there because | was AT five o'clock the next morning Joey was accused of poaching, and they wished me to called up by Mrs. Chopper; the waterman go away.’ was in attendance, and with the aid of Joey, ‘Poaching ; yes, I understand that—killing carried down the various articles into the hares and birds. Well, but why did you boat. When all‘in,as ready, Mrs. Chopper poach ?? and Joey sat down, to their breakfast, which ‘ Because father did.’ consisted of tea, bould and butter, and red *O, well, I see ; then, if you only did what herrings ; and, as Son as it was finished, your father did we must not blame his child : they embarked, and the boat shoved off In which our Hero goes on Duty:LHE POACHER, ‘Well, Mrs. Chopper,*said the waterman, ‘so I perceive you've got a new hand.’ ‘Yes,’ replied Mrs. Chopper ; ‘don’t you think he’s the moral of poor Peter ?’ ‘Well, I don’t know ; but there is a_-some- thing about the cut of his jib which reminds me of him, now you mentionit. Peter was a good boy.’ ‘Ay, that he was, and as sharp as a needle, You see,’ said Mrs. Chopper, turning to Joey, sharp’s the word in a bumboat. ‘There's many who pay, and many who don’t ; some I trust, and some I don’t—that is, those who won't pay me old debts. We lose a bit of money at times, but it all comes round in the end; but I lose more by not booking the things taken than in any other way, for sailors do pay when they have the money—that is, if ever they come back again, poor fellows. Now, Peter.’ ‘What! is his name Peter, too?’ ‘Yes ; I must call him Peier, Willi is so like poor Peter.’ ‘Well, that will suit me; I hate learning new names. ‘Well, but, Peter,’ continued Mrs. Chopper, “you must be very careful; for, you see, I’m often called away here and there after wash clothes and such things; and then you must look out, and if they do take up anything, why, you must book it, at all events. You'll learn by-and-by who to trust, and who not to trust ; for I know the most of my customers. You must not trust a woman—I mean any of the sailor's wives—unless I tell you; and you must be very sharp with them, for they play all manner of tricks ; you must look two ways at once. Now, there's a girl on board the brig we are pulling to, called Nancy ; why, she used to weather poor Peter, sharp as he was. She used to pretend to be very fond of him, and hug him close to her with one arm, so as to blind him, while she stole the tarts with the other: so, don't admit her familiari- ties; if you do, I shall pay for them.’ “Then, who_am I to trust 2’ ‘Bless the child ! you'll soon find*out that : but mind one thing—never trust a tall, lanky seaman, without his name’s on the books ; those chaps never pay. There’s the book kept by poor Peter; and you see names upon the top of each score—at least, I believe so ; I have no learning myself, but I’ve a good memory; I can’t read nor write, and that's why Peter was so useful.’ That Peter could read his own writing it is to be presumed ; but certain it was that Joey could not make it out until after many days’ examination, when he diseovered that certain hieroglyphics were meast to represent certain articles; after which it became more easy. They: had now reached the side of the vessel, im; he 5 and the sailors came down into the boat, and took up several articles upon credit ; Joey booked them very regularly. : “Has Bill been down yet?’ said a soft voice irom the gangway. ‘No, Nancy, he has not.’ ‘Then he wants two red herrings, a six- penny loaf, and some 'baccy.’ Joey looked up, and beheld a very hand- some, fair, blue-eyed girl with a most roguish look, who was hanging over the side. ‘Then, he must come himself, Nancy,’ re- plied Mrs. Chopper, ‘for, you. know, the last time you took up the things he said that you were never told to do so, and he would not pay for them.’ ‘That's because the fool was jealous; I lost the tobacco, Mrs. Chopper, and he said I had given it to Dick Snapper.’ ‘I can’t help that ; he must come himself.’ * But he’s away in the boat, and he told me to get the things for him. Who have you there? Not Peter; no, it’s not Peter: but, what a dear little boy.’ ‘I told you so,’ said Mrs. Chopper to our hero; ‘now, if I wasn’t in the boat, she would be down in it in a minute, and per- suade you to let her have the things—and ‘she never pays.’ in, and as he looked at’ Nancy, felt that it would be very unkind to refuse her. ‘Now, what a hard-hearted old woman you are, Mrs. Chopper. Bill will come on board ; and, as sure as I stand here, he’ll whack me. He will pay you, you may take my word for ati? ‘Your word, Nancy !’ replied Mrs. Chopper, shaking her head. ‘Stop a moment,’ said Nancy, -coming down*the side with very little regard as to showing her well-formed legs ; ‘stop, Mrs. Chopper, and [ll explain to you.’ ‘It’s no use coming down, Nancy, I tell you,’ replied Mrs. Chopper. ‘Well, we shall see,’ replied Nancy, taking her seat in the boat, and looking archly in Mrs. _Chopper's face; ‘the fact is, Mrs, Chopper, you: don’t know what a good- tempered woman you are.’ ‘I know, Nancy, what you are,’ replied Mrs. Chopper. ‘O, so -does everybody : enemy but my own, they say.’ ‘Ah! that's very true, child; more’s the pity.’ ‘Now, I didn’t come down to wheedle you out of anything, Mrs. Chopper, but merely to talk to you, and look at this pretty boy.’ ‘There you go, Nancy; but ain’t he like Peter?’ ‘Well, and so he is! very like Peter; he I’m nobody’s56 nas Peter's eyes and his nose, and his mouth is exactly Peter’s—how very strange !’ ‘I never see’d such a likeness !’ exclaimed Mrs. Chopper. ‘No, indeed,’ replied Nancy, who, by agree- ing with Mrs. Chopper in all she said, and praising Joey, and his likeness to Peter, at last quite came over the old bumboat-woman ; and Nancy quitted her boat with the two herrings, the loaf, and the paper of tobacco. ‘Shall I put them down, Mrs, Chopper ?’ Said Joey. ‘Oh dear!’ replied Mrs, Chopper, coming to her recollection, ‘I’m afraid that it’s no use ; but put them down, anyhow ; they will do for bad debts. Shove off, William, we must go to the large ship now.’ ‘I do wish that that Nancy was at any other port,’ exclaimed Mrs. Chopper, as they quit- ted the vessel's side ; ‘I do lose so much money by her.’ ‘Well,’ said the waterman, laughing, “you're not the only one; she can wheedle man Or woman, or, as they say, the devil to boot, if she would try.’ During the whole of the day the wherry proceeded from ship to ship, supplying neces- Saries ; in many instances they were paid for in ready-money, in others Joey’s capabilities were required, and they were booked down against the customers. At last, about five o'clock in the evening, the beer barrel being empty, most of the contents of the baskets nearly exhausted, and the wherry loaded with the linen for the wash, biscuits, empty bottles, and various other articles of traffic or ex- change, Mrs. Chopper ordered William.~the waterman, to pull on shore to the landing- place. As soon as the baskets and other articles had been carried up to the house, Mrs Chop- per sent out for the dinner, which was regu- larly obtained from a cook'’s-shop. Joey sat down with her, and when his meal was finished, Mrs. Chopper told him he might take a run and stretch his legs a little if he pleased, while she tended to the linen which was to go tothe wash. Joey was not sorry to take advantage of this considerate permission, for his legs were quite cramped from sitting so long jammed up between baskets of eggs, red herrings, and the other commodities which had encompassed-him. We must now introduce Mrs. Chopper to the reader a little more ceremoniously. She was the widow of a boatswain, who had set her up in the bumboat business, with some money he had acquired a short time before his death, and she had continued it ever since on her own account. People said that she was rich, but riches are comparative, and if a person in a seaport town, and in her situation, THE POACHER. could show £200 or £300 at her banker's shes was considered rich. If,she was rich in nos! thing else, she certainly was in bad and doubt-. i ful debts, having seven or eight books like that which Joey was filling up for her durin the whole day, all containing aceounts of lon standing, and most of which probably woul stand for ever; but if the bad debts wer many, the profits were in proportion ; and¥ what with the long-standing debts being occa- sionally paid, the ready money she continually 9 received, and the profitable traffic which she made in the way of exchange, &c., she ap- peared to do a thriving business, although it s 3 oF 5 d » € Is certain the one-half of her goods were asi! much given away as were the articles obtained ; from her in the morning by Nancy. 3 It is a question whether these book debts were not a source of enjoyment t every night she would take one of the books down, and although she could not read, yet, by having them continually read to her, and knowing the pages so exactly, she could al- most repeat every line by heart which the vari- ous bills contained; and then- there was always a story which she had to tell about each—something relative to the party of whom the _ transaction subsequently, when Joey was fairly domiciled with her, she would make him hand down one of the books, and talk away from it for hours ; they were the ledgers of her revnini- Scences ; the events of a considerable portion of her life were all entered down along with the 'baccy, porter, pipes, and red herrings; a bill for these articles was to her, time, place, and circumstance; and what with a good memory, and bad debts to assist it, many were the hours which were passed away (and plea- santly enough too, for one liked to talk, and the other to listen) between Mrs, Chopper and our little But we must not an- ticipate The permission given to Joey to stretch his legs induced him to set off as fast as he ceuld to gain the high road before his little friend, Emma Phillips, had left her school. down in the same place, waiting for her coming. The spot had become hallowed to the poor fellow, for he had there met with a friend—with one who sympathised with him when he most required consolation. He now felt happy, for he was no longer in doubt s of bad] hero. # io He sat about obtaining his livelihood, and his first ™™ wish was to impart th his little friend. She was not long before she made her appearance, in her little straw bonnet with blue ribbons. Joey started up, and in- formed her that-he had got a very nice place, explained to her what it was, and I been employed during the day. ‘And Ican very often come out about this o her, for™| remindéd her; and | e pleasing intelligence to =e 10w he hadTHE POACHER. 5 time, I think,’ added Joey, ‘and then I can wall home with you, and see that you come to no harm,’ ‘But,’ replied the little girl, ‘my mother says that she would like to see you, as she will not allow me to make acquaintance Don't you with people I meet by accident. think that mother is right ?’ ‘Yes, I do ; she’s very right,’ replied Joey ; ‘I didn't think of that.’ “Will you come and see her then ?’ ‘Not now, because I am not very Pll come on Sunday, if I can get leave.’ They separated, and foey returned back to the town. As he walked on, he thought he would spend the money he had got ina suit of Sunday clothes, of a better quality than those he had on, the materials of which were very coarse. Onsecond thoughts, he resolved to apply to Mrs. Chopper, as he did not ex- actly know where to go for them, and was afraid that he would be imposed upon. ‘Well, Peter,’ said his new mistress, ‘do you feel better for your walk ” ‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’ ‘Peter,’ continued Mrs. Chopper, ‘ you ap- pear to be very handy, good boy, and I hope we shall live together a long while. How long have you been at sca?’ ‘I was going to sea ; I have never been to sea yet, and I don't want to go; I would rather stay with you.’ “And so you shall, that’s a settled thing. What clothes have you got, Peter ?’ ‘IT have none but what I stand in, and; few shirts in a bundle, and they are Sund: ones; but when I left home [ had some money given me, and I wish to buy a suit of clothes for Sunday, to go to church in.’ ‘That's a good boy, and so you shall ; but how much money have you got ?’ ‘Quite enough to buy a suit of clothes,’ re- plied Joey, handing out two sovereigns, and seventeen shillings in silver. , {O74suj they gave you all that:to fit you out with when you left home ; poor people, I dare say they worked hard for it. Well, I don't think the money will be of any use to you; so you had better buy a Sunday suit, and I will take care you want for nothing afterwards. Don’t you think I'm right ?’ ‘Yes, I wish todo so. ‘To-day is Tuesday ; I may have them made by next Sunday.’ ‘So you can; and as‘soon as William comes in, which he will soon, from the washerwoman’s, we will go out and order them. Here he comes up the stairs—no, that foot’s too light for his. Well, it's Nancy, I declare! Why, Nancy, now,’ continued Mrs. Chopper, in a deprecating tone, ‘ what do you want here ?’ ‘Weil, I leave you to guess,’ replied Nancy, clean. O/ looking very demurely, and taking a seat upon a hamper. ‘Guess, I fear there’s no guess in it, Nancy ; but I will not—now it’s no use—I will not trust another shilling.’ “But I know you will, Mrs. Chopper. Lord love you, you're such a good-natured creature, you can't refuse any one, and cer- tainly not me. Why don’t you take me in your boat with you as your assistant ? then there would be something in it worth looking at. I should bring you plenty of custom.’ ‘You're too wild, Nancy ; too wild, girl. But, now, what do you want? recoliect you’ve already had some things to-day.’ ‘I know I have, and you are a good- natured old trump, that you are. Now, I'll tell you—-gold must pass between us this time. “Mercy on me, Nancy, why you're mad, I've no gold—nothing but bad debts.’ ‘Look you, Mrs. Chopper, look at this shabby old bonnet of mine. new one? ‘Then you must get somebody else to give you money, Nancy,’ replied Mrs. Chopper, coolly and decidedly. ‘Don't talk so fast, Mrs. Chopper : now, I'll let you know how it is. When Bill came on board he asked the captain for an advance: the captain refused him before, but this time he was in a good humour, and he consented, So then I coaxed Bill out of a sovereign to buy anew bonnet, and he gave it me; and then I thought what a kind soul you were, and I resolved that I would bring you the sovereign, ana go without the new bonnet; so here it is, take itquick, or 1 shall repent.’ ‘Well, Nancy,’ said Mrs. Chopper, ‘you said right; gold has passed between us, and I am surprised. Now I shall trust you again.’ ‘And so you ought; it’s not every pretty girl, like me, who will give up a new bonnet. Only look what a rubbishy affair this is,’ con- tinued Nancy, giving her own a kick up in the air. , ‘I wish I had a sovereign to give away,’ said Joey to Mrs. Chopper; ‘I wish I had not said a word about the clothes.’ ‘Do as you like with your own money, my dear,’ said the bumboat-woman. ‘Then, Nancy, I'll give you a sovereign to buy yourself anew bonnet with,’ said Joey, taking one out of his pocket and putting it into her hand. Nancy looked at the sovereign, and then at Joey. ‘Bless the boy!’ said she, at last, kiss- ing him on the forehead; ‘he has a kind heart; may the world use him better than it has me! Here, take your sovereign, child ;. any bonnet’s good enough for one like me.’ Don’t I want a58 So saying, Nancy turned hastily away, and ran downstairs. CHAPTER XXTYV, In which Mrs. Chopper reads her Ledger. ‘AH, poor girl,’ said Mrs. Chopper, with a sigh, as Nancy disappeared. ‘You are a good boy, Peter; I like to see boys not too fond of money, and if she had taken it (and I wish she had, poor thing) I would have made it up to you.’ ‘Is the man she calls Bill her husband ?’ in- quired Joey. ‘O, I know nothing about other people’s husbands,’ replied Mrs. Chopper, hastily. ‘Now then, let us go and order the clothes, and then you'll be able to go to church on Sunday; I will do without you.’ “What, won't you go to church ?” ‘Bless you, child ; who ts to give the poor men their breakfast and their beer? A bum- boat-woman can't go to church any more than a baker's man, for people must eat on a Sunday. Church, like everything else in this world, appears to me only to be made for the rich ; I always take my Bible in the boat with me on Sunday, but then I can’t read it, so it’s of no great use. No, dear, I can’t go to church, but I can contrive, if it don’t rain in the evening, to go to meeting and hear a little of the Word; but you can go to church, dear.’ A suit of blue cloth, made in sailor's fashion, having been ordered by Mrs. Chop- per, she and Joey returned home; and, after their tea, Mrs. Chopper desired Joey to hand her one of the account-books, which she put upon her knees and opened. ‘There,’ said she, looking-at the’ page, ‘I know that account well; it was Tom Alsop’s —a fine fellow he was, only he made sucha bad marriage : his wife was a very fiend, and the poor fellow loved her, which was worse. One day he missed her, and found she was on board another vessel ; and he came on shore, distracted like, and got very tipsy;as sailors always do when they're in trouble, and he went down to the wharf, and his body was picked up next day.’ ‘Did he drown himself?’ ‘Yes, so people think, Peter; and he owed me £1 3s. 4d., if I recollect right. Arn’t that the figure, Peter ?’ ‘Yes, ma'am,’ replied Joey, ‘ that’s the sum total of the account, exactly.’ ‘Poor fellow !’ continued Mrs. Chopper, with a sigh, ‘he went to his long account without paying me my short one. Never THE POACHER, mind ; I wish he was alive, and twice as much in my debt. There’s another - I recollect that well, Peter, for it's a proof that sailors are honest ; and I do believe that, if they don’t pay, it’s more from thoughtlessness than any- thing else ; and then the women coax all their money from them, for sailors don’t care for money when they do get it—and then those Jews are such shocking fellows ; but look you, Peter, this is almost the first bill run up after I took up the busiriess. He was a nice fair- haired lad, from Shields; and the boy was cast away, and he was picked up by-another vessel, and brought here ; and I let him have things and lent him money to the amount of a matter of £20, and he said he would save all and pay me, and he ‘sailed away again, and I never heard of him for nine years. 8 thought that he was drowned, or that he was not an honest lad ; I didn’t know which, and it was a deal of money to Jose; but I gave it up; when one day a tall, stout fellow, with great red whiskers, called upon me, and said, ‘‘Do you know me?” No,’’ said I, half- frightened; ‘‘how should F know you? J never seed you before.’’—*! Yes, you. did,” says he, ‘‘and here's a proof of it;"’ and he put down on-the table a lot of money, and said, ‘‘ Now, missus, help yourself; better late than ‘never. “I’m Jim Sparling, who was cast away,.and who you were as good asa mother to; but I've never been able to get leave to come to you since. I’m boatswain’s mate of a man-of-war, and have just received my pay, and uow I've come to pay my debts.” He would make me take £5 more than his bill, to buy a new silk gown for his sake. Poor fellow ! he’s dead now. Here’s another, that wasrunup by oneof yourtall, lanky sailors, who wear their knives ina sheath; and not with a lanyard round their waists : those fel- lows never pay, but they swear dreadfully. Let me see, what can this one be? Read it, Peter ; how much is it?’ ‘£4 2s. 4d.,’- replied our hero. “Yes, yes, I recollect now—it was the Dutch skipper. ‘There’s murder in that bill, Peter: it was things I supplied to him just before he sailed ; and an old man was passenger in the cabin : he was a very rich man, although he pretended to be poor. He was a diamond merchant, they say ; and as soon as they were at sea, the Dutch. captain: murdered him in the night, and ‘threw him overboard out of the cabin-window ; but one of the sailors saw the deed dont, and the captain was taken up at Amsterdam, and had his head cut off. The crew told us when the galliot came back with anew captain. So the Dutch skipper paid the forfeit of his crime: he paid my bill, too, that’s certain. Oh, deary me!’ continued the old lady, turning to another page, ‘I shan'tTHE POACHER. forget this in a hurry, I never see poo Nancy now without recollecting it. Look, Peter; I know the sum—£8 4s. 6d. exactly : it was the things taken up when Tom Free- love married Nancy—it was the wedding dinner and supper.’ ‘What, Nancy who was here just now?’ “Yes, . that Nancy ; and a Sweet, modest young creature she was then; and had been well brought up, too; she could read and write beautifully, and subscribed to a circula- ting library, they say. She was the daughter of a baker in this town. ‘I recollect it well : such a fine day it was when they went to church, she looking so handsome in her new ribbons and smart dress, and he such a fine- looking young man. I never seed such a handsome young couple ; but he was a bad one, and so it all ended in misery.’ ‘ Tell me how,’ said Joey. ‘T'll tell all you ought to know, boy; you are too young to be told all the wickedness of this world. Her husband treated her very ill; before he had been matried a month he left her, and went about with other people, and was always drunk, and she became jealous and distracted, and he beat her cruelly, and deserted her ; and then, to comfort her, people would persuade her to keep her spirits up, and gave her something to drink, and by degrees she became fond of it. Her husband was killed by a fall from the mast-head ; and she loved him still and took more to liquor, and that was her ruin. She don't drink now, because she don’t feel as shé used to do; she cares about nothing ; she is much to be pitied, poor thing, for she is still young, and very pretty. It’s only four years ago when I saw her come out of church, and thought what a happy couple they would be.’ ‘ Where are her father and mother?’ ‘Both dead. Don’t let’s talk about it any more. It’s bad enough when a man drinks ; but if a woman takes to it, it is all over with her ; but some people’s feelings are so strong, that they fly to it directly to drown care and misery. Put up the book, Peter; I can’t look at it any more to-night ; we'll go to bed,’ Joey every day gave more satisfaction to his employer, and upon his own responsibility, allowed his friend the sailor lad to open an account as soon as his money was all gone. Finding that the vessel was going up the river to load, Joey determined to write a few lines to the M ‘Shanes;-to-allay the neasiness which he knew his absence must have occasioned, Jim--Paterson promising to put the letter in the post as soon as he arrived at London. Our hero simply said, ‘My dear sir, I am quite well, and have found employment, so pray do not grieve about me, as I never shall forget your kindness,—Joey M ‘Shane. 59 _ On the following Sunday, Joey was dressed in his sailor's suit, and looked very well in it, He was not only a very good-looking, but a gentlemanlike boy in his manners, He went to church, and after church he walked out to the abode of his little friend, Emma Phillips. She ran out to meet him, was delighted with his new clothes, and took him by the hand to present him to her mother. Mrs. Phillips was a quiet-looking, pleasing woman, and the old lady was of a very venerable appearance, They made many inquiries about his friends, and Joey continued in the same Story, that he and his father had been poachers, that he aad been discovered and obliged to go away, and that he went with the consent of his parents. They were satisfied with his replies, and prepossessed in his favour; and as Joey was so patronized by her little daughter, he was desired to renew his visits, which he occa- sionally did on Sundays, but. preferred meet- ing Emma on the road from school ; and the two children (if Joey could be called a child) became very intimate, and felt annoyed if they did not every day exchangea few words. Thus passed the first six months of Joey’s new life. The winter was cold, andthe water rough, and he blew his fingers, while Mrs, Chopper folded her arms up in her apron ; but he nad always a good dinner and a warm bed after the day’s work was over. He be- came a great favourite with Mrs.-Chopper, who at last admitted that he was much more useful than even. Peter; and William, the waterman, declared that such was really the case, and that he was, in his opinion, worth two of the former Peter, who had come to such an untimely end. CHAPTER XXV. In which the Biter is Bit. THE disappearance- of Joey from the school was immediately communicated to M‘Shane by the master, who could not imagine how such an incident could have occurred in such a decent establishment as his preparatory seminary ; it was an epoch in his existence, and ever afterwards his chronology was founded upon it, and everything that occurred was-so many months or weeks before or after the absconding of young Master M‘Shane. The letter had, of course, been produced, and as soon as the schoolmaster had taken his de- parture, M‘Shane and his wife were in deep council. ‘I recollect,’ said Mrs. M‘Shane, who was crying in an easy chair—‘I recollect, now, that one day the boy came up and asked me the meaning of wilful murder, and’ I told60 him. And now I think of it, I do also re- member the people at No. 1 table, close to the Counter, some time ago, talking about a murder having been committed by a mere child, and a long Ns of it in the news- papers. Iam sure, however (as Joey says in his letter), that he is not guilty,’ ‘And soam I,’ replied M‘Shane. ‘ How- ever, bring up the file of newspapers, dear, aird let me look over them. How long back do you think it was ?’ “Why, let me see; it was about the time you went away with Captain O’Donahue, I think, or a little before—that was in October.’ M ‘Shane turned over the file of newspapers, and after a quarter of an hour's search found the report of the coroner's inquest. ‘Here it is, my dear, sure enough,’ M ‘Shane. As soon as he had read it over, and came to the end, he said, ‘Yes; wilful murder against Joseph Rushbrook the younger, and 200/. for hisapprehension. ‘This it was that drove the boy away from home, and not poaching, although I have no doubt that poaching was the cause of the murder. Now, my dear,’ continued M‘Shane, ‘I think I can unravel all this ; the murder has been com- mitted, that’s evident, by somebody, but not by joey, I’ll be sworn; he says that he is not guilty, and I believe him. Nevertheless, Joey runs away, and a verdict is found against him. said My dear wife, | a oe to know the father of Joey well ; he was a fine, bold soldier, but one who ‘would stick at nothin IE; and: if: ] could venture an “ppepon. it is, that the Rushbrook, and the boy has ab- murder was committed by not by the boy, and that sconded to save his father.’ The reader will acknowledge was very clear-sighted. ‘“That’s my opinion,’ continued M ‘Shane. ‘ How it has been managed to make the boy appear as the party, I cannot tell; but know- iny the father, and knowing the son, I'd stake my commission that I've guessed at the truth.’ ‘Poor boy !’ exclaimed Mrs. M‘Shane: ‘well, the Commandment that the sins. of the father shall be visited upon the children. What can be done, M ‘Shane ?’ “Nothing at present ; it would injure Joey to raise a hue and cry after him; for, you see if he is apprehendec e lve must either be tried for his life, and convicted himself, prove that he did not do it, ih ich probably he could not do without convicting his father : I will, how- ever, make some inquiries about Rush brook himself, and if I can I will see him.’ ‘The same evening the schoolmaster again called upon M‘Shane, to say that two persons had come to the school in the afternoon and S Say THE POACHER. asked to see him : that one of them, See aot | : dressed, but evidently a person who was nog: of so low a class in life as the other, had@ accosted him, when he came into the parloun™ with, ‘I believe I have the pleasure of speake® ing to Mr. Slappum ; if so, may I request the favour to see my little friend Joey, met yesterday walking out with the other™ young gentlemen under your care, as I haveg him from his father and mother #m 1y- tuition, and} qoubdt thag a a message to The dear boy was once undern did me much credit, as I have no he has done you.’ Now, the usher had told Mr. Joey fhad been addressed by day before, and the schoolmaster presuming, of course, that it was Joey. M‘Shane, replied} —‘I am sorry to say that he left this housem last night, and has\absconded we know not where. He left a letter for Major M ‘Shane, which I have this day. delivered to him, acquainting him with the unpleasant circum stance.’ solted, by all that’s clever!’ said the second personage to the first, who looked very much surprised and confounded. ‘You really have astonished me, my deat replied the first , whom the reader course recognize Furness ; “ that a lad brought up by me in such strict moral principles, such correct notions of elit and = and, I may add, such pious feelings, Slappum that : Site ’ will of perso? to be ROD. should have taken such a step, 1s to meé ins COl ae sible. Major M‘Shane, FE think you sa d, lives at —— ?" eNaick M‘Shane lives at No. —, in Hol- born,’ replied the schoolmaster. ‘And the lad has not gone home to him?’ ‘No, he has not ; he left a letter, which I Major M‘Shane ; but Fdid not a it of its contents.’ tad really am stupefied with .grief Pose VeX- ation,’ replied Furness, ‘and will not intrudé any longer. Bless the poor boy! what can have come of him ?’ So saying, Furness took his departure with the peace-officer, whom he had entrusted? with the warrant, which he had taken out to secure the person of our hero. to OK to the seal, and am ignorat M-Shane heard the schoolmaster's account of this visit without interruption, and then said, ‘I have no doubt but that this person who has called upon you we a ay me @ Visit ; oblige me, therefore, by describing his person him at first particularly, so that I may ker no\ sight.’ The schoolmaster gave a most accurate description of Furness, and then took his leave. As the eating-house kept by Mrs: M-Shane had a private door, Furness (who, as M‘Shane had prophesied, came the next afternoon), after having read the name on the whom T@| this person the}THE POACHER. private door, which was not on the eating- house, which went by the name of the Chequers, imagined that it was an establish- ment apart, and thought it advisable to enter into it, and ascertain a little about Major M- Shane before he called upon him. Although M ‘Shane seldom made his appearance in the room appropriated for the dinners, it so happened that he was standing at the door when Furness entered and sat dow n in a box, calling for the bill of fare, and ordering a plate of beef and cabbage. M ‘Shane recos- nized him by the description given of him im- mediately, and resolved to make => his acquain- tance incog., and ascertain what his intentions were ; he therefore took his s@at in the same box, and winking to one of the girls who at- tended, also called for a plate of beef and cabbage. Furness, who was anxious to pump any one he might fall in with, immediately entered into conversation with the m: ajor. ‘A good house this, sir, and well attended apparently ? ‘Yes, sir,’ replied ~M‘ Sh qane 5 “it sidered a very Tees house.’ ‘Do you frequent it much ‘Always, sir; I feel much intere: Success, replied M‘Shane ; ‘ for lady who kee ps it well, and iS con- yourself ?’ in 1ts w the igh re- spect for hep ‘I saw her as I pass Pray may I ed by—a fine woman, ask who is Major rve lives in the rooms sir ! M ‘Shane, above ? ‘He is a major in the half-pay.’ ‘Do you know him ?’ ‘Remarkably well,’ re pli a countryman of mine.’ ‘He's married, sir, you for the pepper.’ + “He js married, woman “Any family, sir?’ ‘Not that I know are I believe, n call Joey ‘Indeed ! how very kind of them; really, now, it’s quite who I obser army, § ir—now on ed M ‘Shane ; I think? I'll trouble sir, to a very amiable of ; they have at school—a boy a young they refres to me to see so much goodness of heart still remaining in this bad world. Adopted him, I presume 2” ‘I really cannot exactly say that; I know that they treat him as their own child.’ ‘Have you seen Major M’‘Shane sir? ‘Saw him got up.’ ‘Indeed ! This is remarkably good ¢ -——will you honour me by tasting it ?’ ‘Sir, you are very kind ; but “the fact ISL never drink malt liquor. Here, girl, bring a half-pint of brandy. I trust, sir, you will not ing lately, this morning, sir, just after he ale, sir 6z refuse to join me ina glass, although I cannot venture to accept your polite offer,’ Furness drank off his pot of ale, and made ready for the brandy which had been offered him ; M‘Shane filled his own glass, and then handed the decanter over to Furness. ‘I have the pleasure of drinking your good health, sir,’ said M‘Shane. ‘You are from the country, I presume may I inquire from what part ? ‘I am from Devonshire; I was formerly head of the grammar school at =; Dat sis my principles would not allow me to retain my situation ; rectitude of conduct, sir, is ab- solutely necessary to the profession which in- culcates morality and virtue, as well as in- struction to youth, sir. Here’s to our better acquaintanee, sir,’ ‘Sir, to yours; I honour your sentiments. By the powers ! but you're right, Mr. ——, J beg your pardon—but I don’t catch your namie exactly. ‘Furness, sir, at your service. Yes, sir, the directors of the foundation which I presided over, I may say, with such credit to myself, and such advantage to the pupils under my care, wished to make a job—yes, sir—of a charity ; I could not consent to such deeds, and I re signed.’ ‘And you have been in London ever since 2’ SINOpeatiea I oe to the smali village of Grassford, where I set up a school, but cir- cumstances compelled me to resign, and I am now about to seek fore employment | In another hemisphere’; in short, I have an idea of going out to. New South Wales as a preceptor. T understand they are in great want of tuition in that quarter. ‘I should think go, ’ replied M‘s they have a learn.’ ‘I speak of the junior branches-—the scions or offsets, I may say—born in the colony, and who, I trust, will prove that crime is not hereditary.’ “Well, “I you. tucks: sire M‘Shane : : must oblige me by taking another glass, for] never shall be able to finish this decanter myself.’ ‘I gladly avail myself of the Shane ; ‘and a great deal to unlearn as well as to ied : replied pleasure of your company, sir.’ As the reader is well aware that Furness was an intemperate man, it is not surprising that he accepted the offer; and before the second glass was finished, the ale and brandy had begun to have the effect, and he had be- come very communicative ‘What was the name of the village which you stated you had resided in lately, sir?’ in- quired M‘Shane. ‘The village of Grassford. ‘There is something I recollect about that62 village ; let me see—something that I read in the newspapers. I remember now—it was the murder of a pedlar.’ ‘Very true, sir, such a circumstance did take place; it was a dreadful what is more strange, committed by a mere child, who absconded.’ ‘Indeed! What was his name ?’ ‘Rushbrook, sir; his father was a well- known poacher—a man who had been in the army, and had a pension for wounds. There is an old saying, sir, of high authority— ‘‘ Bring up a child in the way he shouid go, and he will not depart from it.’’> Iinstructed that boy, sir; but, alas! what avails the in- Struction of a preceptor when a father leads his child into evil ways ?’ ‘That's the truth, and no mistake,’ M‘Shane. .‘So the boy ran away? recollect now. And what became father 2 ‘The father, sir, and mother have since left the village, and gone nobody knows where.’ ‘Indeed! are e you sure of that ?’ ‘Quite sure, sir; for I was most anxious to discover them, and took great pains, but with- out success.’ “What did the people say the Was there no suspicion of the father plicated !’ ‘I do not think there was. He gave evi- dence at the inquest, and so did J, sir, as you may suppose, most unwillingly ;. for the boy was a favourite of mine. I beg your pardon, sir—you say you are acquainted with Major M'‘Shane, and saw him this morning; is the interesting little boy you speak of replied Meso L of the reabouts ? being im- as under his protection now at home or still at school ?” ‘J: really “cannot positively say,’ replied M‘Shane: ‘but thiS is not holiday-time. Come, sir, we must not part yet ; your conver- sation is too interesting. You must allow me to call for some more brandy ; poor as-I am, I must treat myself and you too. I wish I knew where I could pick up a little money ; for, to tell you the truth, cas h begins to run low.’ Furness was now more than half drunk. ‘Well, sir,’ said he, ‘I have known money picked up without any difficulty : for instance, now, suppose we should fall in with this young rascal who committed the murder ; there is £200 offered for his apprehension. and, con- viction.’ *I thought as much,’ muttered M ‘Shane ; ‘the infernal scoundrel! I suspect that you will find him where you are going to, Mr. Furbish, he’s got that far by this time.’ ‘Between you'and IJ,*I think not, sir. My name is Furness, sir—I beg your pardon—not Furbish.’ THE POACHER. ‘Why, you do not think he would be such a fool as to remain in the country after such” an act ?’ ‘The wicked are foolish, sir, as well as) others,’ replied Furness, putting his finger to his nose, and itooking very knowingly, ; That’s truth,::sit;...7 Help. yourself drink nothing. Excuse me one. minute; be back directly.’ 4 M‘Shane left the box for a few minutes to ‘| explain to his wife what he was about, and to give time for the liquor to operate upon Fur=™ ness. As he expected, he found, on his reas | turn, that Furness had finished his glass, and@ was more tipsy than when he left him. The conversation was renewed, anda | M ‘Shane again pleading his poverty, and his@| wish to obtain money, brought out the prosm| posal of Furness, who informed him that hew| had recognised the proféeé of Major M ‘Shanes | to be the identical Joseph Rushbwseke that” the boy had absconded from the schoel, and was concealed in the house. He concluded by observing to M‘Shane, that, as he was s@ intimate with the major, it w ould be very easy for him to ascertain the fact, and offered him 4,50, as his share of the reward, if he would assist him in the boy’s capture. — It was lucky for Furness that M‘Shane was surrounded by others, or in all probability there would have been another murder committed. The major however, said he would think of it, and felk back in deep thought ; what he was thinking of was, what he should do to punish Furness; At last an idea came into his head ; the rascal was drunk, and he proposed that they should go to another house, where they might find the major, and he w ould present; him. Furs ness consented, and reeled out of the box; M ‘Shane, although he would as soon, havé touched a viper, controlled himself sufficiently: to give Furness his arm, and leading him down by two or three back courts, he took him into an ale-house\where there was a rene dezvous for enlisting marines for the navy, As soon as they were seated, and had liquor before them, M‘Shane spoke to the sergeang® tipped him a guinea, and said he bad a good: recruit for him, if he could be persuaded to enlist. He then introduced the sergeant aS the major, and advised Furness to pretend to agree with him in everything. The sergeamt told long stories, clapped Furness, who was now quite intoxicated, on the back, called him a jolly fellow, and askd him to enlist ‘Say ‘‘yes," to please him,’ said M‘Shane ait his ear. Furness did so, received the shillingy and when he came to his senses the next day; found his friend had disappeared, and that he was under an escort for Portsmouth. All re monstrances were unavailing ; M ‘Shane had feed the sergeant, and had promised hima, higher fee not to let Furness off; and they£HE POACHER, latter, having but a few shillings in his pocket, was compelled to submit to his fate. CHAPTER. XXVIL In which our Hero again falls in with an old Acquaintance, FOR nearly two years Joey had filled his situa- tion as chancellor of the exchequer to Mrs. Chopper. He certainly did not feel himself always in the humour or the disposition for business, especially during the hard winter months, when, seated almost immovably in the boat during the best portion of the day, he would find his fingers so completely dead, that he could not hold his pen. But there is no situation, under any of the powers that be, that has not some drawback. People may say that a sinecure is one that has not its disad- vantages; but such is not the case—there is the disgrace of holding it. At all events, Joey's place was no sinecure, for he was up early, and was employed the whole of the day. Nancy, the young woman we have intro- duced to our readers, had contracted a great regard for our hero, eversince his offering her his money ; and Joey was equally partial to her, for she possessed a warm heart and much good feeling ; she would very often run up- Stairs into Mrs, Chopper’s room, to talk with the old lady and to see y, and would then. take out her thimble and needle, examine his clothes, and-make the necessary repairs. ‘I saw you walking with little Emma Phillips, Peter,’ said Nancy : ‘where did you come to know her ?’ | _ “I met her in the road the day that I came | down to Gravesend.’ | *Well, I’m sure ! and do yo | young lady you chance to m: | €No; but I was unhappy, and she was very kind to me.’ ‘She's a very sweet child, or rather, I can only say that she was, when I knew her ‘When did you know her ?’ ‘Four or five years ago. I lived for ashort time with Mrs, Phillips ; that was when I was a good girl.’ ‘Yes, indeed, | shaking her head. /_ ‘Why ain’t you good, now, Nancy?’ replied Joey. * Because——’ said Nancy. ‘Because why ?’ ‘Because I am not good,’ replied the girl ; ‘and now, Peter, don’t ask any more ques- tions, or you'll make me cry. Heigho! I think crying very pleasant now and then; one’s eak to every Nancy,’ said Mrs, Chopper, 63 heart feels fresher, like flowers after the rain, Peter, where are your father and mother >’ ‘I don't know ; I left them at home.’ ‘You Jeft them at home | but do you never hear from them? do you never write ?’ No.’ ‘N ‘But why not? I am sure they have brought They must be very good people, you up well. are they not ?’ Joey could not answer ; how could he say that his father was a good man after what had passed ? ‘You don’t answer me, Peter; don’t you love your father and mother dearly ?” ‘Yes, indeed I do ; but I must not write to them.’ ‘ Well, I must say there is something about Peter and his parents which I cannot under- Stand, and which I have often tried to make him tell, and he will not,’ said Mrs. Chopper. ‘Poaching ain’t such a crime, espe- cially in a boy. I can’t see why he should not write to his father and mother at all events. I hope, Peter, you have told me the truth ?’ ‘I have told you what is true; but my father was a poacher, and they know it; and if they did not punish me, they would him, and transport him, too, if I gave evidence against him, which I must do, if put to my oath. I've told you all I can tell; I must not tell of father, must I ?’ ‘No, no, child ; I dare say you are right,’ replied Mrs. Chopper. “Now, I don't ask you to tell me, Peter,’ said Nancy, ‘for I can guess what has taken place; you and your father have been out poaching, there has been a scuffle with the keepers, and there has been blood shed ; and that’s the reason why you keep out of the way. Ain't I right?’ ‘You are not far wrong,’ ‘but I will not say a word ite, ‘And I won’t ask you, my little Peter; there—that’s done—and now T shall have a peep out of the window, for it’s very close here, Mrs. Chopper.’ Nancy threw the window open, and leaned out of it, watching the passers-by.‘ Mercy on us! here's three soldiers coming up the Street with a deserter handcuffed,’ cried she. an it be? he’s a sailor, Why, I do t's Sam Oxenham, that belongs to the Poor fel- replied Joey; more Ut Believe Thomas and Mary of Sunderland, low! Yes, jt is him.’ Joey went to the window, and took his stand by the side of Nancy. iat soldiers are those ?’ inquired he. ; “They're not soldiers, after all,’ replied Nancy ; ‘they are jollies—a sergeant and two privates.’64 ‘Jollies! what are they ? “Why, marines, to be sure.’ Joey continued looking at them until they passed under the window, when Nancy, who had a great disgust at anything like arbitrary power, could not refrain from speaking. ‘] say, master sergeant, you're a nice brave fellow, with your two jollies. D’ye think the young man will kill you all three, that you must put the darbies on so tight ?’ At this appeal, the sergeant and privates looked up at the window, and laughed when they saw such a pretty girl as Nancy. The eyes of one of the privates were, however, soon fixed on our hero's face, and deeply scrutinizing it, when Joey looked at him. As soon as’ Joey recognized him, he drew back from the window, pale as death, the private still remaining staring at the window. ‘Why, what's the. matter, Peter? said Nancy; ‘what makes you look so pale? do you know that man ?’ “Yes, replied Joey, drawing ‘and he knows me, I’m afraid.’ “Why do you fear?’ replied Nancy. ‘See if he’s gone,’ said Joey. “Yes, he has; he has gone up the street with the sergeant: but every now and then he looks back at this window ; but perhaps that’s to see me.’ ‘Why, Peter, what harm/’can that marine do you? inquired Mrs. Chopper. ‘A great deal; he will never be quiet until he has me, taken up, and then what will be- come of my poor father?’ continued Joey, with the tears running down his cheeks. ‘Give me my bonnet, Peter. I'll soon find out what he is after,’ said. Nancy, leaving the window. She threw her bonnet on her head, and ran downstairs. Mrs. Chopper in vain endeavoured to con- sole our hero, or make him explain—he did nothing but sit mournfully by her side, think- ing what he had best do, and expecting every minute to hear the tramp of. F was he who had recognized Joey) coming up the stairs. ‘Mrs. Chopper,’ at last said Joey, ‘I must leave you, I’m afraid; 1 obliged to his breath, uirmess (for it was leave my former friends on this man’s ac- count.’ ‘Leave me, boy! no, no, you must not leave me—how could I get on without you?’ ‘If I don’t leave you myself, I shall be taken up, that is certain; but indeed I have not done wrong—don't think that I have.’ ‘I’m sure of it, child ; you've only to say so, and I'll believe you.; but why should he care about you?’ ‘He lived in our village, and knows all about it ; he gave evidence at te FOACH EY: ‘At what, boy?’ ‘At the time that I ran away from hame} he proved that I had the gun and bag which were found.’ ‘Well, and suppose you had ; what then?’ ™ ‘Mrs. Chopper, there was a reward offered, and he wants to get the money.’ ‘O, I see now—a reward offered ; then it must be as Nancy said; there was blood shed,’ and Mrs. Chopper put her apron up to ™ her eyes. Joey made no answer. After a few minutes silence he rose, and went to his room where he slept, and put his clothes up in a bundle. Having so done, he sat down on the side of his bed and reflected what was the course he ought to pursue. Our hero was now sixteen, and much ins creased in stature ; he was no longer a child, although, in heart, almost as innocent. His thoughts wandered—he yearned to see his father and mother, and reflected whether he might not venture back to the village, and meet them by stealth; he thought of the M'‘Shanes, and imagined that he might in the same way return to them; then little Emma Phillips rose in his imagination, and his fear that he should never see her again; Captain O'Donahue was at last brought to his recol« lection, and he longed to be once more with him in Russia; and, lastly, he reviewed the happy and contented life he had lately led with his good friend Mrs. Chopper, and how sorry he should be to part with her. After a time he threw himself on his bed and hid his face in the pillow ; and, overcome with the — excess of his feelings, he at last fell fast asleep. In the meantime Nancy had followed the marines up the street, and saw them enter, with their prisoner, into a small public-house, where she was well known; she foltowed them, spoke a few kind words to the seaman who had been apprehended, and with whom _ she was acquainted, and then sat down by Furness to attract his attention. Furness had certainly much improved in his appearance since he had (much against his will) been serving his Majesty. Being a tall man, he had, by drilling, become perfectly erect, and the punishment awarded to drunks enness, as well as the difficulty of procuring liquor, had kept him from his former intems perance, and his health had in consequence improved. He had been more than once brought up to the gangway upon his first ems barkation, but latterly had conducted himself properly, and was in expectation of being made a corporal, for which situation his edus cation certainly qualified him. On the whole, he was now a fine-looking marine, although just as unprincipled a scoundrel as ever. i, aes ; a | i i i } j }THE POACHER, 62 pos Well, “my pretty lass, didn’t I see looking out of window just now?’ “To be sure you did, and you might have heard me too,’ replied Nancy; ‘and when I Saw such a handsome fellow as you, didn’t I put on my bonnet in a hun 7, and come after you? What ship do you belong to?’ “The Mars, at the Nore.’ ‘Well, I should like to go,on board of a man-of-war. Will you take me? ; come, have a drink of you ‘To be sure I will peer.- ‘Here's to the jollies,’ said Nancy, putting ‘When do you the pewter pot to her lips. go on board again ?’ ‘Not till to-morrow; we've caught our bird, and now we'll amuse ourselves a little, Do you belong to this place ?’ ‘Yes, bred and born here; but we hardly ever see a man-of-war ; they stay at the Nore, or go higher up.’ Nancy did all she could to make Furness believe she had taken a fancy to him, and knew too well how to succeed. Before an hour had passed, Furness, had, as he thought, made every arrangement with her, and con. gratulated himself on his good fortune. In the meantime the beer and brandy went round ; even the unfortunate captive was per- suaded to drink with them, and drown reflec- tion. At last, Furness said to Nancy, ‘Who was that lad that was looking out of window with you? Was it your brother?’ ‘My brother ! bless you, no. You mean that scamp Peter, who goes in the bumboat, with old Mother Chopper.’ “Does he ?—well, I have either seen him before, or some one like him.’ ‘He's not of our town,’ replied Nancy ; ‘he came here about two years ago, nobody knows where from, and has been with Mrs, Chopper ever since.’ ‘Two years ago,’ muttered Furness, ‘ that’s just the time.- Come, girl, take some more beer. Nancy drank a little, and put down the pot. ‘Where does Mrs, Chopper live?’ inquired Furness. ‘Where you saw me looking out of the window,’ replied Nancy. ‘And the boy lives with her? upon Mrs. Chopper by-and-by.’ ‘Yes, to be sure he does ; but why are you talking-so about the boy? Why don’t you tallk to me, and tell me what a pretty girl I am, for I like to be told that.’ Iurness and his comrades continued the carouse, and were getting fast into a state of intoxication ; the sergeant only was prudent ; but Furness could not let pass this opportu- nity of indulging without fear of punishment. I will call a He became more loving towards Nancy as he became more tipsy ; when Nancy, who cajoled him to the utmost of her power, again men- tioned our hero; and then it was that Fur- ness, who, when inebriated, could never hold a secret, first told her there was a reward offered for his apprehension, and that if she would remain with him they would spend the money together. ‘To this Nancy immediately consented, and offered to assist him as much as She could, as she had the entrance into Mrs. Chopper’s house, and knew where the lad slept. But Nancy was determined to gain more from Furness, and as he was now pretty far gone, she proposed that they should take a walk out, for it was a beautiful evening. Furness gladly consented, Nancy again ex- plained how she should manage to get Joey into her power, and appeared quite delighted at the idea of there being a reward, which they were to obtain ; and finding that Furness was completely deceived, and that the fresh air had increased his inebriety, she then per- suaded him to confide to her all the circum- stances connected with the reward offered for our hero’s apprehension. She then learned what had occurred at. the inquest — Joey’s escape—his being again discovered by Furness and his second escape from the school, to which he had been put by the M‘Shanes. ‘And his father and mother, where are they? When I think of them I must say that I do not much like to assist in taking up the boy. Poor people, how they will suffer when they hear of it? Really I don’t know what to say,’ continued Nancy, biting the tip of her finger, as if hesitating. ‘Don't let them stop you,’ said Furness; ‘they will not be likely even to hear of it now ; they left the village before me, and no one knows where they are gone. I tried to find out myself, but could not, It's very clear that they are gone to America.’ ‘Indeed !’ said Nancy, who had put the questions because she wished to. give Joey some information relative to his parents ; ‘ gone to America, do you ' say ?’ ‘Yes, Iam inclined to think so, for I lost all trace of them.’ ‘Well, then,’ replied Nancy, ‘that scruple of mine is got over.’ She then pointed out to Furness the pro- priety of waiting an hour or two, till people were in bed, that there might be no chance of arescue; and they returned to the public- house. Furness took another glass of ale, and then fell fast asleep on the bench, with his head over the table. ‘So,’ thought Nancy, as she left the public- house, ‘the drunken fool makes sure of his £200; but there is no time to be lost.’ ancy hastened back to Mrs. Chopper, 266 THE whom she found sitting with a candle, turning over the leaves of one of the old account books. : s ; ; en: O Nancy, is that you? I was just sighing over you, here's the things that were ordered for your wedding. Poor girl! I fear you have not often been to church since.’ NI - . rA¢ j } , _ Nancy was silent for a short time. ‘I’m sick of my life and sick of myself, Mrs. Chopper ; but what can I do ?—a wretch like me! I wish I could run away, as poor Peter must directly, and go to where I never was known; I should be so happy.’ Cat a ; : T Petet must go, do you say, Nancy? that certain ? Most certain, Mrs. Chopper, and he must be off directly. I have been with the marines, and the fellow has told me everything ; he is only waiting now for me to go back, to come and take him.’ ‘But tell me, em guilty ? ‘ nliata fr I believe from my heart that he has done nothing; but still murder was committed, and Jateay whi Kale : 7 Peter will be apprehended, unless you give him the means of running away. Where is he now ?’ ‘Asleep, fast asleep : him, poor fellow !’ “Then he must be innocent, Mrs. Chopper ; they say the guilty never sleep. But what will he do—he has no money ?’ ‘He has saved me amint of money, and he shall not want it,’ replied Mrs. Chopper. ‘What shall I do*without him? I can’t bear to part with him.’ a Is Nancy, has - Peter been I didn’t like to wake ‘Rp : ~ 7, 3ut you must, Mrs. Chopper; and, if you love him, you will give him the means, and let him be off directly. I wish I was going too,’ continued Nancy, bursting into’ tears. i ‘Go with him, Nancy, and look after him, and take care of my poor Peter,’ said Mrs. Chopper, whimpering ; ‘ go, my child, go, and lead a good life. I should better part with him, if I thought you were with him, and away from this horrid place.’ ‘Will you let me go with him, Mrs. Chopper —will you indeed?’ cried Nancy, falling on her ‘Oh! I will watch him a mother would her son, as a sister would her brother! Give us but the means to quit this place, and the good and the wicked both will bless you.’ ‘That you shall have, my poor girl; it has often pained my heart to look at you; for | felt that you are too good for what you are, and you will be again a good, honest girl. You both shall Poor Peter !-I wish I were young enough, I would go with you; but I can't. How I shall be cheated again when he is gone! but go he must. Here, Nancy, take the money; take all Il have in knees. as ] rene) sv: POACHER. the house’ and Mrs. Chopper put upwards® of £20 into Nancy's hand as she was kneeling® before her, Nancy fell forward with her face x in the lap of the good old woman, suffocated } with emotion and tears. ‘Come, come Nancy,’ said Mrs. Chopper, after a pause, and || wiping her eyes with her apron, “you mustn t take on so, my poor girl. Recollect poor Peter ; there's no time to lose.’ ‘That is/true,’ réplied Nancy, rising ups ‘Mrs. Chopper, you have done a deed this® night for which you will have your reward ing} heaven. May the God of mercy bless you {| and, as soon as I dare, night and morning® will I pray for you.’ Mrs. Chopper went into Joey's room with the candle in her hand, followed by Nancyag ‘See, how sound he sleeps!’ said the old | woman; ‘he not Peter! Peter Tg come, get up, child.’ - | Joey rose from his bed, confused at first with the light in his eyes, but soon recoyered 9) himself. * «Peter, you must go, my poor boy, an quickly, Nancy says.’ ~ ‘J wassure of it,’ replied Joey ; ‘Tam veryga very sorry to leave you, Mrs. Chopper. _Praygip think well of me, for, indeed, I have done) |: nothing wrong.’ “Tam sure of it; but and away you must go. I wish you were off I'm getting fidgety about it, although I camay | not bear to lose you; so good-bye at once a | Peter, and God bless you! I hope we shalt meet again vet.’ BY ‘T hope so, indeed, Mrs. Chopper ; for you | have been very kind to me, as kind as a mother 1a iS 1a guilty. q d £0) Nancy knows it ally) ae) ao could be.’ Mrs. Chopper hugged him to her breast, |. and then said, in a hurried tone, as she dropped on the bed,—‘ There ; go, go.” = | Nancy took up Joey’s bundle in one hand, and Joey by the Gther, and they went downs | stairs. As soon as they were in the street Nancy turned short round, and went to they house where she usually slept, desiring Joey k to wait a moment at the door. She soom Tes turned with her own bundle, and then, witha quick pace, walked on, desiring Joey to follow her. ‘They proceeded in this manner until they were clear of the town, when Joey came up to Nancy, and said, ‘Thank you, Nancy e'd better part now.’ I suppose w Ps ‘No, we don’t part yet, Nancy. ‘But where are you g you that bundle? ‘Iam going witl 4 ¢ L er,’ repled: & oing, and why haves» 1 you, Peter,’ replied Naneys) | ‘But, Nancy , replied Joey ; and themyy | after a pause: ‘ I will do all | can for yous || will work for you—but I have no money, and I hope we shall not starve.’ |LHE POACHER. ‘Bless you, boy! bless you for that kind feeling ! but we Shall not starve; I have Mrs. Chopp bers leave to go with you; indeed, ske wished me so to do, and she has given me money for you—it is for you, although se said for both.’ ‘She is very kind ; but why should you go with me, Nancy ? You have nothing to fear.’ ‘We must not talk now, Peter ; let t us walk ; I have more to fear than you.’ tition is that? I fear being taken up for that of which I am not guilty, but you have nothing to fear.’ : Peter, dear,’ replied Nancy, solemnly, ‘1 do not foae for anything the world c: Wn do to me—but don’t talk now: ; let us go on,’ CHAPTER XXVII. In which the Wheel of rtune brings our Hero’s Nose to the Grindstone. WHEN Nancy and our here had Hoe ed about three miles on their way, Nancy ened her pace, and they etched into conver- sation. ‘Which way Joey. ‘I’m cutting are you going ?? demanded right oss the count Peter, or rather Joey, as I shall in future c you, for that is your real ee a marine told me it was Joseph Rushbrook; is it not ?’ ‘ Yes, it is,’ replied Joey. ‘Then in future I shall call you so, for I do not want to hear evena name which would remind me of the scene of my misery; and Joey, do you never call me Nancy again, the name is odious to me ; call me Mary/ “{ will if you wish it; but I cannot imagine why you should run away from Gravesend, Mary. What do’ you mean to do? I ran away from fear of being taken up.’ “And I, Joey, do more; I fly from the wrath to come. Youask me what I intend to do; I will answer you in the words of fhe catechism mpien I used once to repeat, ‘‘to Jead a new life, have a thankful remembrance of Christ's de ath, and be in charity with all men.” I shall seek for service: I care not how humble—it will be good enough. I wil sift cinders for brick-making, make bricks, do anything, as long as what I do is honest.’ ‘I am very glad to hear you say that, Mary,’ replied Joey, ‘for! was always very fond of you.’ ; . ‘Yes, Joey, and you were the first who offered to doa kind thing for me fora long while ; I have never forgotten it, and this night I have done something to repay it. ' Nancy then entered into a detail of all that 67 had passed between herand Furness, of whicl Joey had been ignorant, and which proved to him what a narrow escape he had had. oon little thought you had doneall this while I slept,’ replied “Joey; ; ‘ but lam very grateful, “IT know ee are, SO Say no more about it. You see, Joey, he gave me all your history, and appears to believe that you committed the murder. Ido not believe it ; Ido not believe you would do sucha thing, although your gun might have gone off by accide nt. ‘No, “Mary, I did not do it, either on pur- pose or by accident ; but you must ask me no more questions, for if I were put on my trial, I should not reveal the secret.’ ‘Then I will never speak to you any more about it, if, Tcan -helpit. I have my own thoughts on the business, but now I drop it. It is nearly day-light, and we have walked a good many miles; I shall not be sorry to sit downand rest myself,’ ‘ Do you know ee far we is lave to go before we come to any town, Mary? ‘Weare not far fro m Maidstone ; it is of our right, but it will be as well not to g Perot so largea town so near to Gravesend. Besides, some of the soldiers may know me. As soon as we come toa good place, where we can find a dri nk of water, we will sit down and rest ourselves.’ About a mile farth small riyulet which crc ‘This will do, Joey,’ we ll sit down. It was then day-li on their bundles as - on they caine toa sed the road. said Nancy ; ‘now oht ; 5 S they took their sé oon as they had drunk from the stream, ‘Now, Joey,’ said Mary her for the future), (as we shall call “let us see what money we have. Mrs. Chopper put all she had in my hands; poor, good old woman, bless her! Count it, Joey, it is yours.’ “No, Mary, she-gave it for both of us.’ ‘Never mind ; do you keep it : for you see, Joey, it might happen that you might ‘have to run off at a moment’s warning, and it would not do for you to be without money “If I was to run off at a minute’s warning, I should then take it all- with me, and it would not do for you to be left without any money, Mary, so we must halveit between us, although we-will always make one purse.’ ‘Well, be it so; for if you were robbed, or I were robbed, on the way, the other might escape.’ They then divided the mo his share into his pocket, and tying it in with a string. Mary'dropped hers dow n into the usual deposit of women for bank-notes and billets-doux. - As soon as this matter had been arranged, Mary opened her bundle, and took 3--2 > } }68 out a handkerchief, which she put on her shoulders ; combed out the ringlets which she had worn, and dressed her hair flat on her temples ; removed the gay ribbons from her bonnet, and substituted some plain brown in their stead. ‘There,’ says she; ‘now, Joey, don't I look more respectable ?’ ‘You do look more neat and more—— ‘__More modest, you would say, Joey. Well, and I hope in future to become what | look. ButI look more fit to be your sister, Joey, for I have been thinking we had better pass off as brother and sister to avoid ques- tioning. We must make out some story to agreein. Who shall we say that we are (as we dare not say who we really are)? I am look- ing out for service, and so are you, that's very clear; father and mother are both dead; father was a baker. ‘That's all true, as far as relates to me: and as you are my brother, why you must take my father and mother. It's no very great story, after all. ‘But it won't do to say we came from Gravesend.’ ‘No, we need not say that, and yet tell no story ; the village we passed through last night was Wrotham, so we came from thence.’ ‘But where do you think of going, Mary? “A good way farther off yet; at all events before we look out for service, we will get into another county. Now, if you are ready, we will go on, Joey, and look out for some break- fast, and then [ shall be able to change my gown for a quieter one.’ In half an hour, they arrived at a village, and went intoa public-house. Mary went up- stairs and changed her dress; and now that she had completed her arrangements, she looked avery pretty, modest young woman, and none could have supposed that the day before she had been flaunting in the stréet of a sea- faringtown. Inquiries were made, as might be supposed, and Mary replied that she was going to service, and that her brother was escorting her. They had their breakfast, and, after resting two hours, they proceeded on their journey, For some days they travelled more delibe- rately, until they found themselves in the vil- lage of Manstone, in Dorsetshire, where ‘they, as usual, put up at an humble public-house. Here Mary told a different story; she had been disappointed in a situation, and they in- tended to go back to their native town. The landlady of the hotel was prepossessed in favour of such a very pretty girl as Mary, as well as with the appearance of Joey, who, although in his sailor's dress, was very superior in carriage and manners to a boy in his sup- posed station in life, and she said that if they would remain there a few days she would try THE POACHER. to procure them some situation. The third day after their arrival, she informed Mary that she had heard of a situation as under-house- maid at the squire’s, about a mile off, if she would like to take it, and Mary gladly con sented. Mrs. Derborough sent up word, and received orders for Mary to make her appeat- ance, and Mary accordingly went up to the hall, accompanied by Joey. When she arrived there, and made known her business, she was desired to wait in the servants’ hall until she was sent for. In about a quarter of an hour she was summoned, and, leaving Joey in the hall, she went up to see the lady of the house, who inquired whether she had ever been out at service before, and if she had a good cha- racter. Mary replied that she had never been out at service, and that she had no character at all (which, by-the-by, was very true). The lady of the house smiled at this ap- parently naive answer from so very modest- looking and pretty a girl, and asked who her parents were. To this question Mary’s answer was ready, and she further added that she had left home in search of a place, and had been dis- appointed ; that her father and mother were dead, but her brother was down below, and had escorted her; and that Mrs. Chopper was an old friend of her mother’s, and could answer as to her character. The lady was prepossessed by Mary’s’ ap- pearance, by the report of Mrs. Derborough, and by the respectability of her brother travel- ling with her, and agreed to try her ; but at the same time said she must have Mrs. Chopper's address, that she might write to her ; but, the place being vacant, she might come to-morrow morning : her wages were named, and immediately accepted ; and thus did Mary obtain her situation. People say you cannot be too particular when you choose servants ; and, to a certain degree, this is true; but this extreme caution, however selfishness and prudence may dic- tate it, is but too often the cause of servants who have committed an error, and have in consequence been refused a character, being driven to destitution and misery, when they had a full intention, and would have, had they been permitted, redeemed their trans- gression. Mary was resolved to be a good and honest girl, Had the lady of the house been very particular, and had others to whom she might afterwards have applied been the same, all her good intentions might have been frustrated, and she might have been driven to despair, if not to her former evil courses. It is perhaps fortunate that everybody in the world is not so particular as your very good people, andTHE PO. that there is an occasional loophole by which what I do those who have erred are permitted to return to virtue. Mary left the room delighted with her SUCCESS, and went down to Joey in the servants’ hall. The servants soon found out from Mary that she was coming to the HOUSE, and one of the men chucked her under the chin, and told her she was a very pretty girl. Mary drew back, and Joey immediately re- stating that he sr ld not for Joey could not do sented the liberty, allow any man to insult was wise enough to see that he a better thing to serve Mary. ‘The servant was insolent in return, and threatened to chastise Joey, and ordered him to leave the house. The women took our hero's part. The housekeeper came down at the time, and hearing the cause of the dispute, was angry with the footman ; the butler took the side of the footman ; and the end of it was that the voices were at the hi ghest pitch when the bell rang, and the men being obliged to answer it, the women were for the time left in possession of the field. ‘What is that noise below? inquired the master of the house. ‘Itis a boy, sir—the brother, I believe, of the girl who has come as under-housemaid, who has been making a disturbance.’ ‘ Desire him to leave the house instantly. ‘Yes sir,’ replied the butler, who went down to enforce the order. Little did the master of the house imagine that in giving that order he was turning out of the house his own son; for the squire was no other than Mr. Austin. Little did the in- consolable Mrs. Austin fancy that her dear, lamented boy was at that moment under the same roof with her, and been driven out of it by her menials ; but such was the case. So Joey and Mary quitted the hall, and bent their way back to the village inn. ‘We lI, Mary,’ said Joey, £] am very that you have found a situation,’ * And so I am very thankful, indeed, Joey,’ replied she, ‘and only hope that you will be able to get one somewhere about I *re also, and then we may occasionly see something of one another.’ ‘No, Mary,’ replied Joey, ‘I shall not look for a situation about here ; the only reason I had for wishing it was that I might see you ; but that will be impossible now.’ ‘Why so ?’ ‘Do you think that I will ever put my foot into that house again, after the manner I was treated to-day? Never.’ ‘I was afraid so,’ replied Mary, fully. ‘No, Mary. . I am happy that you are pro- vided for; for I can seek my own fortune, and I will write to yeu, and let you know his sister glad mourmn- ACHER. &9 and you will write to me, Mary, won't you ?” ‘It will be the greatest De easure that wil ae left to me, Joey; for I love you as dearly a if you were my own brothe1 Pie The next day our hero and Mary parted, with many tears on her side, an d much sorrow on his. Joey refused to take more of the money than what he had in his possession, but promised, in case of need, to apply to Mary, who said that she would hoard up everything for him; and she kept her word, Joey, having escorted Mary to the hall-lodge, re- mained at the inn till the next morning, and then set off once more on his travels. Our hero started at break of day, and had walked, by a western road, from Manstone, about six miles, when he met two men coming towards him. They were most miserably clad —ne me r of them had shoes or stockings ; one had only a waistcoat and a pair of trowsers, with a sack on his back ; the other had a pair of blue trowsers torn to ribbons, a Guernsey frock, and a tarpaulin hat. They appeared what they represented the mselves to be, when they demanded charity—two wrecked seamen, who were travelling to a northern port to ob- tain employment ; but had these fellows been questioned by a sailor, he would soon have discovered, by their total ignorance of any- thing nautical, that they were impostors Perhaps there is no plan more successful than this, which is now carried on to an enormous extent by a set of rogues and depredators, who occasionally request charity, but too often extort it, and add to their spoils by rob- bing and plundering everything in their way. It is impossible for people in this country to ascertain the truth of the assertions of these vagabonds, and it appears unfeeling to refuse assistance to a poor seaman who has lost his all: even the cottager offers his mite, and thus do they levy upon the public to an extent which is scarcely credible ; but it should be known that, in all cases of shipwreck, sailors are now invariably relieved and decently clothed, and supplied with the means of travelling to obtain employ ment ; and when- ever a man appeals for charity in a half-naked state, he is invariably an impostor or a worth- less scoundrel. The two men were talking loud and laugh- ing when they approached our hero. As soon as tuley came near, they looked hard at him, and stopped right before him, so as to block up the footpath. ‘Hilloah, my little sailor! where are you bouud to? said one to Joey, who had his common sailor's dress on. ‘2nd, I say, what have you got in that bundle?’ said the other; ‘and hotv are you off for brads ?—haven't you something toro eliintaemaaisicecanali, 0” spare for brother-seamen? Come, feel in your pockets ; or shall I feel for you ?” Joey did not much like this exordium : he replied, stepping into the road at the same time, ‘I’ve no money, and the bundle con- tains my clothes.’ ‘Come, come,’ said the first, “you're not going to get off that way. If you don’t wish your brains beaten out, you'll just hand over that bundle for me to examine ;? and so Say- ing, the man stepped into the road towards Joey, who continued to retreat to the Opposite side, There was no footpath at the side of the road to which Joey retreated, but a very thick quick-set hedge, much too strong for any man to force his way through. Joey perceived this ; and as the man came at him to seize his bundle, he contrived, by a great effort, to Swing it over the hedge into the field on the other side. The man, exasperated at this measure on the part of our hero, ran to seize him ; but Joey dodged under him, and ran away down the road for a few yards, where he picked up a heavy stone for his defence, and there remained, prepared to defend him- self, and not lose his bundle if he could help it, “You get hold of him, Bill, while I go round for the bundle,’ said the man who had followed across the road, and he immediately set off to find the gate, or some entrance into the field, while the other man made after Joey. Our hero retreated at full speed ; the man followed, but could not keep pace with our hero, as the road was new] -eravelled, and he had no shoes. Joey, perceiving this, slackened his pace, and when the man was close to him, turned short round, and aiming the stone with great precision, hit him on the forehead, and the fellow fell down senseless. In the mean time the other miscreant had taken the road in the opposite direction to look for the gate; and Joey, now rid of his assailant, perceived that in the hedge opposite to the part of the road where he now stood, there was a gap which he could get through. He scrambled into the field, and ran for his bundle. The other man, who had been delayed, the gate being locked, and fenced with thorns, had but just gained the field when Joey had his bundle in possession. Our hero caught it up, and ran like lightning to the gap, tossed over his bundle, and followed it, while the man was still a hundred yards from him. Once more in the high road, Joey took to his heels, and having run about two hundred yards, he looked back to ascertain if he was pursued, and perceived the man Standing over his com- tade, who was lying where he had fallen, Satisfied that he was now safe, Joey pursued his journey at a less rapid rate, although he THE POACHER, continued to look back every minute, just by way of precatition ; but the fellows, although they would not lose an opportunity of what appeared such an easy robbery, had their own ~ reasons for continuing their journey, and getting away from that part of the country. Our hero pursued his way for two miles, looking out for some water by the wayside to quench his thirst, when he observed in the distance that there was something lying on the roadside. Ashe came nearer, he made it out to be a man prostrate on the grass, ap- parently asleep, and a few yards from where the man lay was a knife-grinder’s wheel, and a few other articles in the use of a travelling tinker ; a fire, nearly extinct, was throwing up a tiny column of smoke, and a saucepan, which appearedto haye been upset, was lying beside it. There was something in the scene before him which created 2 Suspicion in the mind of our hero that all was not right, so, instead of passing-on, he walked right up. to where the man lay, and soon discovered that his face and dress were bloody. Joey knelt down by the side of him, and found that he was senseless, but breathing heavily. Joey untied the handkerchief which was round his neck, and which was apparently very tight, and almost immediately afterwards the man appeared relieved and opened his eyes. After a little time he contrived to utter one word— ‘Water!’ and Joey, taking up the empty Saucepan, proceeded in search of it. He soon found some, and brought it back. The tinker had greatly recovered during his absence, and as soon as he had drunk the water, sat up- right. ‘Don't leave me, boy,’ said the tinker a feel very faint.’ ‘I will stay by you as long as I-can be of any use to you, replied Joey; ‘what has happened ?’ ‘Robbed and almost murdered ! replied the man, with a groan, ‘ Was it by those two rascals without shoes and stockings, who attempted to rob me?’ inquired Joey. : “Yes; the same, I’ve no doubt. I must lie down for a time, my head is so bad,’ replied the man, dropping back upon the grass. In a few minutes the exhausted man fell asleep, and Joey remained sitting by his side for nearly two hours,” At last, his new com- panion awoke, raised himselfup, and, dipping his handkerchief into the saucepan of water, washed the blood from his head and face, sales might have heen worse, my little fellow,’ said he to Joey, after he had wiped is. face; “one of theese rascals nearly throttled me, he pulled my handkerchief so tight. Well, this is a wicked world, this, to to take away a fellow-creature’s life forthirteen-pence-halfpenny, for that was all the money they found in my pocket. I thought an itinerant tinker was safe from highway robbery, at all events. Did you not say that they attacked you, or did I dream it?’ j ‘I did say so ; it was no dream.’ ‘And how did a little midge like you escape ?” Joey gave the tinker a detail of what had occurred. ‘Cleverly done, boy, and kindly done now to come to my help, and to remain by me. I was going down the road, anc as you have come down, I presume we are going the Same way,’ replied the tinker. ‘Do you feel strong enough to walk now ?’ ‘Ves, I think I can; but there’s the grind- stone. ‘O, I'll wheel that for you.’ ‘Do, that’s a good boy, for I tremble very much, and it would be too heavy for me now.’ Joey fixed his bundle with the saucepan, &c., upon the knife-grinder’s wheel, and rolled it along the road, followed by the tinker, until they came to a small hamlet, about two miles from the spot from which they had started ; they halted when they were fifty yards from the first cottage, and the tinker, having selected a dry place under the hedge, said, “1 must stop here a little while.’ Joey, who had heard the tinker say that the men had robbed him of thirteen-pence-half- penny, imagined that he was destitute, and as he wished to proceed on his way, he took out two shillings, and held them out to the man, saying, ‘This will keep you till you can earn some more. Good-bye now; I must go on.’ The tinkerlooked at Joey. ‘ You’re a kind- hearted lad, at all eventS, and a clever, bold one, if I mistake not,’ said he ; ‘put up your money, nevertheless, for 1 do not want any. I have plenty, if they had only known where to look for it.’ oey was examining his new companion during the time that he was speaking to him. There was a free and independent bearing about the man, and a refinement of manner and speech very different from what might be expected from one in so humble a situation. The tinker perceived this scrutiny, and, after meeting our hero’s glance, said, ‘Well, what are you thinking of now ?’ ‘T was thinking that you have not always been a tinker.’ ‘And I fancy that you have not always been a sailor, my young master: but, however, oblige me by going into the village and get- ting some breakfast for us. I will pay you the money when you return, and then we can talk a little.’ Joey went into the village, and finding a THE POACHER. 75 small chandler’s shop, bought some bread and cheese, and a large mug which held a quart of beer, both of which he also purchased, and then went back to the tinker. As soon as they had made their breakfast, Joey rose up and said—‘I must go on now, I hope you ll find yourself better to-morrow.’ ‘Are you ina very great hurry, my lad?’ inquired the tinker. ‘IT want to find some employment,’ replied Joey ; ‘and, therefore, I must look for it.’ ‘Tell me what employment you want. What can you do ?’ ‘T don’texactly know; I have been keep- ing accounts for a person.’ ‘Then you are a scholar and not a*sea- faring person ?” ‘Tam not a sailor, if you mean that; but I have been on the river.’ ‘Well, if you wish to get employment, as I know this country well and a great many people, I think I may help you. At all events, a few days can make no difference ; for you see, my boy, to-morrow I shall be able to work, and then, [ll answer for it, I'll find meat and drink for both of us ; so, what do you say? Suppose you stay with me, and we'll travel together for a few days, and when I have found work that will suit you, then we can part ? ‘T will, if you wish it,’ replied Joey. ‘Then that’s agreed,’ said the tinker; ‘I should like to do you a good turn before we part, and I hope I shall be able; at all events, if you stay with me a little while, I will learn you a trade which will serve you when all others fail.’ ‘What, to mend kettles and to grind knives 2’ ‘Exactly; and depend upon it, if you would be sure of gaining your livelhhood, you will choose a profession which will not de- pend upon the caprice of others, or upon patronage. Kettles, my boy, will wear out, knives will get~ blunt, and therefore, for a good trade, give me, ‘(kettles to mend, knives to grind.”” [ve tried many trades, and there is none that suits me so well, And now that we've had our breakfast, we may just as well look out for lodgings for the night, for I suppose you would not like the heavens for your canopy, which I very often prefer. Now, put yourself to the wheel, and I'll try my old quarters.’ The knife-grinder walked into the village, followed by Joey, who rolled the wheel, until they stopped at a cottage, where he was im- mediately recognized and welcomed. Joey was ordered to put the wheel under a shed, and then followed the tinker into the cottage. The latter told his story, which created a good deal of surprise and indignation, and then72 THE POACHER. complained of his head=and retired to lie down, while Joey amused himself with the children. They ate and slept there that night, the people refusing to take anything for their reeeption. ‘The next day the tinker was quite recovered, and having mended a kettle and ground three or four knives for his hostess, he set off again, followed by Joey, who rolled the wheel, CHAPTER XXVIII. On the Science of Tinkering and the Art of Writing espatches. THEY had proceeded about two miles when the tinker said—‘ Come, my lad, let us sit down now, and rest ourselves a bit, for it is past noon, and you must be tired with shoving that wheel along; I would have taken it from you before this, but the fact is, I’m rather stiff yet about the head and shoulders : I feel it more than I thought I should; here’s a nice spot; I like to sit down under a tree, not too well covered with leaves, like this ash ; I like to see the sunshine playing here and there upon the green grass, shifting its spots as the leaves are rustled by the wind. Now, let us lie down here, and not care a fig for the world. I am a philosopher; do you know that ? ‘I don’t exactly know what it means; a very clever, good man—is it not ?’ ‘Well, not exactly ; a man may be a philo- sopher without being very good, or without being very clever. A philosopher is a man who never frets about anything, cares about nothing, is contented with a little, and don’t envy any one who appears better off than him- self ; at least that is my school of philosophy. You stare, boy, to hear a tinker talk in this way—I perceive that; but you must know that I am a tinker by choice; and I have tried many other professions befcre, all of which have disgusted me.’ ‘What other professions have you been ?’ ‘I have been—let me see—I almost forget, but I'll begin at the beginning. My father was a gentleman, and, until I was fourteen years old, I was a gentleman, or the son of one; then he died, and that profession was over, for he left nothing ; my mother married again, and left me; she left me at school, and the master kept me there for a year, in hopes of being paid; but, hearing nothing of my mother, and not knowing what to do with me, he at last (for he was a kind man) installed me as under-usher of the school ; for, you see, my education had been good, and I was well gualified for the situation, as far as capa- bility went : it was rather a bathos, though, to sink from a gentleman’s son to an under usher; but I was not a philosopher at that | time. I handed the toast to the master and mistress, the head ushers and parlour boarders, but was not allowed’ any myself; I taught Latin and Greek, and English Grammar, to the little boys, who made faces at me, and | put crooked pins on the bottom of my chair ; I walked at the head of the string when they | went out for an airing, and walked upstairs | the last when it was time to go to bed. I had al! the drudgery, and none of the comforts ; I was up first, and held answerable for all de- ficiencies; I had to examine all their nasty little trowsers, and hold weekly conversation with the botcher, as to the possibility of re- pairs : torun out if a hen cackled, that the boys should not get the egg; to wipe the noses of my mistress’s children, and carry them if they roared ; to pay for all broken glass, if I could not discover the culprit ; to account for all bad smells, for all noise, and for all ink spilled : to make all the pens, and to keep one hundred boys silent and attentive at church : forall which, with deductions, I received £40 a year, and found my own wash- ing. I stayed two years, during which time I contrived to save about £6 ; and with that, one fine morning, I set off on my travels, fully satisfied that, come what would, I could not change for the worse.’ ‘Then you were about in the position that I’m in now,’ said Joey, laughing. ‘Yes, thereabouts; only a little older, I should imagine. I set off with good hopes, but soon found that nobody wanted educated people—they were a complete drug. At last I obtained a situation as waiter, at a posting house on the road, where I ran along all day ong to the tinkling of bells, with hot brandy- and-water ever under my nose; I answered all the bells, but the head-waiter took all the money. However, I made acquaintances there ; and at last obtained a situation as clerk to a corn-chandler, where I kept the books ; but he failed, and then I was handed over to the miller, and covered with flour for the whole time I was in his service. I stayed there till I had an offer from a coal-merchant (that was going from white to black) ; but, however, it was a better place. Then, by mere chance, I obtained the situation of clerk on board of a fourteen-gun brig, and cruised in the Channel for six months ; but, as I found that there was no chance of being a purser, and as I hated the confinement and discipline of a man-of-war, I cut and run as soon as I obtained my pay. Then I was shopman ata draper’s, which was abominable, for if the customers would not buy the goods, I got all the blame ; besides, I had to clean my master’s —THE POACHER. 73 boots and my mistress’s shoes, and dine in the kitchen on scraps, with a slipshod, squinting girl, who made love to me. ThenI wasa warehouseman ; but they soon tacked on to it the office of light porter, and I had to carry weights enough to break my back. At last I obtained a situation as foreman in a tinman and cutler’s shop, and by being constantly sent into the workshop I learnt something of the trade ; I had made up my mind not to remain much longer, and I paid attention, receiving now and then a lesson from the workmen, till I found that I could do very well; for, you see, it's a very simple sort of business, after all.’ ‘But still a travelling tinker is not so re- spectable as being in any of the situations you were in before,’ replied Joey. ‘There I must beg your pardon, my good lad ; I had often serious’ thoughts upon the subject, and I argued as follows :—What is the best profession in this world of ours ?— That of a gentleman ; for a genileman does not work, he has liberty to go where he pleases, he is not controlled, and is his own master. Many a mat considers himself a gentleman who has not the indispensables that must complete the profession. A clerk in the Treasury, or public offices, considers himself a gentlema n; and so he is by birth, but not by profession ; for he is not his own master, but is as much tied down to his desk as the clerk in a banker's counting-house, or in shop. A gentleman by profession must be his own master, and independent ; and how few there are in this world who can say so! Soldiers and sailors are obliged to obey orders, and therefore I do not put them down as perfect gentlemen, according to my ideas of what a gentleman should be. I doubt whether the prime minister can be considered a gentleman until after he is turned out of office. Do you understand me, boy ?’ ‘O yes, I understand what you mean by a gentleman ; I recollect reading a story of a negro who came io this country, and who said that the pig was the only gentleman in the country, for he was the only living being who did not work.’ ‘The negro wasnot far wrong,’ resumed the tinker. ‘Well, after thinking along while, I came to the decision that, as I could not be a perfect gentleman, I would be the nearest thing to it that was possible ; and I considered that the most enviable situation was that of a travelling tinker. I learned enough of the trade, saved money to purchase a knife- grinder’s wheel, and here I have been in this capacity for nearly ten years. ‘And do you hold to the opinion that you formed ?’ ‘I do; for, look you, work I must ; there- fore, the only question was, to take up the work that was lightest, and paid best ; I know no trade where you can gain so much with so little capital and so little labour. Then, Iam not controlled by any living being ; I have my liberty and independence ; I go where I please, stop where I please, work when I please, and idle when I please ; and never know what it is to want a night's lodging. Show me any other profession which can say the same! I might be better clothed—I might be considered more respectable; but I am a _ philosopher, and despise all that; I earn as,much as I want, and do very little work for it. I can grind knives and scissors and mend kettles enough in one day to provide for a whole week ; for instance, I can grind a knife in two minutes, for which I receive two-pence. Now, allowing that I work twelve hours in the day, at the rate.of one penny per minute, I should earn £3 per day, which, deducting Sundays, is £939 a-year. Put that againt £40 a-year, as a drudge to aschool, or confined to adesk, in a shop, orany other profession, and you see how lucrative mine is in proportion. ‘Then I am under no control; not ordered here or there, like a general or admiral ; not attacked in the House of Commons or Lords, likea prime minister ; on the contrary, half a day’s work out of the seven ts all I require ; and I therefore assert, that my profession is nearer to that of a gentleman than any other that I know of.’ ‘It may be as you style it, but you don’t look much like one,’ replied Joey, laughing. ‘That's prejudice ; my clothes keep me as warm as if they were of the best materials, and quite new. I enjoy my victuals quite as much as a well-dressed gentleman does—perhaps more; 1 can indulge in my own thoughts ; I have leisure to read all my favourite authors, and can afford to purchase new books. Be- sides, as I must work a little, it is pleasant to feel that Iam always in request, and respected by those who employ me.’ ‘Respected ! on what account ?” ‘Because I am always wanted, and there- fore always welcome. It is the little things of this life which annoy, not the great ; anda kettle that won't hold water, or a knife that won't cut, are always objects ol execration; and as people heap their anathemas upon the kettle and the knife, so do they long for my return ; and when I come, they are glad to see me, glad to pay me, and glad tovfind that their knives are sharp, and their kettles, thrown on one side, are useful again, at a trifling charge. I add to people’s comforts; I be- come necessary to eyery poor person in the cottages; and therefore, they like me and re- spect me. And, indeed, ifit is only considered how many oaths and execrations are used when me ncn gore oes cat tamer te sa nae einaeenearialela tenuateI ' LHE POACHER 74 a person is hacking and sawing away witha ‘How do you mean ?’ knife which will not cut, and how by my wheel _ ‘It's of no use your attempting anything | I do away with the cause of crime, I think till you're well grounded in the theory of thei that a travelling tinker may be considered, as art, which you will gain by using your eyes, } to his morai influence upon society, more im- All you have to do at first is to look on; watel ¢ portant than any parson in his pulpit. You me when I grind a knife ora pair of scissors 2 observe that I have not rendered the profession be attentive when you see me soldering a pot | degrading by marriage, as many do?’ or putting a patch upon a kettle; see how 1] * How do you mean ?’ turn my hand when I’m grinding, how I beai§& *Thold that, whatever may be the means of out the iron when I mend; and learn how tc} a gentleman, he must be considered to lose heat the tools when I solder. In a montl} the most precious advantage appertaining to you will know how things are to be done ir his profession when he marries; for he loses theory, and after that we shall come to the| his liberty, and can uo longer be said to be practice. One only thing in the way of prac-3 under no control. It is very well for other tice, must you enter upon at once, and that isi professions to marry, as the world must be turning the wheel with your foot; for you; peopled ; but a gentleman never should. It must learn to do it so mechanically, that yous is true, he may contrive to leave his clog at are not aware that you are doing it, otherwise | home, but then he pays dear fora useless and you cannot devote your whole attention to the} galling appendage; but, in my situation as a_ scissors or knife in your hand.’ travelling tinker, I could not have done so; I ‘sind do you really like your present life, § must have dragged my clog after me through then, wandering about from place to place 2” the mud and mire, and have had a very dif- ‘To be sure Ido. Iam my own master; ferent reception than what I have at present.’ go where I like: stop where I like ; pay no} ‘Why so?’ taxes or rates; I still retain ‘all the gentleman ‘Why, a man may stroll about the country except the dress, which I can resume when I by himself—find lodging and entertainment please. Besides, mine isa philanthropic pro- for himself ; but not so, if he had awife in rags, fession; I go about doing good, and I’ve the and two or three dirty children at his heels, means of resenting an affront like a despot.’ A single'man, in every stage of society, if he ‘ As how ?’ 2°) , es S . ~ e . . T . pays his own way, more easily finds admission ‘Why, you see, we travellers never interfere than a married one—that is, because the in each other's beats ; mine is a circuit of women regulate it; and, although they will many miles of country, and at the rate I travel receive him as a tinker, they invariably object it is somewhat about three months until I am to his wife, who is considered and stigmatized at the same place again ; they must wait for as the tinker’s trull. No, that would not do meif they want their jobs done, for they can- —a wife would detract from my respectability, not get any one else. In one village they and add very much to my cares.’ played me a trick oné Saturday night when “But you have no home, then, anywhere ?’ all the men were at the ale-house, and the “Why, yes, Ihave, like all single men on cons quence was, I cut the village for a years the Zave, as the French say—just a sort of and there never was such a village full of “chambers” to keep my property in, which old kettles and blunt knives in consequence. will accumulate in spite of me.’ However, they sent mea deputation, hoping “Where are they ?’ I would forget what had passed, and I par- " In Dudstone, to which place I am now doned them.’ going. Ihave aroom for six pounds a-year ; ‘What is your name ?’ inquired Joey. and the woman in the house takes charge of ‘Augustus Spikeman. My ‘father was everything during my absence. And now,my Augustus Spikeman, Esq.; I was Master boy, what is your name?’ Augustus Spikeman, and now I'm Spikeman, ‘Joey Atherton,’ replied our hero, who had the tinker » SO now we'llgoon again, Thave made up his mind to take the surname of his nearly come to the end of my beat; in two adopted sister, Nancy. days we shall be at Dudstone, where I have ‘Well, Joey, do you agree with me that my my room, and where we shall probably re- profession is a good one, and are you willing main for some days before we start again.’ to learn it? if so, I will teach you.’ In the afternoon they arrived ata small ‘I shali be very glad to learn it, because it hamlet where they supped and slept. Spike- may one day be useful; but I am not sure man was very busy till noon grinding and re- that I should like to follow it,’ pairing ; they then continued their journey, ‘You will probably change your opinion; and on the second day, having waited outside at all events, give ita fair trial. Ina month the town till it was dusk, Spikeman. left his or so you will have the theory of it by heart, wheel in the charge of the landlord of a small and then we willcome to the practice,’ ale-house, to whom he appeared well known,then walked with Joey to the house in which he had a room, and led him upstairs_to his apartments. When our hero entered the chamber of Spikeman, be was very much surprised to find it was spacious, light, and airy, and very clean. A large bed was in one corner; a sofa, ma- hogany table, chest of drawers, and chairs, composed the furniture ; there was a good- sized looking-glass over the chimney-piece, and several shelves of books round ‘the room. Desiring Joey to sit down and _ take a book, Spikeman rang for water, shaved off his beard which had grown nearly haif an in washed himself, and then put on cle: and a very neat suit of clothes. When he was completely dressed, Joey could hardly believe that it was the same person. Upon Joey ex- pressing his astonishment, Spikeman replied, ‘You see, my lad, there is no one in this town who knows what my real profession is. -] always go out and return at dusk, and the travelling tinker is not recognized ; not that I care for itso much, only other people do, anc I respect their prejudices. I am in the ironmongery line, and that is all; so I always make it a rule to enjoy myself after my circuit, and live like a gentleman till part of my money is gone, and then L set out again, fam acquainted with a good many highly re- spectable people in this town, and that is the reason why I said I could be of service to you. Have you any better clothes?’ ‘Yes ;;much better,’ “Then dress yourself in. them, and. keep those. you wear for our travels.’ Joey did as he was requested, and Spikeman then proposed that they should make a call at a friend’s, where he would introduce our hero as hisnephew. They set off, and soon came to the front of a neat-looking house, at the door of which Spikeman rapped, The door was Opened by one of the daughters of the house, who, on seeing him, cried out, ‘ Dear me, Mr, Spikeman, is this you? Why, where have you been all this while ? “About the country for orders, Miss Amelia,” replied Spikeman ; ‘ business must be attended to,’ ‘Well, come in : mother will be glad to see you, replied the girl, at the same time opening the door of the sitting-room for them to enter. ‘Mr. Spikeman, as J live!’ exclaimed an- other girl, jumping up and seizing his hand. “Well, Mr. Spikeman, it’s an age since we have seen you,’ said the mother, ‘so now sit down and tell us all the news ; and Ophelia, my love, get tea ready; and who is it you have with you, Mr. Spikeman ? * My little nephew, madam; he is about.to enter into the mysteries of the cutlery trade,’ ‘They know that THE POACHER. no 2 ‘Indeed ! well, I suppose, as you are look- ing out for a successor, you soon intend to retire from business and take a wife, Mr. Spikeman ?’ ‘Why, I suppose it will be my fate one of these days,’ replied Spikeman: ‘ but that’san affair that requires some consideration. ‘Very tru Mr. 2 n, 1tis a senous affair,’ replied the old-] nd I can assure you that neither my QO} r Amelia should marry a2 man, Ww my <¢ t, without I was convinced the gentl 1 ¢ ed it a very serious affair. It makes or mars a man, as the CS Tif ; books 1 lent you t I y ? ‘Yes, that tl i 1 of 1, re- plied the old } » fond of poetry. ‘But we've often 1 it you were here to read to ns, replied Miss Amelia, ‘you do read so beautifully ; will you read to us after tea ?’ : (* ‘tainly wit) HITE} nleacire.’ WCertainly, With mucn pieasure. ~ ee a is Miss Ophelia now ent 1 with the tea- tray ; she and her sister then went into. the kitchen y vieea cnr ft < nrl ta ce ha She was out of sight immediately, from the thickness of the fog ; however, we fired seve- putting yal broadsides in the direction we supposed powder to the touch-hole of his car- she might be ; and there was an end to the as you perceive, it was matter. Altogether, « «Tt now becomes my duty to point out tO yota very creditable affair.’ their Lordships th e very meritorious conduct = Why, no,’ replied Joey; ‘I don't see how . . 1 of Mr. John Smith, an old and deserving you could make much out of that.’ officer, Mr. James Hammond, Mr. Cross, ‘Well, if é and Mr. Byfleet ; indeed, I may say that all the officers their exertions for the honour flag.” ‘You see the commander had quarrelled hat time, and I 1e was obsti- on our weather bow. ‘You see, I didn’t say we perceived a vessel, with some of his officers at t would not mention them. | -tried all could to persuade him, but | nate. ‘**J have the honour to return a list of under my command vied in ««~o ~HE SECRETARY OF THE ADMIRALTY. of the British ‘« Sir —I have the honour to acquaint you that, on the night of the roth of November, cruising in the Channel, with the wind from Seka and foggy, a large vessel hove in sight, cal ” for that would not have been correct. It was about nine o'clock in the evening, and we had very few you can’t see, now youshall hear :—C256:£ honour of the English flag, 2? collision”’—[it was a very unequal collision, for she was a much smaller vessel than we were]—“‘ carried away our foreyard, cat-head, fore-top-gallant mast, jibboom, and dolphin- striker, and rendered us, from the state of our rigging, a mere wreck, Favoured by the thick fog’and darkness of the night, I regret that, after all our efforts, she contrived to escape, and the spoils of victory were wrested from us after all our strenuous exertions in our country's cause. ‘““When all performed their duty in so exemplary a manner, it would be unfair, and, indeed, invidious, to particularize; still, I cannot refrain from mentioning the good con- duct of Mr. Smith, my first lieutenant; Mr. Bowles, my second lieutenant; Mr, Chabb, my worthy master ; Mr, Jones and Mr. James, masters mates: Messrs. Hall, Small, Ball, and Pall, midshipmen; and Messrs. Sweet and Sharp, volunteers. I also received every assistance from Mr. Grulf, the purser, who offered his services, and I cannot omit the con- duct of Mr Spikeman, clerk. I am also highly indebted to the attention and care shown by Mr, Thorn, surgeon, whois so-well supported in his duties by Mr. Green, as- sistant-surgeon, of this ship. The activity of Mr. Bruce, the boatswain, was deserving of the highest encomiums ; and it would be an act of injustice not to notice the zeal of Mr, Bile, the carpenter, and Mr. Sponge, gunner of the ship. James Anderson, quarter-master, received a severe contusion, but is how doing well; I trust. I shall not be considered pre- sumptuous in recommending him to a boat- swain’s warrant. * “Tam happy to say that our casualties, owing to the extreme panic of the enemy, are very few. I have the honour to be, Sir, your very obedient and humble servant, ‘“ ALCIBIADES AJAX Bocas. : “ Wounded—Very Severely, James An- derson, quarter-master. Contusions — John Peters, able seaman ; ames Morrison, marine; Thomas Snowball, captain’s cook,”’ THE POACHER,. As she-evidently did not perceive us, we continued our course towards her ; the men were summoned to their quarters, and, in a very short time, were ready to uphold the } The first col- lision between the two vessels was dreadful 3 but she contrived to disengage herself, and we were therefore prevented carrying her by boarding. After repeated broadsides, to which, in her disabled and confused state, she could make no return, she gradually increased her distance ; still, she had remained in our hands, a'proud trophy—I say, still she had been a proud trophy—had not the unequal ‘There, now; that I consider a very capital letter ; no Frenchman, not even an American, could have made out a better case. The Admiralty were satisfied that something very gallant had been done, although the fogs made it appear not quite so clear as it might have been ; and the consequence was, that my commander received his promotion. ‘There, now write your letter, and tell your sister that she must answer it as soon as possible, as you are going out with me for orders in three or four days, and shall be absent for three months.’ Joey wrote a long letter to Mary ; he stated the adventure with the two scoundrels who would have robbed him, his afterwards fall- ing in with a gentleman who dealt in cutlery, and his being taken into his service ; and, as Spikeman had told him, requested her to answer directly, as he was about to set off on a circuit with his master, which would occa- sion his absence for three months, Mary's reply came before Joey’s departure. She stated that she was comfortable and happy, that her mistress was very kind to her, but that she felt that the work was rather too much ; however, she would do her duty to her employers. There was much good advice to Joey, much affectionate feeling, occasional recurrence to past scenes, and thankfulness that she was no longer a disgrace to her parents and her sex ; it wasan humble, grate- ful, contrite, and affectionate effusion, which did honour to poor Mary, and proved that she was sincere in her assertions of continuing in the right path, and dotingly attached to our hero, Joey read it over and over again, and shed tears of pleasure as he recalled the scenes which had passed. Poor Joey had lost his father and mother, as he supposed, for ever ; and it was soothing to the boy’s feel- ings to know that there were some people in the world who loved him ; and he remained for hours thinking of Mary, Mrs. Chopper, and his good and kind friends. the M ‘Shanes. Two days after the receipt of Mary’s letter, Spikeman and Joey went to the houses of their various acquaintanges, and bade them adieu, announcing their intention to set off on the circuit. Spikeman paid up everything, and put away many articles in his room which had been taken out for use. Joey and he then put on their travelling garments, and, waiting till it was dusk, locked the chambers and set off to the little public-house, where the knife-grinder’s wheel had been deposited. Spikeman had taken the precaution to smudge and dirty his face, and Joey, at his request, had done the same. When they entered the public-house, the landlord greeted Spikeman warmly, and asked him what he had been about. Spikeman replied that, as usual, he had been to se@ his old Mother, and now he I jz xTHE must-toll his grindstone a bit.’ After drinking a pot of beer at the hitetien fire, they retired to bed ; and the next morning, at dayhght, they once more proceeded on their travels, CHAPTER XXIX. ve with a Lady of FOR many travelled toge 1 time Joey had saps air of scisso1 as well as Spiken ind took most = of the work other, indulging EW hours’ re] One afternoon, whe Vy ad ] na ay ada sto] | ea ana Cf: . nN } } ] . va ha s oo a shad y copse Dy the sIde OF the FO ad Not Tat from an old mans! hi ch stood on an en nence, when Spike said; ‘Joey, I t we are intruding a8 if “SO... iia) led \ forcibly expelled, which so roll the wheelin, out of sight, and then we may indulge in a Siesta, whicn, ri heat li very % bl I ‘ ‘What's a siesta? s ‘A esta 1 a Nap lili Ul middle of t aay, : 1 ; univ ey FIiEG. tO: “DY “th Opaniards, r: Gas eae ee oe ay heaawnl ; ‘ : [talians, ana, 1naeca, Vy dil tne 1nhnali hts Ol ua pH : e hot climates; with respectable | it is called a siesta, Dut witha trave ne tinker 1t ere must t be, I suppose, called a snooze V Cll, } Ee > i , edi jOCY, takin; c the turl Dy oplikeman, Ina TrecHning |} iON. ps ; > ; ; They had not yet comy) qa tThemse€ive O sieep, wnen they Neal La n € VOICE nging at a little distance. The vole evidently pro- ; j " ] ] - y wie x7] ~] ‘ re ceeded from the pleasure-grounds which were } , = ] , , between THEM anG the ila 1S1ION. aes : ey eye : ey | i! ua Spikema ] (ting up His he 7 qd] y) 2 hi } finger, as I< 1 nimseil on IS eiDO [he part evidently advanced nearer to ; : ene ] : ; ] ‘ul t them, and caro el. TR -VEry “Deawtin INES, t ls ZA Po the song ol W th I S cl tneré lurk | Y In the cowslip’'s bell I lie,’ &c. ee bs excl: im od a soft voice, after the song had been finished; ‘I wish I could creep into a cowslip-bell. 4 [iss Araminta, you are not coming’ down the walk yet ; it appears you are in no hurry, so I'll begin my new book.’ \fter this soliloquy there was silence. de mn to Joey to remain POACHER. still, and then, CREpInE on his hat kr legrees arrived as far as’ he could other side of the copse or two another footstep was ‘i i ] +h orm RCA + 11> an “ ng down the gravel-walk, and soon anothe elissa, did you think I never le? I could not i } would have me rub his foot a little. F“VOICE ] | Ay, there's the rub,’ replied the lady. ‘ Well, it was a sacrifice o at the altar of humanity. a! wish I could rub his foot for him; but 7 always do it to a quadrille tune, and he rst young ; friendship ] | always says Irubittoo hard. I only follow the music.’ ‘Yes, and so d he; you metimes et him a-dancit you Li gir cannot sit still a minute; that you know. Poor mamma was a great loss; and, when he died, I don’t know what I should have done, if it hadn't been for my dear cousin Araminta.’ ‘Nay, you are very useful in your way, und sing to him, and that soothes ‘Yes, I-do it with pleasure, for I can do t, Araminta, my singing 1s but little else ; bu g hat of the caged bird. I must sing where hey hang my-cage. Oh, how I wish I had ¢ } ‘I believe that there never wasa woman yet who has not, at one time of her life, said the ime thing, however mild and quiet she may have been i disposition. But, as we cannot, ‘Why, the next thing to wish to bea man’s wife, Araminta it not ? ibe is natural, I suppose, to wish -so, 1 plied Araminta: ‘but I seldom think abot if. 1 must first see the man I can love before I think about marrying. And now tell me, man do you think you could fancy ? [I should like him to be steady, generous, brave, and handsome; of unexcept ionable family, with plenty of money ; that’s all.’ ‘Oh, that’s all ! I admire your ‘‘ that’s all.” You are not very likely to meet with your I'm afraid. If he’s oe he is not very Nee to be very generous ; and if: to thos > two nae ee you ‘ath on. birth, , beauty, and* bravery, I think your a ratte all’’ is very misplaced. Now, I have pe c kind Ot eV match, other ideas.’ ‘Pray let me have them, Melissa ‘I do not want my husband to be very handsome; but I wish him to be full of fire and energy—a man that—in fact, a man that could keep me in tolerable order, I do not Bee “4 | : } |80 ; LHE POACHER. care about his having money, as I have plenty Thanks, coz; for a woman, that’s very in my own possession to bestow on any man I handsome of you. And so now we will begin love; but he must be of good education— our new book.’ very fond of reading--romantic, not a little; | Miss Melissa now commenced reading; oe ana his extraction must be, however poor, and Spikeman, who had not yet seen the respectable—that is, his parents must not have faces of the two young ladies, crept softly been tradespeople. You know I preferriding nearer to the side of the copse, so as to enable a spirited horse to a quiet one; and, if Iwere him to satisfy his curiosity. In this position to marry, I should like a husband who would he remained nearly an hour ; when the book give me some trouble to manage. I think I was closed, and the young ladies returned to would master him.’ the house, Melissa again singing as she went. ‘So have many thought before you, Melissa; ‘Joey,’ said Spikeman, ‘ I did not think but they have been mistaken.’ that there was such a woman in existence as ‘Yes, because they have attempted it by that girl; she is just the idea that I have meekness and submission, thinking to disarm formed of what a woman ought to be; I must by that method. It never will do, any more find out who she is ; | am in love with her, than getting into a passion. When a man and——’ gives up his liberty, he does make a great ‘Mean to make her a tinker’s bride,’ replied sacrifice—that I’m sure of; and a woman Joey, laughing. should prevent him feeling that he is chained ‘Joey, I shall certainly knock you down, if to her.’ you apply that term to her, Come, let us go ‘And how would you manage that ?’said to the village,—it is close at hand,’ Araminta. As soon as they arrived at the village, ‘By being infinite in my variety, always Spikeman went into the alehouse. During the cheerful, and, instead of permitting him to remainder of the day he was in a brown study Stay at home, pinned to my apron-string, and Joey amused himself with a\ book. At order him out away from me, join his amuse- nine o'clock the company had all quitted the ments, and always have people in the house tap-room, and.then Spikeman entered into that he liked, so as to avoid being too much conversation with the hostess. In the course léle-a-téte. The caged bird ever wants to of conversation, she informed him that the escape ; open the doors, and let him take a mansion belonged to Squire Mathews, who flight, and he will come back of his own had formerly been a great manufacturer, and accord. Of course, I am supposing my gen-. who had purchased the place; that the old tleman to be naturally good-hearted and good- gentleman had long suffered “from the gout, tempered. Sooner than marry what you call_and saw no company, which was very bad for a steady, sober man, I’drun away with a cap- the village ; that Miss Melissa was his daugh- tain of a privateer. And, one thing more, ter, and he had a son, Who was with his Araminta, I never would, passionately, dis- regiment in India, and, it was said, not on tractedly fond as I might be, acknowledge to very good terms with his father; that the old my husband the extent of my devotion and gentleman was violent and choleric because he affection for him. I would always have him was always in pain ; but that every one spoke to suppose that I could still love him better well of Miss Melissa and Miss Araminta, her than what I yet did—in short, that there was cousin, who were both very kind to the poor more to be gained ; for, depend upon it, when people. Having obtained these particulars, a man is assured that he has nothing more to Spikeman went to bed: he slept little that gain, his attentions are over. You can’t ex- night, as Joey, who was his bedfellow, could pect a man to chase nothing, you know.’ vouch for; for he allowed Joey no sleep either, ‘You are a wild girl, Melissa. I only hope turning and twisting round in the bed every you will marry well.’ two minutes. The next morning they arose ‘I hope I shall; but I can tell you this, early, and proceeded on their way. that, if I do make a mistake, at all events my ‘Joey,’ said Spikeman, after an hour's husband will find that he has made a mistake silence, ‘I have been thinking -a great deal also. There's a little lurking devil in me. last night.’ which, if roused up by bad treatment, would, I ‘So I suppose, for you certainly were not expect, make me more than a match for him. sleeping.’ I'm almost sorry that I’veso much money of ‘No, I could not sleep : the fact is, Joey, I my own, for I suspect every man who SaySany- am determined to have that girl, Miss Ma- thing pretty to me ; and there gre but few in thews, if I can; a bold attempt for a tinker, this world who would scorn to marry for you will say, but not for a gentleman born as money.’ [ was. I thought I never should care for a ‘I believe so, Melissa; but your person woman ; but there isa current in the affairs of would be quite sufficient without fortune,’ men. I shall now drift with the current, andif it, leads to forttine, so much the better; if not, “he who dares greatly does greatly . I feel convinced that I should make her a good hus- band, and it shall not be my fault if I do not gain her.’ ‘Do-you mean to propose in form with your foot on your wheel ?’ ‘No, saucebox, I don't: but I mea my knife-grinder’s wheel int vheel c tune ; and with your help I will do so.’ ‘You are sure of my he}p, if you are serious,’ replied Joey ; ‘but how you are to manage I cannot comprehend.’ ‘I have already made out a programme, although the interweaving of the plot is not yet decided upon ; but | must get to the next town as fast as I can, as I must make prepara- tions.’ On arrival, they took up humble quarters, as usual; and then Sd Saks went to a stationer’s, and told them that he had got a commission to execute fora latly. He bought sealing-wax, a glass seal, with ‘ Esper: ince’ as a motto, gilt- edged gs ke and several other requisites in the stationery line, and ordered them to be packed up carefully, that he might not soil them; he then pes scented soap, a hair-bru sh, and other article for the toilet : and having obtained ali these requisites, he added to them one or two pair of common beaver gloves, and then went to the barber’s to get his hair cut. ‘Tam all ready now, Joey, he returned to the alehouse ; we retrace our steps.’ ‘What! back to the village ?’ ‘Yes: and where we shall re time, perhaps.’ ; On reaching the next morning, Spikeman hired a bed=reont; and, leaving Joey to work the grindstone, remained in his apartments. Wh tact returned in the evening, he found 5 jikeman had been very busy with the soap, and had restored his hands to something like their proper co.our; he had also shaved himself, and washed his hair clean and brushed it well. ‘You see, Joey, I have commenced opera- tions already: I shall soon be prepared to act the part of the gentle man who has turned tinker to gain the love of a fair lady of high degree.’ ‘I wish you success ; plans ?’ ‘That you will find out to-morrow morn- ing ; now we must go to bed.’ said he, when ‘and to-morrow main some village aD but what are. your TRE POACHER. CHAPTER XXX. Plotting, and Reading, and Writing. SPIKEMAN was up early the next morning. When they had breakfas ted, he desired Joey to go for the knife-grinder’s w heel, and follow him. As soon as “they vere clear of the ie vil- lage, Spikeman said, ‘ It will not do to remain at the village ; there’s a cottage half a mile down the road where they once gave mea lodging ; we must try if we can get it now.’ When they arrived at the cottage, Spike- man made a very satisfactory bargain for board ou lodging fora few da they charged so much at the village alehouse that hey could not afford to stay there, and that he expected to have a good job at Squire Mathews’s, up at the mansion-house. As this arrangement was completed, they returned back to the copse near to. the mansion-house, Joey rolling the knife-grin- ders wheel. ‘You see, Joey,’ said Spikeman, thing necessary will be to stimulate curiosity ; we may have to wait a day or two before the opporttinity may occur; but, if necessary, I will waita month. That Miss Mathews will very often be found on the seat by the copse, either alone or with her cousin, I take to be certain, as all ladies have their favourite re- treats. I donot intend that they should see me yet; a must make an inioreseien first. Nae leave the wheel on the outside, and come with me : do not speak.’ As soon as they were in the copse, Spike- man reconnoitred very carefully, to ascertain if either of the young ladies were on the bench, and finding no one there, he returned to Joey. “They cannot come without our hearing their footsteps,’ said Spikeman ; ‘so now we must wait here patiently.’ Spikeman threw. himself down on the turf in front of the copse, and Joey followed his example. ‘Come, Joey, we may as well read a little to pass away the time; I have brought two volumes of Byron with me.’ For half an hour they were thus occupied, when they heard the voice of Miss Mathews singing as before as she came down the walk. Spikeman rose and peeped through the foliage. ‘She is alone,’ said he, ‘which is just what I wished. Now, Joey, I am going to,read to you aloud.’ Spikeman then began to read in the masterly style which we have before referred to :— ys, stating that soon as ‘ the first “* €T loved, and was beloved again ; They tell me, Sir, you never knewLHE POACHER. Those gentle frailties ; if ’tis true ‘Insolent ! they. never saw me; they had I.shorten all my joys and pain, no idea that I was here. I heard voices as I J’o you ’twould seem absurd as vain ; came down the walk, so I moved softly, and Rut pil now are not born to reign, when I gained the seat, there was somebody Or o’er their passions, or as you There, o’er themselves and nations too. reading poetry ‘so be autifully ; I never heard I am, or rather was, a Prince, any one read with such correct emphasis and A chief of thousands, and could lead clear pronunciation. And then he stopped, ‘Them on when each would foremost bleed, and talked to the boy Te: the Greek and But Onis not o’er myself Latin poets, and quoted Shakspeare. ‘There The like control. But to resume ; must be some mystery.’ I loved, and was beloved again ; ees ie eats Care z settee In sooth it is a happy doom— Well, but if there is, what has that to do But yet where happiness ends in pain.” with the travelling tink ts? ‘What! why it was the travelling tinker ‘I am afraid that is but too true, my dear himself, dearest; but he cannot be 4 tinker; boy,’ said Spikeman, laying down the e book ; for I heard him say that he expected letters ‘Shakspeare has most truly said, “ The course of conse quence, al nd no travelling tinker could of true love never did run smooth, Nay, he do that.’ cannot be said to be original in that idea, for ‘Why no; I doubt if most of them can read Horace and most of the Greek: and» Latin at alli? poets have said much the same thing before ‘Now, I would give my little fin iger to know him ; however, let us go on again— who that person is. ‘Did you see his face ?’ “We met in secret, and the hour “No; he never turned this w ay; the boy Which led me to my lady’s bower Was fiery expectation s dower ; The days and nights were nothing—all did when they were some distance off. It’s very strange,’ oe: the hour whic h doth recall, ¥ hat was he readit ge pet In the long lapse from youth to ag | don’t know ; it was very beautiful. I No other like itself.” wonder if he will ever come this way again ! if he does = ‘Do you observe the extreme beauiy of that ‘Well, Melissa, and if he does?’ passage ?’ said Spikeman. My scissors want ends very badly; EVess said Joey, ‘it is ve ry beautiful.’ they won't cut a bit,’ ‘You would more feel he power of it, my ‘Why, Melissa, you don’t mean to fall ‘in dear boy, if you were in love, but your timeis love witl a tinker?’ said Araminta, laughing. not yet come ; but Iam afraid we must leave ‘Heis no tinker, I'm sure; but why is he off now, for I expect letters of con: sequence by disguised? I should like to know.’ the post, and it is useless, I fear, wai iting here. ‘Well, but I came out to tell you that your Come, put the book by, and Jet us take up father wants you. Comealong.’ the wheel of my sad fortunes. The two young ladies then returned to the Spikeman and Joey rose on their feet. house, but the mystery of the morning. was Joey went to the knife-grinder’s wheel, and broached more than once, and canvassed in Spikemian followed him without looking back ;_ every possible w ay. he heard a rustling, nevertheless, am ong the Spikeman, as soon as he had returned to bushes, which annbuticed to him that his the cottage, took out his writing materials to manceuv re had succeeded ; and, as soonas he concoct anepistle. After some time in cor- was about fifty yards from the road, he took recting, he made out a fair copy, which he the wheel from Joey, desiring him to look read to Joey. back, as if accident: lly. Joey did so, and **"¥ tremble lest at the ate moment you Saw Miss Mathews following them with her cast your eyes over the page, you throw it eyes. away w ithout deigning to peruse it; and yet ‘That will do,’ observed Spikeman ; ‘her there is not hing in it which vedios raise a blush curiosity is excited, and that is all I wish? on the cheek of a modest maiden, If it bez What Spikeman said was correct, Araminta crime to have seen you by chance, to have joined Miss Mathews shortly after Spikeman watched you by stealth, to consider hallowed and Joey had gone aw ay. every spot you visit—-nay, more, if it bea crime ‘My dear Araminta,’ said Melissa, ‘such Yan to worship a the shrine of beauty and of in- adventure : ‘ can h ardly credit my sehses nocence, or, to speak more boldly, to adore ‘Why, what is the matter, dear cousin ?” Pare ien! am I guilty. You will ask why I ‘Do you see that man and boy, with a knife= resort to a clandestine step. Simply, because, grinder’s wheel, just in ma now ?’ when I discovered your name and birth, I felt ‘Yes, to be sure I do; but what of them? assured that an ancient feud be ‘tween the two Have they been lca ?' families, to which nor you nor I were parties,THE POACHER. | 83 would bar an introduction to your father’s house. You would ask me who I am. A gentleman, I trust, by. birth and education; a t; and you have made mie DOOr O pte Td ce cule he eae eo ; lave robbed me or more than poorer, W ae ed yeace of mind and my happiness. If t lam presumptuous and bold; 1 forgive me Your eves ll m you » too kin oo good, t » 2g ll IVT ind h n be alr y suf- uld not o furt a man y until. he yol Pardon me, therefore, my boldness, and excuse t means I have taken of placing this communi cation before you.” ‘That will do, I thinl : Ss an ‘and now, Joey o ike a walk and I will vive yc iT P HA XX In which the Plot thic THE next day ou o, having received the l Cel Mi h ] > in 1ctlons WW Ow rhe wheel « mn tothe copse near to the mansion- house. Here he remained quietly until he oe heard Miss M 1 coming down the l- Vi sk. : he vaited til she had time to . het seat, and then, leaving his wheel ot he W 1 the conse until he ca er 5 3 from her book \¥ he a\ n have you rs or me to n 1 fi ni Wl in his nd vs looked earn rT, 1 y » - ‘ the boy who was on t grinder and his w ‘ Yes, madam; wec way,. replied Joey, bowing again ely. : he your father ? ‘No, madam, he is my uncle; he is not married. Your uncle. ‘Well ap of scis- sors to ) grind, and I will go for them ; you may bring your wheel in here, as I wish to see how you grind. one ee apelhs tha ee Ae eiecgee B Certa ss, with the greatest pleasure. JO br in his-wheel, and observing ; vews had left her book cn the cant a it at the marked page and slipped the letter in ; and scarcely had done so, when he perceived Miss Mathews and her cousin coming towards him. ‘Here are the scissors ; them cut well. ‘I will do my best, miss, replied Joey, who immediately set to work. mind you make ‘Eave vou been long at this trade? said No, miss, not very long.’ has he been long at it ?’ ‘Why, I really And your uncle, Joey hesitated on purpose. ; ¥ , Pee L lon’t know exactly how lorg. ‘Why is your uncle not with you? ‘He was obliged to go to town, miss—that 1 from here—on ‘Why, what business cana tinker have? [ suppose he wanted some soft solder, I ;: he requires a great deal.’ Can you write and read, boy? inquired ‘Me, miss! how should I know how to 1?’ replied Joey, looking up. \ ana 1 ] i ‘Fave you been much about here?’ Yes, mi ;, a. good deal; uncle seems to like this er were so long before. The done now, miss, and they will cut 1 well. Uncle was in hopes of setting some work at the mansion-house when he came back.’ ‘Can your uncle write and read ?’ ' bel ve he can a little, miss.’ Kao I owe you for the scissors ?” miss, if you please ; I had_rather take anything from you.’ And why not from me?’ ‘Because I never worked for so pretty a bef ‘ish you good-morning, ladies,’ said Joey, taking up his wheel and rolling it Well, Araminta, what do you think now? That's no ki ife-grindcer's boy ; he is as well- bred and polite as any lad I ever saw. ‘I suspect that he is a little story-teller, saying that he could not write and read,’ Araminta replied. ‘And so do 1; what made him in such a hutry to go away ?’ ‘I suppose he did not like our questions. » I we oe aie tha r the uncle will come. Well, Melissa, I must not quit your father justnow, so I must leave you with your book ;’. and, so took her way to the house. was inareverie for some behaviour had puzzled her as what she had overheard Sa Lying, Miss minutes ; almost the day bef At Sr she opened the book, and, to he eat astonishment, beheld a oo ar. She start Ba looked at it—it was ad- ssed to her. She demurred at first whe- ee she should open it. It must have been put there by the tinker’s boy—it was evidently no tinker’s letter; it must be a Jove-letter, and she ought not to read it. There was something, however, so very charming in the whole romance of the affair, if it should turn out, as she suspected, that the tinker should be84. prove a gentleman who had fallen in love with her, and had assumed the disguise. Melissa wanted an excuse to herself for open- ing. the letter.’ .At last she said to herself, ‘Who knows but what it may be a petition from some poor person .or another who is in distress? I ought to read it at all events.’ ie Had it proved to be a petition, Miss Melissa would have been terribly disappointed. ‘It certainly is very respectful,’ thought ‘Melissa, after she had read it, ‘but I cannot reply to it; that would never do. ‘There certainly is nothing I can take offence at. It must be the tinker himself, I am sure of that : but still he does not say so. Well, I don't know, but I feel very anxious as to what this will come to. O, it can come to nothing, for I cannot love a man I have never seen, and I would not admit a Stranger to an interview : that’s quite decided. I must show the letter to Araminta, Shall I? I don’t know, she’s so particular, so steady, and would be talking of propriety, and prudence ; it would vex her so, and put her quite in a fever, she would be so unhappy ; no, it would be cruel to say any- thing to her, she would fret so about it; I won't tell her until I think it absolutely necessary. It isa very gentleman-like hand, and elegant language too; but still I’m not going to carry on a secret correspondence with a tinker. It must be the tinker. What an odd thing altogether! What can his name be? An old family quarrel, too. Why it’s a Romeo and Juliet affair, only Romeo’s a tinker. Well, one mask is as good as another. He acknowledges himself poor, I like that of him, there’s something so honest in it. Well, after all, it will be a little amusement to ‘a poor girl like me, shut up from year’s end to year's end, with .opodeldocs always in my nose; so I will see what the end of it may be,’ thought Melissa, rising from her seat to go into the house, and putting the letter into her pocket. Joey went back to Spikeman and reported progress. ‘That's all I wish, Joey,’ said Spikeman : ‘now you must not go there to-morrow ; We must let it work a little; if she is at all in- terested in the letter, she will be impatient to know more.’ Spikeman was-right. Melissa looked up and down the road very often during the next day, and was rather silent during the evening. The second day after, Joey, having received his instructions, set off, with his knife-grinder's wheel, for the mansion-house. When he went round the copse where the bench was, he found. Miss Mathews there. ‘I beg your pardon, miss, but do you think there is any work at the house ? THE POACHER. ‘Come here, sir,’ said Melissa, assuming a very dignified air. ‘Yes, miss,’ said Joey, walking slowly to her. ‘Now, tell me the truth, and I will reward you with half a crown.’ -Yes> ines? ‘Did you not put this letter in my book the day before yesterday ?’ ‘ Letter, miss ; what letter ?’ ‘Don’t you deny it, for you know you did ; and if you don’t tell me the truth, my father is a magistrate, and I'll have you punished.’ ‘I was told not to tell,’ replied Joey, pre- tending to be frightened. ‘But you must tell; yes, and tell me immediately. ’ ‘I hope you are not angry, miss.’ ‘No; not if you tell the truth’’ ‘I don't exactly know, miss, but a gentle- man——’ ‘What gentleman ?’ ‘A gentleman that came to uncle, miss,’ ‘A gentleman that came to your uncle; well, go on.’ ‘I suppose he wrote the letter, but I’m not sure ; and uncle gave me the letter to put it where you might see it.’ ‘O, then, a gentleman, you say, gave your uncle this letter, and your uncle gave it to you to bring to me. Is that it ?’ ‘ Uncle gave me the letter, but I dare say uncle will tell you all about it, and who the gentleman was.’ ‘Is your uncle come back ?’ ‘ He comes back to-night, madam.’ “You're sure your uncle did not write the letter ?” ‘La, miss! uncle write such a letter as that —and to a lady like you—that would be odd !’ ‘Very odd, indeed !’ replied Miss Melissa, who remained a minute or two in thought, “Well, my lad,’ said she at-last, «I must and will know who has the boldness to write this letter to me ; and as your uncle knows, you will bring him here to-morrow, that I may inquire about it ; and let him take care that he tells the truth.’ ‘Yes, miss; I will tel) him as soon as he comes home. I hope you are not angry with me, miss ; I did not think there was any harm in putting into the book such a nice clean letter as that.’ ‘No, I am not angry with you ; your uncle is more to blame: I shall expect him to- morrow about this time, You may gomow,’CHAPTER XXXII. In which the Tinker makes Love: Jory made his obeisance, and departed as if he was frightened. Miss Melissa watched him: at last she thought, ‘Tinker or no tinker? that is the quesuon. 4 cool hundred, as my father would say ; for, no tinker’s boy, no tinker ; and that is tinker’s boy. How clever of him to say that the letter was given! I can send to him to interrogate him, have an interview feelings ; fident that he is, Miss Melissa night ; and at the I shall soon discover it.’ ting nity of a newly-made magistrate. and Joey were appearance. and neat, although outward appearance of a were, by continua white, anc person, except sullied clothes. ‘My boy telis me, miss, speak to me,’ said Spikeman, air of a vulgar man. tinker ; ‘I did, friend,’ said Melissa, after looking at ‘a letter has been Spikeman for a few minutes ; brought here clandestinely, and your boy con- fesses that he received it from you; now, wish to know how you came by it.’ ‘Boy, go away to a distance, man, very angrily ; secret, at all events you more.’ Joey retreate tween them. ‘Well, madam, or miss (I suppose miss) said Spikeman, ‘that 1 gentleman that loves the very tread upon. ‘And he me ? how he loves you, } at his taking so bold a step. ‘T am surprised at your step, tinker, as to send it by your boy.’ , ‘It was a long while before I would venture, he had told me what he did, I really could not help doing so ; for I pitied miss ; but when ld you, if you knew all.’ him, and so wou id he tell you?’ ‘And pray, what d ‘ He told me, miss,’ had gradually THE POACHER. No tinker, for no 1im by a gentleman : Now and without any offence to my and if he is disguised,_as I feel con- Mathews did not sleep that time appointed she was sit- on the bench, with all the assumed dig- Spikeman not long before they made their Spikeman was particularly clean he took care to wear the his hands | washing in hot water, very he had paid every attention to his in wearing his rough and that you wish to assuming the ' said Spike- ‘if you can’t keep one shall not hear any d, as had been arranged be- etter was written by a ground you requested it to be delivered to ‘ He did, miss ; and if you knew, as I do, you would not be surprised taking so bold a said Spikeman, who assumed his own manner of 85 speaking, ‘that he had ever rejected the thoughts of matrimony—that he rose up every morning thanking Heaven that he was free and independent—that he had scorned the idea of ever being captivated with the charms of a woman ; but that one day he had passed by chance down this road, and had heard you singing as you were coming down to repose: on this bench. Captivated by your voice, curiosity induced him to conceal himself in the copse behind us, and from thence he had a view of your person : Nay, miss, he told me more, that he had played the eaves-dropper, and heard all your coliversation, free and un- constrained as it was from the supposition that you were alone; he heard you express yowr sentiments and opinions, and finding that there was on this earth what, in his scep- ticism, he thought never to exist—youth, beauty, talent, principle, and family, all united in one person—he had bowed at the shrine, and had become a silent and unseen worshipper.’ Spikeman stopped speaking. ‘Then it appears that this gentleman h been guilty of the ungentlemanly practice of listening to private conversation—no very great recommendation.’ ‘Such was not his intention at first; was seduced to it by you. Do not blame him for that—now that I have seen you, I cannot ; but, miss, he told me more. He said that he felt that he was unworthy of you, and had not a competence to offer you, even if he could obtain your favour; that he discovered that there was a cause which prevented his gaining family ; in fact, that he was hopeless and despairing. He had hovered near you for a long time, for he could not leave the air you breathed ; and, at Jast, that he had resolved to set his life upon the die and stake the hazard. Could I refuse him, miss? He is of an old family, but not wealthy ; he isa gentleman by birth and edu- cation, and therefore I did not think I was doing so very wrong in giving him the chance, trifling as it might be. I beg your pardon, madam, if I have offended ; and any message you may have to deliver to him, harsh as it 7 e—nay, even if should be his death—it faithfully and truly delivered. Master Tinker ?’ an introduction to your may b shall be ‘When shall you see him, said Melissa, very gravely. ‘In a week he {will be here, he said, not before.’ ‘Considering he is so much in love, he takes his time,’ replied Melissa. ‘ Well, Master Tinker, you may tell him from me, that I’ve no answer to give him. It is quite ridiculous, as well as highly improper, that I should receive a letter or answer one from a person whom I never saw, I admit his letteri 86 THE POACHER. to be respectful, or I shoula nave sent a much hatsher message, ‘Your commands ‘shall be obeyed, miss ; that is, if you cannot be persuaded to see him for one minute.’ ‘Fitst to Dudstone, to take m “Most certainly not; I see no gentleman ofthe bank; Ih who is not received at my father’s house, and carry me on for properly presented to me. It may be the custom among people in your station of life, Master Tinker, but not in mine; and, as { yourself, I recommend you not to than daily meetings, I must leave this to- night ; but you Inay as well stay here, for you car be of no use to me.’ “Where are you going, then ?’ y money out ave a good sum, sufficient to Many months after our mar- riage, if I do marry her. I shall change my dress at Dudstone, of course, and then start or for London, by mail, and fit myself out with attempt to a most fashionable wardrobe and etceteras, bring another letter.’ come down again to Cobhurst, the town we ‘I must request your pardon for my fault, were in the other day, with my portmanteau, miss ; may I ask, after ] have seen the poor and from thence return here in my tinker’s young gentleman, am I to Teportto you what clothes to Tesume Operations. You must not takes place ?” §0 near her during my absence.’ ‘Yes, if it is toassure me that I shall be no ‘Certainly not ; shall I go out at all?’ more troubled with his addresses,’ ‘No, not with the wheel ; you might meet ‘You shall be obeyed, miss,’ continued her on the road, and she would be putting Spikeman ; then, changing his tone- and air, questions to you,’ he said, ‘I beg your pardon, have you any That evening Spikeman set off, and was knives or scissors to grind ? absent for five days, when he again made his ‘No,’ replied Melissa, jumping up from her appearance early in the morning. Joey had seat, and walking towards the house to con- remained almost altogether indoors, and had ceal her mirth. Shortly afterwards she turned taken that Opportunity of writing to Mary, round to look if Spikeman was gone; hehad He wrote on the day after Spikeman’s depar- remained near the seat, with his eyes follow- ture, as it would give ample time for an ing her footsteps. ‘I could love that man,’ answer before his return; but Joey received thought Melissa, as she walked on, | What no reply to his letter. 2 an eye he has, and what eloquence ; I shall ‘I am all prepared now, my boy,’ said Tun away with a tinker. I do believe ; but it Spikeman, whose appearance Was consider- is my destiny. Why does he say a week—a ably improved by the various little personal whole week? But how wasy to see through arrangements which he had gone through his disguise! He had the stamp of a gentle- during the time he was in London. ‘TI have man upon him. Dear me, I wonder how this My money in my pockets, my portmanteau at istoend! J] Must not tell Araminta yet ; she Cobhurst, and now it depends upon the rapi- would be fidgeted out of her wits! How dity of my success when the Cay is to come foolish of me! | quite forgot to ask the name that I make the knife-grinder’s wheel over to of this sextleman, ’l] not forget it next you. I will go down now, but without you time.’ this time.’ Spikeman set off with his wheel, and soon ea arrived at the usual place of meeting ; Miss Mathews, from the window, had _ perceived him coming down the road ; she waited a quarter of an hour before she made her ap- pearance ; had not she had her eyes on the hands of the timepiece, and knew that it was ‘Tt Ys beyond my hopes, Joey,’ said Spike- only a quarter of an hour, she could have Man, as they went back to the cottage ; ‘she Sworn that it had been two hours at least, knows well enough that I was pleading for Poor girl! she had, during this week, run myself, and not for another, and she has Said Over every circumstance connected with the quite as much as My Most sanguine wishes meeting at least a thousand times; every could desire + in fact, she has given me per- word that had been exchanged had been en- mission to come again, and report the result Staven on her memory, and, without her of her message to the non-existent gentleman, knowledge almost, her heart had impercepti- Which is equal to an assignation. I have no bly received the impression. She walked doubt now I shall ultimately succeed, and I down, reading her book very attentively, until must make my preparations ; I told her that she arrived at the bench. I should not be able to deliver her message ‘Any knives or scissors for a week, and she did not like the delay, asked Spikeman, 1 work in my favour ; ‘You here HAPTER XXXL Well done, Tinker. to grind, ma’am ?’ respectfully coming forward. again, Master Tinker ! Why, le fruit more I had quite forgot all about you,’ that was clear ; it will al a@ week’s expectation wil] ripen tlTHE FO. (Heaven preserve us! how innocent girls will sometimes tell fibs out of modesty. ) : Miss Mathews, if . 3e- were well for others, their memory were equally treacherous, jol ined Sp ikema ‘And why so, pray’ ra #Y ‘Spe vk of the gentleman to whom you sent the message.’ ‘And what was his reply to you? ‘He acknowledge L, Miss Mathews, th madness of his commu icati ym to you, of the impossibility of you eaens him an answer, and < Ff yor ir adi nit Hie him to your presence He admired the prudence of your conduct, but, unfortunat ely, his admiration only in- creased his love. He requested .me to Say, that he will write no mo ‘He has done wisely, and I am satisi i. ‘J would I could say as much for him, Miss Mathews : for it is my opinion, that his very existence is now so boun 1 up with the posses- sion of you, that if he does not st cannot exist.’ ‘That i8 not my fault,’ replied Melissa, ¥ ith her eyes cast down “No, it is not. Still, Miss Matthews, whi it is considered that this man had abjured, I say, had almost despised women, it is no may s small triumph to you, or homage from him, that you have made him feel the power of your sex. Sfe is his ishment for having de- spised us.’ «Per haps so; yet if we were. all pun for our misdeeds, as Shakspeare says should escape whipping ‘Pray, Master to quote Shakspe sare?” ‘Where | le urmmt ~much always a travelling tinker.’ ‘So I presu came you to be Tinker, where more. ‘Miss Mathews, if the truth must be told, it arose from an unfortunate attachment. ‘T have read in the olden poets that love would turn a god into a man, but I never 1 of its making him a tinker, re hear Melissa, smiling. ‘The immortal Jove did not hesitate to conceal his sn :\der-bolts when he deigned .to love ; and Cupid but too oiten has recourse to the aid of p roteus to secure success. We have, therefore, no mean warranty.’ ‘And who was the lady of thy love, good Mastér Tinker? «She was, Miss Mathews thing. She was as beautiful, honest, as proud, and, unfortunately, she was, like you, as obdurate, which reminds me of the unfortunate gentleman whose emissary I nowam. Jn his madn he requested me— yes, Miss Mathews, me—a poor like you in every- as intelligent, as ACHER. tinker—to 87 woo you for him—to say to you all that he i have said had he been admitted to your e—to plead for him—to kneel for him to have some W oul presen at your feet, and entreat you compassion for one whos e only misfortune was to love—whose only fault was to be poor. What could’l say, Miss Mathews—what could I reply to a person in his state of despera- tion? To reason with him, to argue with him, had been useless ; I could only soothe him by making such a promise, provided that I was eee to do it. Tell me, Miss Mathews, have I your permission to make the attempt ? ‘First, Mr. Tinker, I should wish to know the name of this gentleman.’ De 1 not to ment it, Miss Ma- I have “OMISEC ion thews: but I can evade the promise, a book 4v! belongs to him in my pocket, on thé inside of which are the arms of his family, with his fathers name underneath them Sp nan ented the book. Melissa read the name, and then laid it on the bench, without saying.a word. ‘And now, Miss Mathews, as I have shown you that the gentleman has no wish to con- venture to hope that who he is, may | h plead occasion ally, you will me to when I may see you, in his behalf,’ be gq not what to say, Master Tinker I consider it a measure it vught with some both to the gentleman “and to myself, quoted Shakspeare— allow we now 1 Ceal permit OW danger, , as + You have to do tne same ; . ere ndshij , is constant in all other things pave in the affairs and o ffices of love, Theref ll hearts use your own ton} gues.’ fe ee, tee Tinker, Master that there is You opserve, danger of your pleading for yourself, and not danger LIC RL , for your client ; and there is also the of my being ins¢ nsibly moved to listen to the addresses of a tinker.. Now, only reflect upon the awful consequences,’ continued Melissa Smiuns ‘I pl edg re you my honour, Miss Mathews, that I will only plead for the person whose name you have read in the book, and that you shall never be humiliated by th e importunilies of a mender of pots and pans.’ Yo u pledge the honour of a tinker; th a worth: “\ tinker that has’ the honour of conversing with Miss Mathews, has an honour that can- not be too highly appreciated.’ ‘Well, De is very polite for a mender of old kettles ; but the schoolmaster is abroad, which, I ee ne, accounts for such strange anomalies as our present conversation. I must now wish you good-morning. ‘When may TL have the honour of again what at ALY88 LHE POACHER. presenting myself in behalf of the poor gen- tleman ?’ ‘I can really make no appointments with tinkers,’ replied Melissa ; ‘if you Personate of him.’ that young man, you must be content to wait ‘If that is your only reason, you can have for days or montlis to catch a glimpse of the no objection to see him no more, now that hem of my garment ) to bay the moon and scandal is abroad, Will you promise me that bless the Stars, and I donot know what else. you will not? Recollect, dear Melissa, how It is, in short, catch me when you can; and imprudent and how unmaidenly it is.’ now farewell, good Master Tinker’ ‘, TYeplied ‘Why, you don't th Melissa, leaving her own book, and taking the one Spikeman had put into her hand, which She carried with her to the house. It was is no “companion for Miss Mathews, dear all up with Miss Melissa Mathews, that Was cousin. Melissa, you have been most impru- clear. dent. How far you have told me the truth I We shal! pass over a fortnight, during know not ; but this I must tell you, if you do Which Spikeman, at first every other day, and not promise me to give up this disgraceful subsequently every day or evening, had a acquaintance, I wil] immediately acquaint my meeting with Melissa, in every one of which uncle’ he pleaded his cause in the third person. Joey began to be very tired of this affair, as he re- Ay mained idle during the whole time, when one morning Spikeman told him that he must go down to the meeting-place without the wheel know how servants talk. Why do you con- tinue to see this fellow ?’ ‘Because he amuses me, and it is So stupid ink that I am going to elope with a tinker, do you, cousin ?’ ‘T should think not ; nevertheless, a tinker ‘I will not be forced into any promise, aminta,’ replied Melissa, indignantly, ‘Well, then, I will not hurry you into it, I will give you forty-eight hours to reply, and if » by that time your own good sense does not and tell Miss Mathews his uncle, the tinker, point out your indiscretion, I certainly will was ill, and not ableto come that evening, make it known to your father ; that is decided.’ Joey received his instructions, and down immediately, Miss Mathews was not wall to be seen, and Joey, to avoid observation, hid himself in the copse, awaiting her arrival. At last she came, accompanied by Ar her cousin. As soon as they had taken their Joey who hadwite seats on the bench, Araminta commenced: térs stood, made up his mind not to deliver his ‘ My dear Melissa, I could not speak to youin message. He knew that Spikeman was well, the house, on account of your father; but and presumed that his staying away was to Simpson has told me this morning that she make Miss Mathews more impatient to see thought it her duty to state to me that you: him. Melissa remained on the bench in deep have been seen, not only in the day-time, but thought ; at last Joey went up to her, late in the evening, walking and talking with ‘You here, my boy! what have you come a Strange-looking man. I have thought it very for?’ said Melissa. odd that you should not have mentioned this ‘I was strolling this way, madam.’ mysterious person to me lately - but Ido ‘Come here; I want you to tell me the think it most Strange that you should have truth ; indeed, it is useless to attempt to de- been so imprudent. Now, tell me everything. ceive me. Ts that person your uncle ?’ that has happened, or IL must really make it « No, miss, heis not.’ ~ known to your father.’ “lknew what Ts he not the person who ‘And have-me locke wrote the letter, anda gentleman in disguise ? a very kind of you, Answer me that question, and then I havea Melissa. went So Saying, Araminta rose from the bench and ess it s ne; the silken bands of Hymen had been made more secure by the iron rivets of the black- smith ; that tl hree e days after he had written a letter to his wife's f; ither, he had doxe him the honour of marrying his daughter ; that he could not exactly say when he could aa ee to come to the mansion and pay him a visit, but that he would as soon as he conv ea y could ; that he begged that the room preparec d for ‘them upon their arrival might have a large dressing-room attached to it, as he could not dispense with that conveni- ence; that he was not aware Whether Mr. Mathews was inclined to part with the mansion and property, but, as his. wife had declared that she would prefer living there to any- where else, he had not any objection to pur- chase it of Mr. Mathe ews, if the ‘y could come to ce 3 hoped his gout was better , and was his y faithfully, Aucustrus S} PIKEMAN. aminta, beg informing him that Meligcs. ce a few lines to Arging her as a favour, not toattempt to palliate her conduct, but to rail against her inces- santly, as it would be the surest aoe of bringing affairs to an amicable settlement. To her father she wrote only ea few words :— ‘MY DEAR PAPA,—You will be glad to hear tbat lam married. Augustus says that, if I behave well, he will come anc see you soon. Dear papa, your dutiful chil Teen SPIKEMAN. That the letters of ms seinen and Melissa put the old gentleman in na small degree of rage, may be conceived, but nothing could be more judicious than the plan Spikeman had acted upon. It is useless to plead to aman who is irritated with constant gout; he only ; becomes more despotic and more unyielding. Had Araminta attempted to soften his indig- nation, it would have been equally fruitless : but the compliance with the oe of her cousi D of continus uly railing against her, had the effect intended. The vit tuperation of Ara- minta left him nothing to say; there was no opposition to direct his anathemas against ; there was no coaxing or wheedling on the part of the offenders for him to repulse ; and when Meintihte pressed the old gentleman to vow that-Melissa should never enter the doors again, he accused her of being influenced by interested motives, threw a basin at her head, and wrote an epistle requesting Melissa to come and take his blessing. Ara minta re- fused to attend heruncle after this insult, and the old gentleman became still more anxious for the return of his daughter, as he was now left entirely to the caprice of his servants. Araminta gave Melissa an account of what had passed, an 1d entreated her tocome at once. She did so, and a general reconciliation took piece, Mr. Math ws, finding his new son-in- law very indifferent to pecuniary matters, in- sisted upon making over to his wife an estate in Herefordshire, which, with Melissa’s own fortune, rendered them in most affluent cir- cumstances. Spikeman requested Joey to write to him now and then, and that, if he re- quired a assistance, he would apply for it ; but still advi ed hi m to follow up ‘the profession of tr wvelli ing tinker as being the most inde- endent. P Our hero he id I bard]; tents of Spikeman's tier when he received a large pacl ket abi Mary, accounting for her not having replied to him before, in conse- y time to dige st the con- quence of her absence irom the Hall. ‘She had, three weeks before received a letter written for Mrs. Chopper, acquainting her that Mrs. Chopper was so very ill that it was not thought possible that she could recover, LHE POACHER. QOL having an abscess in the liver which threatened to break internally, and requesting Mai obtain leave to come to Gravesend, if she pos- sibly could, as Mrs. Chopper wished to see her before she died. Great as was Mary's repug- nance to revisit Gravesend, she felt that the obligations she was under to Mrs. Chopper were too great for her to hesitate ; and show- ing the letter to Mrs. Austin, and stating at the same time that she considered Mrs. Chop- per as more thana mother to her, she obtained he leave which she requested, and set off for Gravesen ay It with feelings of deep shame and humiliation that poor SMe walked down the main street of the town, casting her eyes up fearfully to the scenes of her former life. She was very plainly attired, and: had a thick veil over her face, so that nobody recognized her ; she arrived at the door of Mrs.. Chopper’s abode, ascel t ded the stairs, and was once more in the room out of which she had quitted Gravesend to lead a new life ; and most con- scien itioutsly had she fulfilled her resolution, as the reader must be aware. Mrs. Chopper was in bed and slumbering when Mary softly opened the door; the signs of approaching death were on her countenance—her large, round form had wasted away—her fingers were now taper and bloodless ; Mary would not have recognized her had she fallen in with her under other circumstances. An old woman was in attendance ; she rose up when Mary entered, imagining that it was some kind lady come to visit the sick woman. Mary sat down by the side of the bed, and motioned to the old woman that she might go out, and then she raised her veil and waited ull the sufferer roused. Mary had snuffed the candle wice that she mi ght see S eifictentiy to read ie ‘Prayer Book which Ge had taken up, 1 Mrs. Chopper ae ned her eyes Sw very kind of you, ma'am!’ said Mrs. Chopper; ‘and where is Miss ——? My eyes are dimmer every day.’ It is me, Mary—Nancy, that was!’ And soitis! O Nancy, now I shall die in peace! I thought at first it was the kind lady who comes every day to read end to pray with me. - Dear Nancy, how glad I am to see you! And howdo youdo? And howis poor Peter ?” ‘Quite well when I heard from him last, my ir Mrs. Chopper.’ ‘You don't know, Nancy, what a comfort tis to me to see you looking . you do, so good and so innocent : and when I think it was by my humble means that yaa were put in the way of becoming so, I feel as if I had done one good act, and that perhaps my sins may be forgiven me. ‘God will reward you, Mrs, Chopper;92 said so at the time, and I feel it now,” replied Mary, the tears rolling down her cheeks ; ‘I trust by your means, and with strength from above, I shall continue in the same path, so that one sinner may be saved.’ ‘ Bless you, Nancy !—-You never were a bad girl in heart: I always said so. And where is Peter now ?’ ‘Going about the country earning his bread ; poor, but happy.” ‘Well, Nancy, it willsoon be over with me : I may die in a second, they tell me, or I may live for three or four days; but I sent for you that I might put my house in order. There are only two people that I care for upon earth—that is you and my poor Peter; and all Ihave I mean to leave between you. I have signed a paper already, in case-vou could not come, but now that you are come, I will tell you all I wish; but give me some of that drink first.’ Mary having read the directions on the label, poured out a wine-glass of the mixture, and gave it to Mrs. Chopper, who swallowed it, and then proceeded, - taking a paper from under her pillow— ‘Nancy ! this is the paper I told you of. I have about 4700 in the bank, which is all that I have saved in twenty-two years; but it has been honestly made. I have, perhaps, much more owing to me, but I do not want it to be collected. Poor sailorshaveno money to spare, and I release them all You will see me buried, Nancy, and tell poor Peter how I loved him, and I have left all my account books, with my bad debts and good debts, tohim. I am sure he would like to have them, for he knows the history of every sum-total, and he will look over them and think of me. You can sell this furniture ; but the wherry you must give to William; he is not very honest, but he has a large family to keep. Do what you like, dearest, about what is here ; per- haps my clothes would be useful to his wife ; they are not fit for you.. ‘There's a good deal of money in the upper drawer ; it will pay for my funeraland the doctor. I believe that is all now ; but do tell poor Peter how I loved him. Poor fellow, Ihave been cheated ever since he left ; but that’s no matter. Now, Nancy, dear, read to mea little. I have so longed to have you by my bed-side to read to me, and pray for me! I want to hear you pray before I die. It will make me happy. to hear you pray, and see that kind face looking up to heaven, as it was always meant to do.’ Poor Mary burst into tears. After a few minutes she became more composed, and Cropping down on her knees by the side of the bed, she opened the Prayer- Book, and complied with the request of Mrs, Chopper ; and as she fervently poured forth her suppli- TRE POACHER. cation, occasionally her voice faltered, and she would stop to brush away the tears which dimmed hersight. She was stillso occupied when the door of the room was gently opened, and a lady, with a girl about f6urteen or fifteen years old, quietly entered the room, Mary did not perceive them until they also had knelt down. She finished the prayer, rose, and, witha short courtesy, retired from the side of the bed. Although not recognized herself by the lady, Mary immediately remembered Mrs. Phillips and her daughter Emma, having, as we hive before observed, been at one time in Mrs. Phillips’s service. ‘This is the young woman whom you wished to see, Mrs. Chopper, is it not? said Mrs. Phillips. ‘Iam not surprised at your long- ing for her, for she appears well suited for a companion in such an hour ; and, alas! how few there are! Sit down, I request,’ continued Mrs. Phillips, turning to Mary. ‘How do you find yourself to-day, Mrs. Chopper ?’ ‘Sinking fast, dear madam, but not unwill- ing to go, since I have seen Nancy, and heard of my poor Peter ; he wrote to Nancy a short timeago. Nancy, don’t forget my love to Peter.” Emma Phillips, who had now grown tall and thin, immediately went up to Mary, and said, ‘Peter was the little boy who was with Mrs. Chopper; I met him on the road when he first came to Gravesend, did I not?’ ‘Yes, miss, you did,’ replied Mary. ‘He used to come to our house sometimes, and very often to meet me, as I walked home from school. I never could imagine what became of him, for he disappeared all at once without saying good-bye.’ ‘He was obliged to go away, miss. It was not-his fault ; he was a very good boy, and is So still.’ ‘Then pray remember me to him, and tell him that I often think of him.’ ‘TI will, Miss Phillips, and he: will be very happy to hear ‘hat you have said so,’ ‘How did you know that my name was Phillips? Oh, I suppose poor Mrs. Chopper told: you before we came.’ Mrs. Phillips had now read some time to Mrs. Chopper, and this put an end to the con- versation between Mary and Emma Phillips. It was not resumed. As soon as the reading was over, Mrs, Phillips and her daughter took their leave. Mary made up a bed for herself by the side of Mrs. Chopper’s. About the middle of.the night, she was roused by a gurgling kind of noise ; she hastened tothe bedside, and found that Mrs. Chopper was suffocating. Mary called in the old woman to her aid, but it was useless, the abscess had burst, and in a fewseconds all was_ over; and Mary, struggling with emotion, closed the eyes of her old friend, and offered up a prayer for her de- parted spirit. The remainder of the night was passed in solemn meditation and a renewal of those vows which the poor girl had hitherto so scrupulously adhered to, and which the death- bed scene was so well fitted to encourage ; but Mary felt that she had her duties towards others to discharge, and did not give way to useless and unavailing sorrow. It washer duty to return as soon as possible to her in- dulgent mistress, and the next morning she was busy in making the necessary arrange- ments. On the third day Mary attended the funeral of her old friend, the bills were all paid, and having selected some articles which she wished to retain as a remembrance, she resolved to make over to William, the water- man, not only the wherry, but all the stock in hand, furniture and clothes of Mrs. Chopper. This would enable him and his wife to set up in business themselves, and provide for their family. Mary knew that she had no right to do so without Joey’s consent, but of this she felt she was sure; having so done, she had nothing more todo but to see the lawyer who had drawn up the will, and having gone through the necessary forms, she received an order on the county bank nearest to the Hall for the money, which, with what was left in the drawers, after paying every demand, % | lervcicrt thought amounted to more than £700. she it was her duty to call upon Mrs. Phillips, before she went away, out of gratitude jor her kindness to Mrs. Chopper; and as she had not been recognized, she had no scruple in so She was kindly received, and blushed she was doing. at the praise bestowed upon het, =. As going away, Emma Phillips followed her out, and putting into her hand a silver_pencil- case, requested she would ‘ give it to Peter as a remembrance of his little friend, Emma.’ The next day Mary arrived at the: Hall, first communicated to Mrs. Austin what had oc- curred, and then, having received our heros two last epistles, sat down to write the packet containing all the intelligence we have made known, and ended by requesting Joey to set off with his knife-grinder’s wheel, and come to the village near to the Hall, that he might receive his share of Mrs. Choppers money, the silver pencil-case, and the warm greeting of his adopted sister. Joey was not long in deciding. He resolved that he would go to Mary ; and, having locked up his apartments, he once more resumed his wheel, and was soon on his way to Hampshire. THE POACHER, CHAPTER XXXV. A Retrospect, that the Parties may all start fair again. WE must now leave our hero on his way to the Hall, while we acquaint our readers with the movements of other parties connected with our history. A correspondence had heen kept up between O' Donahue and M‘Shane. O'Donahue had succeeded in obtaining the pardon of the emperor, and employment in the Russian army, in which he had rapidly risen to the rank of general. Five or six years had elapsed since he had. married, and both O’Donahue and his wife were anxious to visit England ; a letter at last came, an- nouncing that he had obtained leave of ab- sence from the emperor, and would in all prob- ability arrive in the ensuing spring. During this period M‘Shane had continued at his old quarters, Mrs. M‘Shane still car- rying on the business, which every year be- came more lucrative; so much so, indeed, that her husband had for some time thought very seriously of retiring altogether, as they had already amassed a large sum, when M ‘Shane received the letter from O’ Donahue, announcing that in a few months he would arrive in england. Major M‘Shane, who was very far from being satisfied with his nega- tive position in society, pressed the matter more earnestly to his wife, who, although she was perfectly content with her own position, did not oppose his entreaties. M ‘Shane found that after disposing of the good-will of the business, and the house, they would have a clear £, 30,000, which he consideréd more than enough for their wants, unencumbered as they were with children. Let it not be supposed that M‘Shane had ceased in his inquiries after our hero; on the contrary, he had resorted to all that his in- vention could suggest to trace him out, but, as the reader must be aware, without success. Both M'‘Shane and his wife mourned his loss, as if they had been bereaved of their own child ; they still indulged the idea that some day he would reappear, but when, they could not surmise. M ‘Shane had not only searched for our hero, but had traced his father with as little success, and he had now made up his mind that he should see no more of Joey, if he ever did see him again, until after the death of his father, when-there would no longer be any occasion for secrecy. Our hero and his fate were a continual source of con- versation between M‘Shane and his wife ; but latterly, after not having heard of him for more than five years, the subject had not been so cften renewed. As soon as M‘Shane had ee94. THE POACHER. wound up his affairs, and taken his leave of the eating-house, he looked out for an estate in the country, resolving to lay out two-thirds of his money in land, and leave the remainder in the funds. After about three months’ search he found a property which suited him, and, as it so happened, about six miles from the domains held by ‘Mr. Austin. He had taken possession, and furnished it. Asa re- tired officer in the army, he was well received ; and if Mrs. M‘Shane was sometimes laughed at for her housekeeper-like appearance, still her sweetness of temper and unassuming be- haviour soon won her friends, and M‘Shane found himself in a very short time comfortable and happy. ‘The O’Donahues were expected to arrive very oe and M‘Shane had now a domicile fit for the reception of his old friend, who had promised to pay him a visit as soon as he arrived. Of the Austins little more can be said that has not been said already. Austin was a miserable, unhappy man ; his cup of bliss— for he had every means of procuring all that this world considers as bliss, being in posses- sion of station, wealth, and respect—was poi- soned by the one heavy crime which passion had urged him to commit, and which was now a source of hourly and unavailing repentance. His son, who should have inherited his w ealth, was lost to him, and he dared not mention that he was in existence. Every day Austin became more-nervous and irritable, more ex- clusive and averse to society; he trembled at shadows, and his strong constitution was rapidly giving way to the hea ivy weight omhis conscience. He could not sleep without opi- ates, and he dreaded to sleep lest he should reveal everything of the past in his slumbers. Each year added to the irascibility of his tem- per, and the harshness with which he treated his servants and his unhappy wife. His chief amusement was hunting, and he rode in so reckless a manner that people often thought that he was anxious to break his neck. Per- haps he was. Mrs. Austin was much to be pitied ; she knew how much her husband suf& fered ; how the worm gnawed within ; and, having that knowledge, she submitted to all his harshness, pitying him instead of con- demning him; but her life was still more embittered by the loss of her child, and many were the bitter tears which she would shed when alone, for she dared not in her hus- band’s presence, as he would have taken them as a reproof to himself Her whole soul yearned after our hero, and that one feeling rendered her indifferent, not only to all the worldly advantages by which she was. sur- rounded, but to the unkindness and hard- heartedness of her husband. M:z ry, who had entered her-service as kitchen-maid, was very soon a favourite, and had been advanced to the situation of Mrs. Austin’s own attendant. Mrs. Austin considered her a treasure, and she daily became more partial to and more confidential with her. Such was the state of affairs, when one morning, as Austin was riding to cover, a gentleman of the neigh- bourhood said to him in the course of conver- sation— ‘By-the-by, Austin, have you heard that you have a new neighbour ?’ ‘What !—on the Frampton estate, I sup- pose ; I heard that it had been sold.’ ‘Yes; I have seen him. . He is~-one of your profession—a lively, amusing sort of Irish major; gentlemanlike, nevertheless. The wife not very high-bred, but very fat, and very good-humoured, and amusing from her downright simpleness of heart. You will call upon them, I presume ?’ ‘Oh, of course,’ replied Austin. his name, did you say ?’ ‘Major M*Shane, formerly of the 53rd regi- ment, I believe.’ ae a bullet passed through the heart of Austin, he could not have received a more SUH shock, and the start which he made from his saddle attracted the notice of his companion. ‘What's the matter, Austi you are not well ?’ ‘No,’ replied Austin, recollecting himself, ‘Iam not ; one of those twinges from anold wound in the breast came on, ~ I shall be better directly.’ Austin stopped his horse, and put his hand to -his heart. ~ His companion rode up, and remained near him. ‘It is worse than usual; I thought it was coming on last night; I fear that J must go ae hall I g go with you ?’ ‘Oh. no; I must net spoil your sport: Lam better now a as deal ; it is going off fast. Come, let us proceed, or we shall be too late at cover.’ Austin had resolved to conquer his feelings. His friend had no suspicion, it is true; but when we are guilty we imagine that every- body suspects us. They rode a few minutes in silence. ‘Well, I am glad that you did not go home,’ observed ihe friend ; ‘for you will meet your new neighbour ; he has subscribed to the pack, and they say he is well mounted ; we shall see how he rides.’ Austin made no reply ; but, after ri iding on a few yards further, he pulled up, saying that the pain was coming on again, and that he could not proceed. His companion expressec his sorrow at Austin’s indisposition, and they separated, ‘What is , you look pale ;Austin immediately returned home, dis- wron mounted his horse, and hastened to his pri- 1 vate sitting-room. Mrs. Austin, who had ¢ imagine the | seen him return, and could ni 1 THE POACHER, 95 ; } Austin’s illness was gene- gated. Cards and calls were the and Austin kept himself a close ent prisoner in his own house. His 7 af yut impat cause, wentin to her husband. hunters remained in the stables, his dogs in ‘What is the matter, my dear? said-—Mrs. t RTT he kennel, and every one intimated that Mr. Austin. Austin was labouring under a disease from ‘Matter?’ replied A ial ‘ly, pacing hich he would not recover. At first this was up and down the ro 1 and hell extremely irksome to Austin, and he was very col , inst us l’ impatient ; but gradually he became reccn- ‘Dear A s, don’t ta ay. V ciled, and even preferred his sedentary and has happen tary existence. Books were his chief ‘Something v ( _. ex- usement, but nothing could minister to a pect, to rem ‘in a ; OV ( mn diseased, or drive out the rooted memory or lead to someth \ must of the brain. Austin became more morose not stav her and misanthropic every day, and at last would Austin then threw himself down on sofa permit no one tocome near him but his valet and was s \ { | his wife. endearments of his Such was the position of his parents, when would inevitably recognize him; and that, nothing else occurred m ledge of his former name, at all eve! sloomily vi I \ i Ae ‘Don't say so, dear Austin, it makes me miserable. 7 J Mrs Aus 1 é Her ) 1d, Yl f d att © awit to ) i to imply re- ; ] he StCEDLY: = ( Bd tO .-1Ga l That Austin repented bitterly of : } ] : } } 11} wm which he had committed is not to be doubted , : } } thd 1 en] gar. but it was not with the subdued soul of % Christian. His pride was continually strug- Sie ath + nA was not ve ered : gling within him, and was not yet conquered ; thisit was that made him alternately self-con- demning and irascible, and it was the con- ‘fare in his soul which was under- stitution. 1t for medical advice for his sup- posed complaint. The country practitioner, tho could discover nothing,. pronounced it to be an affection of the heart. He was not far XT] loft 1+ AYA Be iP Ow wheel CC I { ~ had taken a positive aversion to it. ] xy | l proceeding to their abode, CHAPTER XXXVI Our Hero falls in with an old Acquaintance, and is ited. not very much de fi hero rolling his knife-grinder’s f It must be ynfessed that he did it very unwillingly. He was never very fond of it at any time; but, nce he had taken possession of Spikeman’s and had received from Mary the in- ; worth £350 more, he [t retarded ements, and it was hard work when he to get his livelihood by it.. More ice he thought of rolling it into a horse- nd leaving it below. low-water mark ; he thought it a sort of protection inquiry, and against assault, for it told rty and honest employment ; so Joey but not with any feelings of regard ls his companion. How many castles did our hero. build as he went along the road! ‘The sum of money left to him.appeared to be enormous. He planned and planned again ; and, like most people, at jatners nouse. towards his } elligence that ne wa the close of the day, he was just as undeter- mined as at the.commencement. Neverthe- less, he was very happy, as people always are, in anticipation ; unfortunately, more so than when they grasp what they have been seeking. Time rolled on, as well as the grindstone, and at last Joey found himself at the. ale-house where he and Mary had put up previously to her obtaining a situation at the Hall. . He immediately wrote a letter to her, acquainting her with his arrival. He would have taken the letter himself, only he recollected the treat- 1 ment he had received, and found another HaDas scinc nee a messenger in the butcher’s boy, who was going up to the Hall for orders. The answer re- turned by the same party was, that Mary would come down and see him that evening. When Mary came down, Joey was astonished at the improvement in her appearance. She looked much younger than she did when they had parted, and her dress was so very dif- ferent that our hero could with difficulty ima- gine that it was the same person who had been his companion from Gravesend. The careless air and manner had disappeared ; there was a retenue—a dignity about her which astonished him ; and he felt a sort of respect, miagled with his regard, for her, of which he could not divest himself. But, if she looked younger (as may well be imagined) from her change. of life, she also looked more sedate, except when she smiled, or when occasionally, but very rarely, her merry laughter reminded him of the careless, good-tempered Nancy of former times. That the greeting was warm need hardly be said. It was the greeting ofa sister and younger brother who loved each other dearly. ‘You are very much grown, Joey,’ said Mary. ‘Dear boy, how happy I am to see you | ‘And you, Mary, you're younger in the face, but older in your manners.- Are you as happy in your situation as you have told me in your letters ?’ ‘Quite happy ; more happy than ever I de- serve to be, my dear boy; and now tell me, Joey, what do you think of doing? — You have now the means of establishing your- SELi: ‘Yes, I have been thinking of it; but I don't know what to do.’ ‘Well, you must look out, and do not be in too great a hurry. Recollect, Joey, that if anything offers which you have any reason to believe will suit you, you shall have my money as well as your own.’ ‘Nay, Mary, why should I take that ? ‘Because, as itis of no use to me, it must be idle ; besides, you know, if you suceeed, you will be able to pay me interest for it: so I shall gain as wellas you. You must not re- fuse your sister, my dear boy.’ ‘ Dear Mary, how _I wish we could live in the same house !’ ‘That cannot be now, Joey : you are above my situation at the Hall, even allowing that you would ever enter it.’ ‘That I never will, if I can help it; not that I feel angry now, but I like to be inde- pendent.’ ‘ Of course you do.’ _‘And as for that grindstone, I hate the sight of it: it has made Spikeman’s fortune, but it never shall make mine,’ 96 THE POACHER, ‘You don't agree, then, with your former companion,’ rejoined Mary, ‘that a tinker’s is the nearest profession to that of a gentle- man which you know of.’ ‘I certainly do not,’ replied our hero; ‘and as soon as I can get rid of it I will; I have rolled it here, but I will not roll it much farther. I only wish I knew where to go?’ ‘I have something in my pocket which puts me in mind of a piece of news which I re- ceived the other day, since my return. First, let me give you what I have in my pocket ’— and Mary pulled out the pencil-case sent to Joey by Emma Phillips. ‘There, you know already who that is from.’ ‘Yes, and I shall value it very. much, for she was a dear, kind little creature ; and when I was very, very miserable, she com- forted me.’ ‘Well, Joey, Miss Phillips requested"me to write when I came back, as she wished to hear that I had arrived safe at the Hall. It was very kind of her, and I did so, of course. Since that I have received a letter from her, stating that her grandmother is dead, and that her mother is going to quit Gravesend for Portsmouth, to reside with her brother, who is now a widower.’ ‘I will go to Portsmouth,’ replied our hero. ‘I was thinking that, as her brother is a navy agent, and Mrs. Phillips is interested about you, you could not do better. If any- thing turns up, then you will have good ad- vice, and your money is not so likely to be thrown away. I think, therefore, you had better go to Portsmouth, and try your for- tune.’ ‘Iam very glad you have mentioned this, Mary, for, till now, one place was as indifferent to me as another; but now it is otherwise, and to Portsmouth I will certainly go.’ Our hero remained two or three days longer at the village, during which time Mary was with him every evening, and once she ob- tained leave to go to the banker's about her money. She then turned over to Joey's account the sum due to him, and arrange- ments were made with the bank so that Joey could draw his capital out whenever he pleased. After which our hero took leave of Mary, promising to correspond more freely than be- fore ; and once more putting the strap of his knife-grinder’s wheel over his shoulders, he set off on his journey to Portsmouth. Joey had not gained two miles from the vil- lage when he asked himself the question, ‘What shall I do with my grindstone?’ He did not like to leave it on the road ; he did not know to whom he could give it away. He rolled it on for about six miles farther, and then, quite tired, he resolved to follow the y] Pern aYliy & > -a1 ; . plan tormeriy adopted pb} pixema and Tre pose a little u] the turf on t road-side The sun was very wafm, and after a Joey retreated to the other side « f the hedg which was shaded; and, having taken |} bundle from the side of th wheel wh ; hun i 5 r l } ~ K 1 n : ing voices H turn ro L Del ‘ { ; : side of the road, ¢ y HIS i und c non t ‘ ; ] is ve l [ l ' } C SUSp ) L ; I ( Mia. e OTT nN { { b 1m { VW Can the ow OF 16 \ ] . T - " VV Ly I Lar ay r LV l 5 I 1 ’ pusin ano : has left t | ] “ here t 1e i INO we were fo ft t ) uid 7 Yop ? ‘VY ] . L, VV) ng I \ } ; VAS . l = It. VV mM f i] $ a “4 till we f } col bese 1er TOa ‘ Lee LD) Ng eth iit, \ m lt 2 : f - 7 See ; se: 2 then we should do well ; for even lf our I n-a | $y oul . - ) . ( . tI ym I { moutn Sf10O Gp co 7 | 7 tra ng Cl 1d ti youid be no sus- picion.’ Well "Vy - Ft ] y 1 ‘Well, Ett n it off the 1 : I | | may then easily manage it But fi t's s 2 ] +t } , 7 : It LG -t ) If Deionss tO May DOt |! yme- +} : 7 } : Wher It at 1 +] ae his face toy » hedge, a mediately p ived that it 1 quaintance, irness, the s marine VV tO ao. ner-e® ete Acts de os 7 pee last } i I 2 l aG 1 c 1 c the gate « ield, 1 W ; he was lying, and, as esca our hero Co red ] V roatended ft he f eT pret¢ 1ded to De IaSt Pp peer ys et, |! ¢ erie} a’ hush x1V ae. signal and, aitet while, footsteps < » Him Joey pret nd a ) 10 LOU , ali la wh) - 1 neo then t ree. UT : ( DY him wn le I wheel away wakes, what shall I do? ‘Rrra rtT pDraln il not wake up whe follow me.’ That our hero had no inclination to wa 1 | ‘ » Ifhedoes n I am past the second field, e y l ; ue t) Let O pen lata -t ) } 1] 1 if , : ‘ } 1 “ ) tO 1lellgot, aS J th 1 pa VALU t In Charge ,7-4and *} ( 1- { tl l ) » hy 117) | at lf f } | ii t : rire 5 ¢ = ig VW . co a i VW ) L\ L i Lilo Lt | { t tee am TIG. CrEE 1 : ) l n ii aWayY Irom : . Bt AAS turn r< Best ‘ ' c | I Cet ) ) } | y bs et ) : : } i . : j the ets ; ; i \ i ) L { ] L ' > her ’ r) ) mM l ; J i l iL WD } ( . ] 1} da j n Hic { i ) Y) 1 ) . L 2 A A : | : ; “ { y VA Lie ne y : : di wt : ) ike } . \ on 4 l ) Sa nt ou Lt 1e coach ‘ ; ; : = a a i I neh yt) ] L- 2G - m l i nad I } y lia h T} T } . Lil a i bicLUi 4 A110 Lis ee i : ivi 1€ < I { } L \ é 2} \ ld he reco i | } n l me } ( 1 mm { - t NW VA ] ; } e 3 P ] t > A Uh 1}O ly t L } \ h \ bel UC < w] 1 | ) | ] } 38) ran 7 : t ORs 1iD ch t ' ¢ { ] y . cl l iSO f€it tila li =O Tit I VV L1eC : } ( } . ' ' pod, and title } ; ‘. 1 : : I , 4 ‘ - { I NE tO] Ve couid : ; | " [ Last b, OF. I Ax. aa sn It I r ral yuld ch e 1i1n, 1c attempts } to haves alm > Thay. & Hii 1 . 4 fF la Tat li Neart > } ] 1 upon his pillow, 4 da ] 1 in Ih 1IG LicttA tects 2th ut er AT 3 ie) X oUt KEE \ I 1 GIN LS . VIF. Aas : s 1 fi ; In which our Hero retu rt { ver EEmploy- ga4 ; i Dut ON < rarn.daet ae . } ) sro had received fram Mary tha name nero nad received trom iviary the name dea ae FAT Meise eee ind address of Mrs. Phillips's r, and, on 7 2 1 4 ingqu that he was | by every- Ay 1is best suit,THE POACHER. and presented himself at the door about ten I have not-yet thanked you for your present, o'clock in the morning, as Joseph O'Donahue, but I have not forgotten your kindness in the name which he had taken when he went ‘thinking ofa poor boy like me, when he was to Gravesend, and by which name he had far away ; hese it is, continued Joey, taking been known to Mrs. Philips and her daughter out the pencil-case, ‘and I have loved it , Hmma, when he made occasional visits to dearly,’ added he, kissing it, ‘ever since I their house. -He was admitted, and found have had it in my possession. I very often himself once more in company with his frie ne have taken it out and thought of you.’ Emma, who was now fast growing up into ‘ Now you are so rich a man, you should womanhood. After the first congratulations give me something to keep for your sake,’ re- and inquiries, he stated his intentions in- plied Emma, ‘and I will -be very careful of coming down to Portsmouth, and their as-_ it, for old acquaintance’ sake. sistance was immediately promis bdo el hey “What can I offer to you? youarea young then requested a detail of his adventures since lady ; I would give you all I had in the worle d, he quitted Gravesend, of which Joey r told:every- if I dared, but——= thing that he safely could; pass ing over his “When I first saw you,’ rejoined Emma, meeting with Furness, by simply stating that, ‘you were dressed as a young gentleman while he was asleep, his knife grinder’s wheel ¥es, I was, replied JOEY, ' with a sigh ; had been stolen by two men, ha that, When and, as the observation of Emma recalled to he awoke, he dared not offér any Opposition. his mind the kindness of the M ‘Shanes, he Mrs. Phillips and her daughter both knew passed his hand across his eyes to brush away that there was some mystery about our hero, a tear or two that started. which had induced him to come to, and also ‘I did not mean to make you unhappy,’ to leave Gravesend ; but being assured by said Emma, taking our hero’s hand. Mary and himself, that he was not to blame, ‘I am sure you did not,’ replied Joey, they did not press him to say more than he: smilino. ‘Yes, [ was then as you say! but ‘wished ; and, as soon as he finished his recollect. that lately I have been a knife- history, they. proposed introducing him to grinder.’ Mr. Small, the brother of Mrs. Phillips, in ‘Well, you know, your friend said, that it Whose house they were then residing, and was the nearest thing who was then in his office. now [ hope you wil ‘But, perhaps, mamma, it will be better to agai wait till to-morrow, and in the meantime you I to a gentleman ; and be quite a gentleman oS 1 L en O 2 lot a ge ntlem: ui, for I must turn to some will be able to tell my uncle-all about Joey,’ business or another,’ replied Joey observed Emma. ‘I did not mean an idle gentleman; I “think it will ee better, my dear,’ replied meant a respectable profession,’ said Emm Mrs. Phillips ; ut there is Marianne’s tap ‘My uncle is a very odd man, but vert at the door, for ie second time; she wants good-hearted; you must not mind his vay me downstairs, so I must leave you for a towards vou. He is very fond of mamma little while; but you need not gO away, and me, and I have EB o doubt will interest O' Donahue ; I will be back soon.’ himself about you, and see that your money Mrs. Phillips left the room, and our hero is not thrown away. Perh: aps you would like found himself alone with Emma. to set up a bum-boat on your own account ?’ “You have grown very much, Joey,’ said added Enma, lau: ghing. Emma; ‘and so have I Oe they tell me.’ “No, I thank you; I had enough of that. ‘Yes; you have indeed,’ re d Joey; ‘you Poor Mrs Chopper! what a kind creature are no longer the little girl w he =comieiiedy me she was! I'm sure I ought to i very grate- when I w as so unhappy. Do you recollect ful to her for thinking of me as she did. - that day ?' ‘I believe,’ said Em) Net: Res she was a ‘Yes, indeed I do, as if it were but yester- very good woman, and so does mamma, day. But you have never told me w hy vith Recollect, Joey, when you spe ak to my uncle, lead so wandering a life; you won't trust you must not contradict hi m. = A me.’ ‘I am sure I shall not,’ re plied Joey; * why ‘I would oe you with anything but that should I contradict a pe rson so far my which is not mine to trust, as I told you four superior in years and everyth ng else?’ years ago ; it is ve IY Secret «aS Soonaas | ‘Certainly not ; and as We: is fond of argu- can I will‘ tell you everything: but I hope not ment l Ci ; , you had better give up to him at once ; to lead a wandering life any longer, forl have and; indeed,’ continued Emma, laughing, come down here to settle if I can ‘everybody else does in the end. I hope you ‘What made you think of coming down will find a nice situ: ation, and that we sh all see here ?’ asked Emma. . : a great deal of you.’ Because you were here ; Mary told meso. ‘I am sure I do,’ replied Joey, ‘for I haverou. How ual y ginmetin ‘ 1 ¥y ms as he heated in his He was the last person 1n tl y disposition to inflict pain, even 1 ct—and yet, from this habit, no one perhaps gave more, Or appeared to do so with more malice, as his -adiant with good-humour, at the very time when his knuckles were tak- countenance Was 1 THE PO- ,errnr LCM fs 2) ing away your breath. What made it worse, was, that he had a knack of seizing the coat ] h +] -hand Scan c lappet l other hand, so that escape was liftiny . nro ar} vy | had } ; t i 1} ic qaimicuit ; and when hé naa e€xhaustea an his ree would yw it up witl : S| ) } } Tl 5 ire ol les 1 the hiith 1 in iN« \ el Ge. TO of my al don you Every! ye - did sane would <¢ ¥ -GMhiess ag Le } t\ } it was] 0 ¢ } So! ( Lutter Tne, t 1witha | l nN Il I ( us eruon Ol his ] } | T K SS 10 VOU tak Li On € Vir S < had also his pecultarity, > nots { | } ‘ “ LO <¢ l¢ \ YE is Hac O irom S mM iV vears.. CONS! r I I » V Ye toe ol a T i “ \ as man, deeply pock- J KOU: Tt 1 ( ! \ ¥ca-y large o ee | i LULLETEG: tG C ( € qu (Er: OL - aks 1 7} } . © ( : n with him was aS 00a as a 1 - cs Dak C40 range wil Yi€ c COUR } } Kis His ( ou | NeiG:* t IVEY. Ari? 9 ] : NA ul L approacneda Ol tO qu ( 1 Vays 1 ek gave in imme \ [The captains ot } } } th Fy} >t Unit iVV 1 O.. TO. as C that {2 tl ne en- for OF “1S L/S. Oe A rt ot ll, We ‘ { \ tO Ut , Ul i , L A 1 j ] 1f \ lal ¢ he l : TICE. FE L Cyt L ) ¢ O1 i < { om ne to a { 1 quantity oO I I Pp ortion to thn ul a @ I ( hh nd, they ) ‘ ‘ Cl [ )] 7 en Lhe | A } a 1e ¢ b ZAS | ( th 1 in ‘ 1, he wa - 5 I Ll ae sy ring-pot, ; : i a ap a were not piants which requ 1 hus i aid to add. to their vigour. Mr. sk even in 1 } oie OTe oe ee ee cel f tne lar st company, InvariaDly Ound HiliselL 7 4 a Hv 41] ilone, and could never imagine Why. | he was an important personage ; nd when stock j sot on board in a hurry, offic 1 his sryice do not care about a little an Small was, as we have observed, a navy agent—that 1S to Say, he was a general pro- vider of the officer and captains of his M ty S service uined their agency ou ) “ tures Wh ney might send in, or he « their bills, advanced them money, supplied them . their wine, and every of stock which might be required ; and ice was reported CO be accumulat- ing a fortune. Asis usually the case, he kept open house for the ca ‘tains who were his ents, and occasionally. invited the junior sers to the hosp talities of his table, so that Mrs. Phillips and Emma were of great use to him, and had quite sufficient to do in superintending such an establishment. Hav- RTE MMICTOO THE POACHER. ing thus made our readers better acquainted with our new characters, we shall proceed. ‘Well, young man, I’ve heard all about you from my sister. mp you wish to leave off ‘Ves, sir, replied Joey. ‘ How old are you: ? can you kee ‘T am seventeen, and have k replied our hero, in innocence ; sidered Mrs. Chopper'’s day-l -boo under that denomination. and 1 have some money—how much ?” ‘eplied nee he bad so much of his own, ie hat his sister had so much more. “Seven hundred poe is + eh; youngster? J began business with £100 tg and here I | oreeds money; do you under- 1 here Joey received a knuckle which alniost took his breath away, bore without flinching, as he vagabondi zing, do you To books ?’ P 5 ept books, for ks , he con- to come yol e. do this lad, Sleek ? ;.and what can we do with .et him stay in the countineg- re er a week,’ ol 1 Mr. Sleek, ‘and we shall see what we can doy and, as for his money, it will be as safe he sas in a co untry bank, oak we know how is employ it, and we can allow 5 ee cent. for it.? All this was said in a shower of 7, which induced Joey to wipe his face fac t-handkerchief, hink ’ that will do for ey ou ob ex cted to do somethi ng for him, or we Sorat have the worst of it. You understand that?’ continued he, giving knuckle again. The ladies! no aga inst them !’ joey thought there was no standin igs in the ribs, but he said nothing. ‘T leave him-to you, Sleek. I must be off ‘all upon Captain James. See to the lad PAB sal *s an order from the So saying, Mr. ro where he was ] sa] } 1S qanothe \daing Im anotnet LOCAL IN RA es a aN C CIFECLIONRS HOW tO J c xe ae ev teers ie aaah COeG, ani le arrangements tO Make Y oVW3y tr ha ¢ so ne \ 7 Y7\15} ane d him to haste as much as he could, and rPAmea } n\- 5 ; come back to the countin a couple of ee our r-house. hero was back again. ‘Look on thi s list; do you understand it ?” id Mr. Sleek to Joey; ‘it issea-stock for the tlecate, which sails‘in a d: ry or two. If Isend oorter with you to the people we deal with, d you be able to get ee these things « 2 oS -h are marked with a cross? the wine and lers We have here.’ Joey looked over it, and was quite at home ; it was only bumboating on a large scale.. ‘O, yes; and I know the prices of all these things,’ replied he ; ‘I have been used to the supplying of ships at Gravesend.° ‘Why then,’ said Mr. Sleek, ‘you are the very person I want; for I have no time to attend to out-door work now.’ The porter was sent for, and our hero soon executed his task, not only with a prec sion but with a rapidity that was highly satisfactory to Mr. Sleek. As soon as the articles were all collected, Joey asked whether he should take them on board—‘ I understand the work, Mr. Sleek, and’ not even ‘an egg shall be broken, I promise you.’ The second part of the commission*was executed with the same precision by our oo who returned with a receipt of every article having been delivered fe and in ooo con dition : Ir. Sleek was delighted with our-hero, and told Mr. Small ven they met in the evening. Mr. Sleek’s opinion was given in the presence of Mrs. Phillips and Emma, who exchareged glances of satisfaction at Joey's fortunate dx ie CHAPTER. XXXVITI. In which the Wheel of Fortune turns a spoke ortwo in the favour of our Hero. IF we were to analyze the feelings of our here towards Emma Phillips, we should hardly be warranted in saying that he was in love with her, although at seventeen years young men are.very apt to be, or so to fancy themselves. The difference in their positions was so great, that, although our hero would, in his dreams, often fancy heel on most intimate terms with his kind little pa ene) in his waking thoughts she was more an object of adoration 1 ing to wh iom he was most meaty attached,—one whose dness had so wrought upon feendelie: wes ki his best feelings, that he would have thoughtit no sacrifice to die for her; but the idea of ever Beinn closer allied to her than he now was had not yet entered into his imagination ; all he ever thought was that, if ever he united 1 himself to any female for ife, the pany se- lected must-be like ee Phillips ; or, if not, he would remain single. All his onda were to prove himself worthy of her patronage and to be rewarded by her smiles of encour- agement when they met. She was the load- star which guided him on to-his path of duty, and, sti eae by his wishes to fin 4 favour in her sigh t, Joey never relaxed in his exertions ; natur aL active and methodical, he was inde- fatigable, and gave the greatest satisfaction toTHE Mr. Sleek, who found more than half the labour taken off his hands; and, further, that if Joey once said a thing should be done, it was not only well done, but done to the ve ery time that was stipulated for its completion. Joey cared not for meals, or anything of that k ind, and often went without his. dinner. eleere said Small, one day, ‘that poor boy will be starved. ‘It's not my fault, sir; he won't go to his dinner if there is anyth ing to: Go and, ' as there is always something to fale itis as clear as the day that he can get no dinner. I wish he vas living in the house altoge ther, and came to his meals with us after the work was done: it would be very advantageous, and muc time saved.’ ‘Time is money, yi Sleek. Time saved is money saved ; and therefore he is worthy of his food. It shall be so. Do you see to it.’ ‘Thus, in about two months after his arrival, ; found himself installed in a nice little ‘droom, and living at the table of his patron, not only constantly in company with the naval tees but, what w ‘as of more vi alue to him, in the company of Mrs. Phillips and Emma. We e must pa er more than a year, dur- ng whi ch Cl! ly i ut i me our Pier hail become a person of some impor tance. He was a great fav- ourite with the naval captains, as his punctu- ality and rapidity corresponded with their ideas of doing business ; and it was constantly said to Mr. Sleek or to Mr. Small, ‘ Let O’Donahue and me settle the matter, and all will go right.’ Mr. Small had already estab- lished him at a salary of £150 per annum, be- sides his living in the house, and our hero was comfortable and happy. He was well known to all the officers, from his b aie con- stantly on board of their ships, and was a great favourite. Joey soon discovered that Emma had a fancy for natural curiosities ; and, as he boarded almost every man-of-war which came into the port, he soon filled her room with a variety of shells and of birds, which he procured her. ‘These were presents which he could make, and which she could accept, and nota week passed without our hero adding something to her museum of live and dead objects. Indeed, Emma was now grown up, and was paid such attention to by the officers who frequented he: r uncle’s house (not only on account of her beauty, but on account of the expectation that her uncle, who was without children, would give her a handsome fortune), that some emotions of jealousy, of which he was hardly conscious, would occasionall ly give severe pain to our hero. Perhaps as his fortunes rose, so did his hopes; certain it is, that sometimes he was very grave, POACHER, ror Emma was too clear-sighted not to perceive the cause, and hastened, by her little atten- tions, to remove the feeling : not that she had any definite ideas upon the subject any more than Joey ; but she could not bear to see him look u thap py. Such was the state of things, when one day Mr. Small s said to Joey, as he was busy copy- ing an order into the books, ‘O’Donahue, I hay e been laying out some of your money for you ‘Indeed, sir! I’m very much obliged to you.’ ‘Yes; there was a lar ge stock of claret sold at auction to-day; it was good, and went ap. Ihave purchased to the amount of Li 600 on your account. You’may bottle and bin it here, and sellitas you can. Ifyou don’t like the » argain, I’ll take it off your hands,’ lor aa } frequei “lary wrote to him every month ; s} had not many su yects to enter upon, , 7 . | io C iy replying to Joey’s communications and cons ee SEED EL : DIS Su SS Indeed, nov at our | » had been nearly four years y Mr. Sm he t be said to | >a very ng a | ent person His « 1 had ‘y con , Which ad C t very consi- derab had been tl] , t] usin l : id | i 1 1 1fO t { ness, and h D ad of a clel a enjoye ifidence bo : OL -LHS SUD f < 1 k \ ho now entrusted him with almost « \ I 7 1 . In ort, Joey was in the fair way to compe- TAWTNT rx? 7 ei Erik oe a) Mone ied 7 Char F In ha r, Vv t) t of tiv now time y, and > rose in importance, removing it was between them, We eply, that the consequences { > did ensue. ven year |- y x ar added to hero, who now no heer with ee impos- r felt sufficient confi- is fortunes to intimate -evel ] z indeed, from a long habit of venerati respect, he was in the pees n ofa: fore a queen who feels a partiality t re Ds he dared not give vent to his thous ghts, ¢ nd it remained for her to pare the unfeminine task of intimating to him that he might venture. But, althoug! 1 to outward appearance there was nothing but re- elines of gratitude on his part, ension and amiability on hers, there was a rapid adhesion going on within. ‘Their interviews were more restrained, their words more Selected ; for both parties felt ho were the & é ay gS which they would repress ; they we »th pensive, silent, and distant—would talk uncot oi ctedly, run- ning from one subject to another, attempting to be lively and unconcerned when they w ere se, and not daring ir own feelings almost inclined to be othery to scrutinize too mat yt when they found themselves alone; but what they would fain conceal from themselves their THE POACHER.,. 1603 very attempts to conceal made known to other people who were standing by. Both Mrs. -hillips and Aes Small perceived how matters Stood, and, had they any objections, would have imme iat ely no longer permitted them to bé in contact: but they had no ob- jections ; for our hero had long won the hearts of bot th mother and uncle, and they awaited quietly the time which should arrive when the you in 1S parties should no longer con- ceal their feelings for each othe1 It was when eathatrsts were between our hero and Emma Phillips as we have just stated, that, a circumstance took place wien for 2 time embittered all our hero’s happiness. He was walking down High Street, when he per- ceived a file of marines marching towards him, with two men between them, handcuffed, evidently deserters who had been taken up. A ing of alarm pervaded our hero: he had ‘esentiment which induced him to go into a perfumer's shop, and to remain there, so as to have a view of the faces of the deserters as hey passed alone, without their being able to see him. His forebodings were correct: one of them was his old enemy and _ persecutor, Furness, the schoolmaster. Had a dagger been plunged into Joey's bosom, the sensation could not have been more painful than what he felt when he once more Fond himself so near to his dreaded denouncer. Fora short time he remained so transfixed, that the woman who was attending in the shop asked whether she should bring hima glass of water. This inquiry made him recollect himself, and, complaining of a sudden pain in the side, he sat down, and took the water when it was brought; but he went home in despair, quite forgetting the business which brought him out, and retired to his own room, that he might collect his thoughts. What was he to do? This man had been brought back to the barracks; he would be tried and punished, and afterwards be set at liberty. How was it possible that he could always avoid him, or escape being re- cognized ? and how little chance had he of es- cape from Furness’s searching eye! Could he bribe him? Yes, he could now : he was rich enough; but, if pe did, one bribe would only be followed up bya demand for another, and a threat of denouncement if he refused. Fligh appeared his only oh 1ance : but to leave his present position—to leave Emma—it was : 1 Our hero did not leave his room for the remainder of the day, but retired early to bed, that he might cogitate, for sleep he could not. After a night of misery, the effects of which were too visibly marked in his countenance on oe ensuing morning, Joey determined to make some inquiries relative to what the fate of Furness might be ; Se aenemnenn RR RS among rain shad a ASr04 and, having made up his mind, he accosted a sergeant of marines, with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and whom he fell in with in the streets. He observed to him that he perceived they had deserters brought in yesterday, and inquired from what ship they had deserted, or from the barracks. The sergeant replied that they had deserted from the Niobe frigate, and had committed theft previous to desertion; that they would remain in confinement at the barracks till the Niobe atrived; and that then they would be tried by a court-martial, and, without doubt, for the double offence, would go through the fleet. Joey wished the sergeant good-morning, and passed on in his way home. His altered appearance had attracted the notice of not only his partners, but of Mrs. Phillips, and had caused much distress to the latter. Our hero remained the whole day in the counting- house, apparently unconcerned, but in reality thinking and re-thinking, overjand over again, his former thoughts. At last he made up his mind that he would wait the issue of the court-martial before he took any decided steps; indeed, what to do he knew not. We leave the reader to guess the state of mind in which Joey remained for a fortnight previous to the return of the Niobe frigate from a Channel cruise. Two days after her arrival, the signal was made for a court-martial. The sentence was well known before night ; it was, thatthe culprits were to go through the fleet on the ensuing day. This was, however, no consolation to our hero ; he did not feel animosity against Fur- ness so much as he did dread of him ; he did not want his punishment, but his absence, and security against future annoyance. It was about nine o'clock on the next morning, when the punishment was to take place, that Joey came down from his own room. He had been thinking all night, and had decided that he had no other resource but to quit Ports- mouth, Emma,-and his fair prospects for ever ; he had resolved so to do, to make this sacrifice ; it was a bitter conclusion to arrive at, but it had been come to. His haggard countenance, when he made his appearance at the breakfast-table, shocked Mrs. Phillips and Emma; but they made no remarks. The breakfast was passed over in silence, and soon afterwards our hero found himself alone with Emma, who immediately went to him, and, with tears in her eyes, said, ‘What is the matter with you ?—you look so ill, you alarm us all, and you make me quite miserable.’ ‘IT am afraid, Miss Phillips——' ‘Miss Phillips !’ replied Emma. ‘I beg your pardon; but, Emma, I am afraid that I must leave you.’ ‘ Leave us !’ THE POACHER. ‘Yes, leave you and Portsmouth for ever, perhaps.’ ‘Why, what has occurred ? ‘T cannot, dare not tell. Will you so far oblige me to say nothing at present; but you recollect that I was obliged to leave Graves- end on a sudden.’ ‘I recollect you did, but why I know not; only Mary said that it was not your fault.’ “I trust it was not so; but it was my mis- fortune. Emma, I am almost distracted ; J have not slept for weeks ; but pray believe me, when I say that I have done no wrong; in- deed—— ‘Weare interrupted,’ said Emma, hurriedly; ‘there is somebody coming upstairs.’ She had hardly time to remove a few feet from our hero, when Captain B——, of the Niobe, entered the room. ‘Good-morning, Miss Phillips, I hope you are well ; I just looked in for a moment be- fore I go to the Admiral’s office ; we have had a catastrophe on board the Niobe, which I must report immediately.’ ‘Indeed,’ replied Emma, ‘nothing very serious, I hope.’ ‘Why no, only rid of a blackguard not worth hanging ; one of the marines, who was to have gone round the fleet this morning, when he went to the forepart of the ship under the sentry’s charge, leaped overboard, and drowned himself.’ ‘What was his name, Captain B—— ?’ in- quired Joey, seizing him by the arm. ‘His name—why, how can that interest you, O'Donahue? Well, if you wish to know, it was Furness.’ ‘T am very sorry for him,’ replied our hero ; ‘T knew him once when he was in better cir- cumstances, that is all;’ and Joey, no longer daring to trust himself with others, quitted the room, and went to his own apartment. As soon as he was there, he knelt down and re- turned thanks, not for the death of Furness, but for the removal of the load which had so oppressed his mind. In an hour his relief was so great that he felt himself sufficiently composed to go downstairs ; he went into the drawing-room to find Emma, but she was not there. He longed to have some explanation with her, but it was not until the next day that he had an opportunity. ‘IT hardly know what to say to you,’ said our hero, ‘ or how to explain my conduct of yesterday.’ ‘It certainly appeared very strange, eSpe- cially to Captain B——, who told me that he thought you were mad.’ ‘I care little what he thinks, but I care much what you think, Emma; and I must now tell you what, perhaps, this man’s death may permit me to do. That he has beenmost strangely connected with my life is most true; he it was who knew me, and who would, if he could, have put me in a situation in which I must either have suffered myself to be thought guilty of a crime which I am incapable of, or—let it suffice to say—have done, to exculpate myself, what, I trust, I J never would have done, or ever will do. Ican say no more than that, without betraying a secret which I am bound to keep, and the keeping of which may still prove my own destruction. When you first saw me on the wayside, Emma, it was this man who forced me from a happy home to wander about the world ; it was the re-appearance of this man, and his recognition of me, that induced me to quit Gravesend sosuddeniy. I again met him, and avoided him, when he was deserting ; and I trusted that, as he had deserted, I could be certain of living safely in this town without meeting with him. It was his re-appearance here, as a deserter taken up, which put me in that state of agony which you have seen me in for these last three weeks; and it was the knowledge that, after his punishment, he would be again free, and likely to meet with me when walking about here, which resolved me to quit Portsmouth, as I said to you yes- terday morning. Can you, therefore, be sur- prised at my emotion when I heard that he was removed, and that there was now no ne- cessity for my quitting my kind patrons and you? ‘Certainly, after this explanation, I cannot be surprised at your emotion ; but what does surprise me, Mr. O’Donahue, is that you should have a secret of such importance that it cannot be revealed, and.which has ‘made you tremble at the recognition of that man, when at the same time you declare your inno- cence. Did innocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand ?’ ‘Your addressing me as Mr. O’Donahue, Miss Phillips, has pointed out to me the im- propriety I have been guilty of in making use of your Christian name. I thought that that confidence which you placed in me when, as a mere boy, I told you exactly what I now re- peat, that the secret was not my own, would not have been now so cruelly withdrawn. I have. never varied in my tale, and I can honestly say that I have never felt degraded when I have admitted that I have a mystery connected with me; nay, if it should please Heaven that I have the option given me to suffer in my own person, or reveal the secret in question, I trust that I shall submit to my fate with constancy, and be supported in my misfortune by the conviction of my innocence. I feel that I was not wrong in the communica- tion that I made to you yesterday morning, that I must leave this place. I came here he- THE POACHER. 105 cause you were living here—you to whom I felt so devoted for your kindness and sympathy when I was poor and friendless; now that I am otherwise, you are pleased to withdraw not only your good-will but your confidence in me; and as the spell is broken which has drawn me to this spot, I repeat, that as soon as I can, with justice to my patrons, [ shall withdraw myself from your presence.’ Our hero’s voice faltered before te had finished’ speaking ; and then turning away slowly, without looking up, he quitted the room. CHAPTER XL. In which our Hero tries change of air. THE reader will observe that there has been a little altercation at the end of the last chapter. Iemma Phillips was guilty of letting drop a received truism, or rathera metaphor, which offended our~hero. ‘Did innocence and mystery ever walk hand in hand?’ If Emma had put that question to us, we, from our knowledge of the world, should have replied, ‘ Yes, very often, my dear Miss Phillips. But Emma was wrong, not only in her metaphor, but in the time of her making it. Why did she do so? Ah! that isa puzzling question to answer; we can only say, at our imminent risk, when this narrative shall. be perused by the other sex, that we have made the dis- covery that women are not perfect ; that the very best of the sex are full of contradiction, and that Emma was a woman. ‘That women very often are more endowed than the gene- rality of men we are ready to admit; and their cause has been taken up by Lady Morgan, Mrs. Jamieson, and many others who can write much better than we can. “When we say their cause, we mean the right of equality they would claim with our sex and not sub- jection toit. Reading my Lady Morgan the other day, which, next to conversing with her, is one of the greatest treats we know of, we began to speculate upon what were the causes which had subjected woman to man; ‘in other words, how was it that man had got the upper hand, and kept it? That women's minds were not inferior to men’s we were forced to admit; that their aptitude for cultivation is often greater, was not to be denied. As to the assertion that man makes laws, or that his frame is of more robust material, it is no argu- ment, as a revolt on the part of the other sex would soon do away with such advantage ; and men brought up as nursery-maids would soon succumb to women who were accus- tomed to athletic sports from their youth up- wards. After a great deal of cogitation we ag Pay etme ree pet 5 465 eth peerage nero = ret, ie ceomes106 LHE POACHER. came to the conclusion, that there isa great Emma Phillips, although she pouted a little, difference between the action in the minds of and the colour had mounted to her temples, men and women ; the machinery of the latter nevertheless looked very lovely as she pen- being more complex than that of ourown sex. sively reclined on the sofa. Rebuked by him A man’s mind is his despot ; it works but by who had always been so attentive, so submis- one single action; it has one ruling principle sive—her creature as it were—she was morti- —one propelling power to which all is sub- fied, as every pretty woman is, at any loss of servient. This power or passion (disguised power—any symptoms of rebellion oe the and. dormant as it may be in feeble minds) is part of a liege vassal; and then she taxed her- the only one which propels him on; this self, had she done wrong ? She had said, primum mobile, as it may be termed, is ambi-. ‘ Innocence and mystery did not walk hand tion, or, in other words, self-love ; everything in hand.’ Was not that true? She felt that is sacrificed to it. it was true, and her own opinion was COrTo- Now, as in proportion as a machine is borated by others, for she had read it in some simple so is it strong in its action—so in pro- book, either in Burke, or Rochefoucault, or portion that a machine is complex, it becomes some great author. Miss Phillips bit. the. tip weak ; and if we analyze a woman's mind, we of her nail and thought again. Yes, she saw shall find that her inferior ly arises from the how it was; our hero had risen in the world, Simple fact, that there are so many wheels was independent, and was well received in within wheels working in it, so many compeén- society ; he was no longer the little Joey of Sating balances (if we may use the term, and Gravesend; he was now a person of some we use it to her honour), that, although usually consequence, and he was a very ungrateful more right-minded than man. her strength of fellow; but the world was full of ingratitude ; action is lost, and has become feeble by the still she did think better of our hero; she time that her decision has been made. What certainly did, Well, at all events she could will a man allow to stand in the way of his prove to him that—what?—she did not ex- ambition—love ? no—friendship ? no —he will actly know. Thus ended cogitation the second, alter which came another series. Sacrifice the best qualities, and, which is more difficult, make the worst that are in his dispo- What had our hero said—what had-he ac- sition subservient to it. He moves only one cused her of? That she no longer bestowed great principle, one propelling power—and_ on him her confidence placed in him for many the action being single, it is strong in propor- years. ‘This was true: but were not the rela- tion. But will a woman’s mind decide in this tive positions, was not the case different ? way? Will she sacrifice to ambition love, or Should he now retain any secret from her P— friendship, or natural ties? No; in her mind there should be no secrets between them. the claims of each are, generally speaking, ‘There again there was a full stop before the fairly balanced—and the quotient, after the sentence was complete. After a little more calculation has been worked out, although reflection, her own generous mind pointed correct, is small. Our argument,- after all. out to her that she had been in the wrong ; only goes to prove that women, abstractedly and that our hero had cause to be offended taken, have more principle, more conscic nce, with her; and she made up her mind to make and better regulated minds than men—which reparation the first time that they should be is true if—if they could always go correct as alone. timekeepers ; but the more complex the ma- Having come to this resolution, she dise chine, the more difficult it is to keep it in missed the previous question, and began to order, the more likely it is to be out of repair think about the secret itself, and what it and its movements: to be disarranged bya possibly could ‘be, and how she wished she trifling shock, which would have no effect knew what it was; all of which was very upon one of such simple and powerful con- natural. In the meantime our hero had made struction as that in our own sex, Not only up his mind to leave Portsmouth, for a time do they often go wrong, but sometimes the at al] events. This quarrel with Emma, if serious shocks which they are liable to in this such it might be considered, had made him world will put them in a state which is past very miserable, and the anxiety he had lately all repair. suffered had seriously affected his health. We have no doubt that by this time the We believe that there never was anybody in reader will say, ‘Never mind women’s minds, this world who had grown to man's or but mind your own business,’ We left Emma woman's estate, and had mixed with the world, in the drawing-room, rather astonished at our who could aiterwards say that they were at hero’s long speech, and still more by his (for any time perfectly happy ; or_ who, having the first time during their acquaintance) ven- said so, did not find that the reverse was the turing to breathe a contrary opinion to her case a moment or two after the words were out Own sweet self, of their mouth. ‘Thereis always something,’as a good ladysaid tous: andso there always is, and al vays will be. The removal of Fur- ness was- naturally a great relief to the mind of ou hero: he then felt as if all his diffi- culties were surmounted, and that he had no longer any fear of the consequences which n from his father crime. He wo ( > thought, be to walk bold} t! vorld u nea he l ish to form at wi! } } \ » ey eat m ch ] id d W I ) vant \ l ne ne fi ul truth of the good lady’s saying—‘ There is a : her oo i = in his room for an how Joey wv d o the counting-house, where he found Mr. Sn ad M1 leek bx at Wo! for tl had i 1 since Joey had so much neglected busines . V\ l m i I [ L: now ourself?’ said Mr. Small. ‘Very far from well, sir. I feel that I can- not attend to business,’ replied Joey, ‘and I am quite ashamed of n f. I was thir that, if you._have no objection to allow couple of months’ leave of absence, change of air would be very serviceable tome. I have something to do at Du Istone, which I have put off ever since I came to Portsmouth.’ et tk unk ici ange of “4ié would be ser- viceable to yo » My dear fell WwW, I Lie h Small; ‘but what business you cai Dudstone I cannot imagine : 1] —I locked up my apartments, leaving my furn e, books, and linen, when I went away, more t four 1 ago, and have 1 r found time to r them.’ We |, t ve ist W L dtl o D4 this tim ‘ O’Donah » look after them if you please : but ¥ think 1 after your | 1 is of m<¢ con , sO you have my full con- sent to tal a holiday, and remain away three mon f necessary, till you are per- fec re- i hed.’ ‘And you have mine,’ added Mr. Sleek, ‘and I will do your work ile you : away. Our hero thanked his se ] lers for their kind compliance with his wishes, and intention of starting the next morn- ing by the early coach, and then left the counting-house to make preparations for his jour ney. Joey joined the party, which was numerous, at dinner. It \ was not until they - were in the drawing-room a fter dinner, that Mr. Small had an opportunity of communicating to Mrs. Phillips what were our hero’s intentions. Mrs. Phillips considered it a very advisable measure, as Joey had evidently suffered very much lately ; probably over-exertion might fat es ys Stated 1S THE POACHER. 07 have been the cause, and relaxation would effect the cure. mma, who was sitting by her mother, ile; she had not imagined that our 1 } oy os : ld have followed up his expressed in- oe ons of the morning, and she asked Mr. when O’Donahue would The reply was, that he his place on the early coach of the ing: and IXmma fell back on the not say any! hing ne company id all “left, 0 ] Phil- ighted a chamber candles toe to g o to bec I, and ‘Emm 1 followed the motions of her mother. Mrs. Phillips shook hands with our ane wishing him a great deal of plea- > » ps sure, and that he would return quite restared in h th. Emma, who found that all chance of an interview with our hero was gone, mus- tered up courage enough to extend her hand nd say—‘I hope your absence will be pro- ctive of health and happiness to you, Mr, O' Donahue,’ and then followed her mother. oey, who was in no humour for conversa- hen bade farewell to Mr. Small and Mr. and, before Emma had risen from not ry refreshing night’s rest, he was two stages on his way from Portsmouth. CHAPTER. XEF. In which our Hero has his head turned the wrong way. ALTHOUGH it may be very proper, when an offence has been offered us, to show that we £, 1 +} feel the injury, it often happens that we act too much upon impulse, and carry measures to extremities ; and this our hero felt as the coach wheeled him along, every second in- creasing his distance from Emma Phillips ; twenty times he wag inclined to take a post- chaise and return, but the inconsistency would have been so glaring, that shame prevented him ; so he went on until a reached the me- tropolis, and on arriving there, having nothing better to do, he went to b - The next day he booked himself for the following day's coach to Manstone, and having so done, he thought he would reconnoitre the domicile of Major and Mrs. M ‘Shane, and, now that Fur- ness was no longer to be dreaded, make his existence known tothem. He went to Hol- born accordingly, and found the shop in the same place, with the usual enticing odour sent forth from the grating which gave light and air to the kitchen ; but he perceived that there was no longer the name of M‘Shane on the private door, and entering the coffee-room, and looking towards the spot where Mrs. ot PR RR NR hc oaNWittincecan ee ce M‘Shane usually stood- carving the joint, he discovered a person similarly employed whose face was unknown to him ; in fact, it could not be Mrs. M‘Shane, as it was aman. Our hero went up to him, and inquired if the M‘Shanes still carried on the business, and was told that they had sold it some time back. Fis next inquiry, as to what had become of them, produced an ‘I don’t kno Vv, with some symptoms of impatience at being interrupted. Under such circumstances, our hero had no- thing more to do but either to sit down and eat beef or to quit the premises. He preferred the latter, and was once more at the hotei, where he dedicated the remainder of the day to thinking of his old friends, as fate had de- barred him from seeing them. The next morning Joey set off by the coach, and arrived at Manstone a little before dusk. He remained at the principal inn of the vil- lage, called the Austin Arms, in honour of the property in the immediate vicinity; and, having looked at the various quarterings of arms that the signboard contained, without the slightest idea that they appertained to himself, he ordered supper, and looking out of the window of the first floor, discovered, at no great distance down the one street which composed the village, the small ale-house where he had before met Mary. Our hero no longer felt the pride of poverty ; he had re- sented the treatment he had received at the Hall when friendless, but, now that he was otherwise, he had overcome the feeling, and had resolved to go up to the Hall on the fol- lowing day, and ask for Mary. He was now well-dressed, and with all the appearance and manners of a gentleman : and, moreover, he had been so accustomed to respect from ser- vants, that he had no idea of being treated otherwise. The next morning, therefore, he walked up to the Hall, and, knocking at the door, as soon.as it was opened, he told the well-powdered domestics that he wished to speak a few words to Miss Atherton, if she still lived with Mrs. Austin. His appearance was considered by these gentlemen in waiting as sufficient to induce them to show him into a parlour, and to send for Mary, who in afew minutes came down to him, and embraced him tenderly. ‘I should hardly have known you, my dear boy,’ said she, as the tears glis- tened in her eyes; ‘you have grown quite a man. Icannot imagine, as you now stand before me, that you could have been the little Joey that was living at Mrs. Chopper’s.’ ‘We are indebted to that good woman for Our prosperity,’ replied Joey. ‘Doyou know, Mary, that your money has multiplied so fast that I almost wish that you would take it away, lest by some accident it should be lost ? I have brought you an account.’ ¥o8 LHE POACHER. ‘Let me have an account of yourself, my dear brother,’ replied Mary; ‘I have no want of money ; I am here well and happy.’ ‘So you must have been, for you look as young and handsome as when I last saw you, Mary. How is your mistress ?’ ‘She is well, and would, I think, be happy, if it were not for the strange disease of Mr. Austin, who secludes himself entirely, and will not even go outside of the park gates. He has become more overbearing and haughty than ever, and several of the servants have quitted within the last few months.’ ‘I have no wish to meet him, dear Mary, after what passed when I was here before seal will not put up with insolence from any man, even in his own house,’ replied our hero. ‘Do not speak so loud, his study is next to us, and that door leads to it,’ replied Mary ; ‘he would not say anything to you, but he would find fault with me.’ ‘Then you had better come to see me at the Austin Arms, where I am stopping’ ‘I will come this evening,’ replied Mary. At thismoment, the door which led to the study was opened, and a voice was heard— ‘Mary, I wish you would take your sweet- hearts to a more convenient distance.’ Joey heard the harsh, hollow voice, but re- cognized it not ; he would not turn round to look at Mr. Austin, but remained with his back to him, and the door closed again with a bang. ‘Well,’ observed Joey, ‘ that is a pretty fair specimen of whatvhe is, at all events. Why did you not say I was your brother ?’ ‘Because it was better to say nothing,’ re- plied Mary ; ‘he will not come in again.’ “Well, I shall leave you now,’ said Joey, ‘and wait till the evening; you will be cer- tain to come?’ ‘O, yes, I certainly shall,’ replied Mary. ‘Hush! I hear my mistress with Mr. Austin. I wish you could see her, you would like her very much.’ The outer door of the study was closed to, and then the door of the room in which they were conversing was opened, but it was shut again immediately. ‘Who was that?’ said our hero, who had not turned round to ascertain. ‘Mrs. Austin ; she just looked in, and see- ing I was engaged she only nodded to me to say that she wanted me, I presume, and then went away again,’ replied Mary. ‘You had better go now, and I will be sure to come in the evening.’ Our hero quitted the hall; he had evidently been in the presence of his father and mother without knowing it, and all because he hap- pened on both occasions to have his face turned in a wrong direction, and he left thehouse as unconscio as our hero had left tl her mistress. us as he ven 1€ Nail ‘ r 17? hy ee | , 7 ) \ 1 want me, Madam fr she went to her mistress. “No. Marv. - not. particu! Ao - . ‘ ea ~ ] e Austin sent for me; he w having a strange person in ‘ f +} » * way 7 it “ il} t i i A lal y. ay , ’ = . a Yo ) _ 1 ‘ \ 1) f * rt ) I [am \ M ; Dt you BROOW i y I Ly ‘ i 1D, an there 1S no nervy | ild ee 1: ‘ar 7 3 Bd i J ] \ y m Sik s if [ i ( : L ne -.1¢ was a Ine VE \ a i ) Lily bo he not ? ha = Nn 7 » lsoon have you to p presume, and I shall lose you ; you are more fit fors situ- our hero had quite forgotten the affair, or 1 1 aa . - aw occasionally recall it to his memory} r } his property probably disposed of t part of the surmise was disproved by the old woman coming to the door; she did not re- was not until he pro- cognize our hero, aia it Po eo bee ar Nenad tnat sne Was con- ; L duced the key of his room } Coat vn 39 gi.2% vinced that he was the lawful owner of it LS H- case the d ned ; she also L ; a ' tn ) | Ch hea | » let ] , ] ] } ] ) as Sil Lc 1d Our : ; hero ced his cer- ‘ <> J talnly | bey - a A a 7 7 , 5 >TY y t } > d hi aad D n y ca. a co | wanted to 1 it m- . ky Ln’ ee | mM ta E \ 1 he val i wD mans and as old reminis ‘ nel es hs ae ae } i cs “ Lp : A ik } L c requ d that it might be sent to _ Ty sy } } nr ha } ; inn ; 1 }, upon reflect seat thought he « 1 dono b r with the inder than 10 Nad plenty building new h ing the old ones, and ] L ir-5. -Mrs.. Pours t he should remain longer, and give her his opinion of her husband ; but his Joey declined, and, desiring to be kindly inedETO) ox remembered to her sister, took his leave, and the next morning was on his way to London. CHAPTER LEH, Very pleasant Correspondence. AS soon as Joey arrived at the metropolis, he went to the correspondent of the hause at Portsmouth to inquire for letters, He found one of the greatest interest from Mr. Small who, after some preliminaries relative to the business and certain commissions for him to transact in town, proceeded as follows :-— f ‘Your health has been a source of great anxiety to us all, not only in the counting- house but in the drawing-room; the case of your illness was ascribed to over-exertion in your duties, and it must be admitted, that until you were ill, there was no relaxation on your part; but we have reason to suppose that there have been other causes which may have occasioned your rapid change from acti- vity and cheerfulness to such a total prostra- tion of body and mind. You may feel grieved when I tell you that Emma has been very un- well since you left, and the cause of her ill- ness is beyond the skill of Mr. Taylor, our medical man. She has, however, confided so much to her mother as to let us know that you are the party who has been the chief oc- casion of it. She has acknowledged that she has not behaved well to you, and has not done you justice; and I really believe that it is the conviction which is the chief ground of her altered state of health. I certainly have been too much in the counting-house to know what has been going on in the parlour, but I think that you ought to know us better than to sup- pose that we should not in every point be most anxious for your happiness, and your being constantly with us. That Emma blames j herself is certain ; that she is very amiable, is equally so; your return would give us the greatest satisfaction. I hardly need say I love my niece, and am anxious for her happiness ; I love you, my dear friend, and am equally anxious for yours; and I do trust, that any trifling disagreement between you (for surely ‘ you must be on intimate terms to quarrel, and for her to feel the quarrel, so severely) will be speedily overcome. . From what her mother says, I think that her affections are seriously engaged (I treat you with the confidence 1 am sure you deserve), and I am sure that there is no one upon whom I would so willingly be- stow my ni or as I find by questioning, no one to whom Mrs. Phillips would so wi!l= ingly entrust her daughter. If, then, I am right in my supposition, you will be received C 4 S s sYeleun Cce yy THE POACHER. with open arms by all, not even excepting F’mma—she has no coquetry in her composi- tion. Like all the rest ofus she has her faults . but if she has her faults, she is not too proud to acknowledge them, and that you will al- low when you read the enclosed, which she has requested me to send to you, and at the same time desired me to read it first, I trust this communication will accelerate your recovery, and that we shall soon see, you again. At all events, answer my letter, and if am in error, let me know, that I may un- deceive others.’ The enclosure from Emma was then opened by our hero; it was in few words :— pal og oT Ve y dear friend, —On reflection, I consider us that I have treated you unj stly ; I intended to tell you so, if I had had an opportunity, before you quitted us so hastily. My fault has preyed upon my mind ever since, and I cannot lose this first opportunity of requesting your forgiveness, and hoping that when we mect we shall be on the same friendly terms that we always had been previous to my un- fortunate ebullition of temper. ‘ Yours truly, ‘EMMA.’ That this letter was a source of unqualified delight to our hero, may be easily imagined, He was onee told by the uncle, and cer- tainly Emma did not leave him to suppose the contrary, that he might aspire and obtain her hand. Our hero could not reply to it by re- turn of post. If distress had occasioned his illness, joy now prostrated him still more ; and he was compelled to return to his bed; but ne was happy, almost too happy, and he slept at last, and he dreamt such visions as only can be conjured up by those who havein anticipa- tion every wish of their heart gratified. The next day he replied to Mr, Small’s letter, ac- knowledging, with frankness, his feelings to- wards his niece, which a sense of his own hum- ble origin and unworthiness had prevented him from venturing to disclose, and requesting him to.use his influence in his favour, as he dared not speak himself, until he had received such assurance of his unmerited good fortune as might encourage him soto do. To Emma his reply was in few words: he thanked her for her continued good opinion of him, the idea of having lost which had made him very miserable, assuring her that he was ashamed of the petulance which he had shown, and that it was for him to have asked pardon, and not one who had behaved so kindly, and pro- tected him for so long a period ; that he felt much better already, and hoped to be able to shorten the time of absence which had been demanded by him, and kindly granted by his atpatrons. Having concluded and despat these epistles, our hero determined that he would take a stroll about the metropolis, CHAPTER XLIII A very long Chapter 2 very long Story, which could not well be cut in half. A MAN may walk a long while in the city of "4 f ] rthnat y Ke y Taf ' hy; . London without h aving any definite object, . ) ] , ny ~oarl \y } : , uur and yet be amused, for there are few occupa- ge ae 1 pases. een ae ean ee ae cs £ se tions more pleasant, more instructive, or more Cc yntemplative, tnan loOOKIN®@ Into the s D- windows ; you pay a Shilling to s an exhi- 7 = a ps ca biti oa. e_uLl Ve fart} cad i ; po am La DO i } aik 3 body wore them in the summer. He proceeded farther, and came ‘to where there was a quantity of oil paintings exposed for sale, pointing out to the passer-by, that pictures of that description were those which he ought zof to buy, © A print-shop gave him an idea of the merits of ee and design shown by the various m ster's ; id as he could not transport himself to the V: an: to see what t the Vatican Rome and t transported where many had former days. A as well s thot ights were on SA ec ca . \ oo t id > was oe nts sontaine od ; 1er former tobacec yn] ; OTOCEers 2 , i +, . wafted him still farther to the West Jndies and the negroes, and from_these, as if by ] magic, to the Spice Islands and their aromatic oTOves. But an old curiosity-shop, with bronzes, china, marqueterie, point-lace, and armour, embraced at once a few centuries ; and he-thought of the feudal times. the fifteenth century, the b of former days, the amber-headed cane and snuff-box of the beaux who eee her smiles- ll gone, all Lip of the time. ev still existing—every- ‘ishable than man. 7Ot ir hero proceeded on, his thoughts wan- dering as he wandered himself Cr Por- fs ia UTeSSes; de when his at- tention was attracted by one of those placards, the breed of which appears to have been very much improved of late, as they get larger and larger every day ; what they will end in there THE POAC Joseph, she is here, Irf is no Saying, unless it be in placards without end. This placard intimated that where was a masquerade at Vauxhall on that e vening, be- sides fireworks, waterworks, and anything but l Our hero had heard of Vaux curiosity was excited, and he re- 16 would pass away the evening yt ha tine <« Reels - tg S at that time, a rather i 1i0n- ix, and time to Westminster-bridge on and, having only lost three minutes- in peep- ing through the balustrades at ae barges and the: river, he found ng his ad- devils, < rhay orty or fifty dominoes. Joey soon found himself close to the orchestra, W was a blaze of light, and he listened very attenti\ to a la in ostrich feathers, who was pouring out a br ra, which was quite unintelligible to the audience, while the gentlemen behind her, in their cocked hats accompanied her voice. He was leaning against one of the trees, and receiving, with- out knowing it, the drippings of a leaky lamp W hen stopped on the ot Pk his coat, two men.came up and side of the trunk of the to the other—‘I tell vou, and with the Christian Manasseh traced her by the driver -of ‘the coach. She will never return to her father’s house if we do not discover her this nigh ‘What! a Meshume her tree, and one said 0( vill she become apostate !’ exclaimed the oth I would see her in her eee fice Holy. Father! the daughter of a rabbi to bring such disgrace upon her family ! ee our sins, and the sins of our forefathers, have brought this evil upon our house. If I meet him here I will stab him to the heart ! ‘Leemaan Hashem! for the sa name, my son, think of what must not be so rash. Alas! are mixed with the heathens. She must be concealed in one of the Mo abitis sh} garments,’ continued the eider of the two personages, whom our hero had of course ascertained to be of the house of Israel. ‘Manasseh Le me that he has ered, from anotl ike of the hol you say; you alas! but 1er discoveT12 THE POACHER. quarter, that the Christian had procured a domino, black, with the sleeves slashed with white. ay at will be a distinguishing mark ; Sid if we see that dress we must then follow, and ifa female | is with it, it must be thy Miriam. “TI will se arch now, and meet you here in half an hour,’ replied the younger of the two. ‘ Joseph, my son, we do not] part ; I cannot ‘trust you in your anger, and you have weapons with you, IT know; we must go together. SISter may the Holy Spirit guide laughter of our house be restored, 7 my heart's bitterness, and my but discover the Gaw—the in- lied the son, following the father ; observed him put his hand into and half unsheath a poniard. oey easily comprehended how the matter 1ad met by assig- nation or had been run away with by some re Te eul, T ‘ h et) TAL ] Stood ; a jewish maiden ] e father and son were in do meet with | events I will give him Warning ;’ ide this resolution, turnec “orchestra and went down ae covered ] ee : armed +] vay, Which led to oa are usually i rmed the J a jizc . > Lh . dGatk walk ud j st arrived a the com- S , te 1, py ‘ > ~ + mencement of the em, When he p ived com- : ye lacs CEA ed ne a Teer Sager Ing’. tow ard SalI) two qaominoes, the shorter + o ] ing O1 ae > arm of the taller so as to as- that they were male and female. came to within ten yards of the k, they turned abrupt tly, and then pee that the taller had white VES EO; his domino. There they are,’ thought our hero ; ‘well, it’s not safe for th 1em to walk here, for a murder might be committed without much chance of the party being found out. I will ive them a hint at all events: and Joey owed ae couple so as to overtake them by degrees, s he walked softly, and they were in earnest ¢ conversation, his approach was not heeded until within a few feet of them , When the taller domino turned impatient ly round, as if to inquire what the intrudér meant. “You are watched, and in dan ger, Sig it you are the party I think you are, "said Joey, going up to him, and speaking in a low voice. 7 | Lc “Who are you,’ replied the domino ‘that . os ’ gives this notice; cA periect st tranger to you, even if your mask Was removed, sir; but. I } overhear a conversation rel ative to a ina domino such as you wear. I may be mistaken. and, if so, there is no harm done ;’ and our hero turned away. ‘Stop him, dear Henry,’ said a soft female voice. ‘I fear that there is danger: he can have told you but from kindness.’ The person in the domino immediately followed Joe y, and accosted him, apologizing for his apparent rudeness. at receiving -his communication, which he ascribed to the suddenness with which it was given, and re- quested, as a favour, that our hero would in- form him why he had thought it necessary. ‘I will tell you, certainly ; not ta at I’ inter- fere with other people’s concerns ; but when I saw that one of them had a p oniard——’ ‘A poniard !’ exclaimed the female, who had now joined them. ‘Yes,’ replied Joey ; ‘and apy] peared deter- mined to useit. In one word, madam, is your name Miriam? If so, what I heard concerns you ; if not, it does not, and I need say no more.’ Sir, it does concern her,’ replied the domino; ‘and I wi "il thank you to proceed.’ Our hero th 1en stated briefly what he had overheard, an ¢ that the parties were then in are iost ! exclaimed the young woman. ‘We shall never escape from the gardens ! What must we do? My brother in his wrath is as a lion’s whelp.’ : T care little for myself,’ replied the domino. ‘I could defend myself; but, if we meet, I shall lose you. Your father would tear you away Ww hile I was engaged With your brother.’ ‘At all events sir, A should recommend your not remaining in these dark walks,’ re- plied our hero, ‘ now that you are aware of what may take place.’ ‘And yet, if we go into the lighted part of he gardens, they will soon discover us, now hat they have, as it appears, gained a know- edge of my dress.’ ‘Then put it off,’ said Joey. ‘But they ent Ow my person even better,’ re- joined the domino. “* Your conduct, sir, has been so kind, chat petha ips you would be in- clined to assist 1 Our hero was in ahs e himself, and, of course, felt sympathy for ot hers in the same predica- ment: so he folk ed that, if he could be of service, they might command him. ‘Then, Miriam, dear, what I propose is this: will you put youl rself under the pro- tection ofthis stranger? I think you risk nothing, for he has proved that he “is kind. You may then, without fear of Getection, pass through the gardens, and be conducted by him to a place of safe ty. I will remain here for half an hour; should your father and brother meet me, altho ugh they may recognizeTHE POACHER. 113 my dress, yet, not having you with me, there was to be placed under her protection, relaxed will be no grounds for any attack being made, her compressed features, and graciously con- and I will, after a time, return home.’ sented. 6 AwnA what ic “0 2 > P ayelai 5 5 . . mt. . And what is to become of me ? exclaimed Our hero having consigned over his charge, the terrified girl. whose face he had not yet seen, immediately d this gentleman to my ad- retired to his own apartment. The next morn- ‘You must. sen dress to-morrow morning,and he will acquaint ing, about nine o'clock, he sent to inquire me where you are. Iam giving you a great after the health of his protégée, and was e time I sred by a request that he would pay her When he entered the room he found deal of trouble, sir; but at the san show my confidence ; I trust it wil fere with your other engagements. her alone. . She was dressed somewhat in the ‘Your confidence is, I trust, not misplaced, Oriental style, and he was not a little sur- sir. replied our hero ; ‘and I am just nowan prised a her extreme beauty. Her stature idle man. I promise you, if this young lady was rather above the middle size: she was will venture to trust herself with a pertect exquisitely formed; and her ancles, hands, stranger, that | will do your request. I have and feet were modeis of perfection. She was no mask on, madam; do you think you can indeed one of the most exquisite specimens of trust me? the Jewish nation, and that is quite sufficient ‘T think I can, sir; indeed I must do so, or for her portrait. She rose as he entered, and there will be shedding of blood ; but, Henry, coloured deeply as she saluted him. Our they are coming; I know them; see—right hero, who perceived her confusion, hastened up the walk!’ to assure her that he was ready to obey any ey turned round, and perceived the two order she might be pleased to give him, and sation he had over- trusted that she had not been too much an- ir? said he to the gentle- noyed with her very unpleasant position. t a > persons whose | heard. ‘itis them, sir, said man in the domino; ‘leave us and walk back ‘T am more obliged to you, sir, than I can farther into the dark part. I must take her well express,’ replied she, ‘ by your kind con- away on my arm and pass them boldly. sideration in putung me into the charge of the : landlady of the house; that one act assured Come, sir, quick ! Our hero immediately took the young Jewess me that I was in the hands of a gentleman 1 walked towards the father and and man of honour. All I have to request of ou his arm ana brother. He felt her trembling like an aspen you now is, that you will call at No. —, in as came close to them, and was fearful Berkeley Square, and inform Mr. S of that her legs would fail her. As they passed, what you have kindly done for me. You will the face of our hero was severely scrutinized probably hear from him the cause of the by the dark eyes of the Israelites. Joey re- strange position in which you found us and : r id proceeded on his way ; relieved us from. cl ti “tarp ¢ turnea tf) I Slat, an and after they had separated some paces from As our hero had nothing to reply, he wrote .e father and brother, he whispered to the down the address and took his leave, immedi- You are safenow.’ Joey conducted ately proceeding to the house of Mr. S-—% > through the gardens, and when but, as he was walking up Berkeley Street, he the entrance, he called a coach, was encountered by two men, whom he im- t at pet tO OO U Cr 1 at » 2 rriv } i meee & HD A and put the lady in. mediately recognized as the father and brother ‘Where shall we drive to?’ inquired our of the young Israelite. The brother fixed his keen eye upon our hero, and appeared to re- know ; say anywhere, so that we cognize him; at all events, as our hero passed them they turned round and followed him, hero. ‘JT do yn't iv from this! are av Joey ordered the man to drive to the hotel and he heard the brother say, ‘He was with where he had taken up his abode, for he knew her,’ or something to that purport. Our hero did not, however, consider that it was ad- visable to wait until they were away before he coach, while he wet knocked at the door, as he felt convinced that lady for her appearance. He stated that he had they were on the watch, and that any delay rescued her from a very perilous situation, and would not obtain the end. He knocked, and that he would fee 1 much obliged to his hostess was immediately admitted. Te found Mr. if she would take charge of the young person S—— pacing the room up and down in great until she could be restored to her friends on anxiety, the breakfast remaining on the table the ensuing morning. People like to be con- untouched. He warmly greeted the arrival sulted, and to appear of importance... The of our hero. Joey, as soon as he had in- fat old lady, who had bridled up at the very formed him of what he had done, and in j hose hands he had placed the young lady, € the introduction of a lady ina Ww ) d that the party stated the circumstance of the father and not where else to go. On his arrival he left the young lady in the wel 1t in to prepare the land- mention Oo : domino, as S90 as she healII4 THE POACHER. brother being outside on the w atch, and that whole famil ly became vile, and were denied he thoug! it that they had recognized him. the usual burial rites, ~P erhaps you areaware roelen at is nothing more than what I had ex- that ifa Jew embraces Chri istianity, the same pected, replied “Mr S——; ‘but I trust di sgrace is heaped upon the relations. With ’ easily to evade them ; they are not aware that this knowledge, I dete rented to conquer my the feelings for Miriam, and of course I no longer the back of this house communicates with Stables belonging to it in the mews, and we went to her: father’s. house ; it would have can go out by that \ way without their been crue} to put my friend (for such he cer- ing us. I’ve so many thanks to offer you, sir, : tai y was) in such a position—the more so as, for your kind interference in our bel a rabbi, he wo uld have to dénounce I hat dly know how to express them, elf and his own children. thing you are most certa inly entitled, and I ‘My absence was, however, the cause of should prove but little my sincerity if I did great annoyance to the father. - He sought that is my-con- me, and I was sot not immediately give it y you ; pressed by him a return, fidence, and a know ledge of the epa ‘tieswhom that I had no choi ce, unless I confessed my you have assisted, and thé circumstances at- reasons, which I did not like to do 1 there- tending this strange affair, Hy € young lady, fore visit nae € house as before, although not Sir, is, as you know, a Jewe ss by birth, aaa So fi eran and cont inually found 1 myself in the di aughter of a rabbi, a man of st eat wealth company with Miriam, a1 id, her father bei ing and _bigh ancestry, for certainly Jews can constat ntly summoned away to the duties of claim the latter higher than any-other nation his office, but too often atone. I therefore re- upon ear th, fam myselfa man of fortune, solved that I would once more set off on my as it is usually termed,—at al] events with travels, as the only means by which I could su ent to indulge any oman I should take act aon 1lourably, and get rid of the feel ing. a 5 my wife with every luxury that can be which was ol taining suc reasonably’ demanded. J mention this to ene to he house (oO State my intention, and S rroborate my assertion, that it was not her at the > Same time bid the m farewell ; when as- father's wealth which has been my induc ce ha mastery Over-meé:; J uce- ¢ ing the st nor ae slipped and sprained my ment. I made the acquaintance of the father ancle so sever at I could not put my foot and daughter when I was tra\ he t avelling on the toth 16 BT Ot ind, This s decided our fate; and I was Continent : he was on_his way to ] uy not only domiciled for a week in the house, when his carriage broke down, in a difficult but, as I lay on the sofa, was con ntinually at- pass on the mountains, and they would have tended by Miriam. Her father would not been left on the road for the night, if I had hear of my removal, but declared that my ident wasa judgme ent against me for my Intention. not fortunately come up in time, a a 4 J e and, being alone, was able to convey them to th t Ta town. “I have always had a creat resp ect for ‘That Miriam showed her regard for me in the Jewish nation. I consider that every true every way that a modest maide) could do, is Christian should have ; but I will: not enter certain. I did, however. make one last upon that point now. It was probably my struggle: I did not d eny my feelings towards Well her, but T pointed out to eG the consec quences c Showing such a feeling, and my being versed in ee ir history, which was th ustory, whicl the occasion whi ich would ensue, which it was my duty as are an intercourse of two d: tyS Tipening into a a friend, and her duty as a daughter, to pre- reg =a for one another; and we parted with vent. She hear 1 me in silence and in tears, sincere \ vishes that we might mee again in and then quitted the room. this country, At the time | speak of, which ‘The next day she ay ppeared to have re- was about three years ago, his dau daughter covered her c composure, and entered freely Miriam was, c omparatively s speaking, achild, into general conversation, and, after a time, ae cel tainly not at that period, or indeed for eas to the rites of their Church. By de- some time after our meeting again in England; grees she brou: ght up the subject of Christian- did it ever come into my ideas that I should ity ; she deman the reasons and authority ever feel anythi ing for her but good-will ; but for our Heer n short, she induced me to circumstances, and her father’s confidence in ente tr warmly into the sub} ject, and to prove me, threw us much together. She has no to the best of my ability, that the true Mes- mother. Aftera time I foun d myself groy ving siah had already come. This conversation attached to her, and I taxed myself, and re- she took a pleasure in renewing, during my flected on the consequences, I was aware Stay in the house; and as | considered. that how very severe the Jewish laws were upon the subject was one that ¢ diverted our attention the sub feok. me any of their far nily uniting from the one I wished to avoid, I was not -nter upon it, althouxh I h ad not the e( th emselve 35-EO.d, Christian. That it was not sorry to e only considered that the party concerned was least idea of coi iverting her to our faith, dishonoured before the nation, but that the ‘Such was the state of ‘affairs when I quittedthe house, and acain seriously thoucht of re- moving myself from so much temptation, when her brother Joseph arrived from Madrid, where he had been staying with an uncle for some years, and his return was the ~ oo q : of a jubilee, at which l could not refus .qInN- Ne ODOStII YO -m Ph i . I I { ; 7 Strange, that ! ¢ \ to a. Christian, Tes ras 7 nin ld . j : | rapdvoin I S qa i ] ) 5 ps pie 1d W } nust t t been . ted. in « ience itis weal l L i pel 17 Or 1 ; 4 . ‘ : tribes for ¢ tut - Dee v them- s Christian bu } : ; at oO! n + ,Y ’ > 1 t l ti > TY > c the but too often to visit at I made up sitt ng on the cou « T4 1 to to sit by me, but she stood before me w h < air, fixing upon me her dark gazelie- ‘<< Do you,” said she, in a slow al tone of voic »- "do you remember co - sation which we had upon our 1 creeds? Do you re t how you ] 1 out to me your autn tieS and In] ons for your faith, and } f that t Messiah had already co ? ‘J do, Miriam,” replied I; ‘“‘ but not with any view to interieré with your non- belief; it was only to uphold by argument n own. ‘« Tdo.not say 1 ythat=1 b = you, said Miriam ; en ess, | have that in t which, if it was known to my father ther, woul 1 cau > them to dash me to nd to curse me in the name of the h :’ and she pulled out of her | copy of the New Testament. “This is the book of your creed; l searched and compared it with our own; I have found the authorities ; I have read the words of the Jews who have narrated the history and the deeds of Jesus of Nazareth, and,—I am a Christian.’ POACHER. sir, you cannot imas peers YY) ley i nh ‘KA tO O \ to sa\ ; r } ) \ *h ‘ i ( } BES i b I \ the ; the ; : ; ] , Ga LLy } tc ; es ‘Miriam, I exit 4% } ‘ a> { ‘It may appear strange, but I assure you ine the pain I os =3 ’ l . I l ; : A i VV a Loe 3 =] ED the v1 L ¢ 11 it on account of my nd 1 b oP not He say, ‘Leave’ lf me? Must [I not add y feeble voi rment of the truth, if I am to consider myself a Christian P ic 2? Yes, it must iViUl ] a A be, and it shall be! , Can you blame me? ‘<‘Oh no! I dare not blame you ;” re- I 11, ‘‘l only regret that«religious differ- ences § Id so mar the little happiness per- m to us in this world, and that neither ECHI an will admit what our Saviour ; distinctly declared—that there is no difference betwe the Tew and the Greek, or | . © in this, and I Cc that I shall be ( ere > of it, and. be up- DI a ¥ e£ Vou y,’ replied Miriam hha 1 by your having so done . duty to do. I am aware of l occasion my father, n | >of our tribe; but if fer 1 e? Thrust out n my father’s door; loaded with curses and execrations; not one Jew permitted to offer me an asylum, not even to give mé @ morsel of bread, or a drop of water; a ) i wanderer and an outcast! Such must be my fate.” ‘« Not so, Miriam; if your tribe desert J Ou ‘<: Stop one moment,” interrupted Miriam ; ‘‘do you recolle he conversation you hac with me | + + before we entered into the subject o elative creeds? Do you remember wha you then said; and -was it true, or was 1 merely as an excuse?” ‘««Tt was as true, Miriam, as I stand here. I have loved you long and devotedly. I have tried to conquer the passion, on account of the misery your marriage with a Christian would have occasioned your réiations ; Dut lL t t u persist in avowing your new faith, the 2 tes 2 ae vere136 THE POACHER. misery will be equally incurted; and, there- ducting her out of the dark walk. Did you fore, I am doubly bound, not only by my love, meet them afterwards ? but because I have, by converting you, put ‘No,’ rejoined Mr, S—— ; ‘I allowed them you in such a dreadful position, to offer you to walk about without coming up to me, for not only an asylum, but, if you will accept some time, and then when they were down at them, my heart and hand.” the farthest end, I made all haste and took a ‘Miriam folded her arms across her breast, coach home, before they could possibly come and knelt down, with her eyes fixed upon the up with me, allowing that they did recognize oor. ‘JI can only answer in the words of me, which I do not think they did until they Ruth,” replied she, in a low voice and tremb- perceived me hastening away ata distance.’ ling lips. I hardly need observe, that after ‘What, then, are your present intentions ? this interview the’ affair was, decided,—the inquired our hero. great difficulty was to get her out of the ‘I wish you to return with me to your hotel,’ house; for you must have been inside of one replied Mr. S——; ‘T will then take a chaise, of the houses of a Jew of rank to be aware of and leave for Scotland as fast as four horses their arrangements. It was impossible that can cairy us, and unite myself to Miriam, and, Miriam could be absent an hour without being as soon as I can, I shall leave the country, missed ; and to go out by herself without being which will be the best step to allow their rage seen was equally difficult. Her cousin is and indignation to cool.’ Married to a Jew, who keeps the masquerade ‘I think your plan is good,’ paraphernalia and costumes in Tavistock ‘and I am at your service,’ Street, and she sometimes accompanies her In a few minutes Mr, S and our hero father and brother there, and, as usual, S0es went out by the back way into the mews, and, up to her cousin in the woman's apartment, as soon as they came toa Stand, took a coach while her male relations remain below. We and drove to the hotel. therefore hit upon this plan; That on the first They had not, however, been in company Masquerade-night at Vauxhall she should per- with Miriam more than five minutes, when the Suade her father and brother to go with her waiter entered the room in great alarm, stating te her cousin’s ; that I should be close by ina _ that two sentemen were forcing their way up coach, and, after she had gone in, I was to stairs in spite of the landlord and others who drive up as the other customers do, and ob- were endeavouring to prevent them. The tain two dominoes, and then wait while she fact was, that our hero and Mr, S—— had escaped from the women’s apartment, and been perceived by Joseph and his father as came down stairs to the street door, where I they came out of the mews, and they had im- was.to put her in the coach, and drive off to mediately followed them, taking a coach at Vauxhall. You may inquire why we went to the same stand, and desiring the coachman to Vauxhall. Because as but few minutes would follow the one our hero and Mr. S—— had elapse before she would be missed, it would gone into. have been almost impossible tc have removed The waiter had hardly time to make the her without being discovered, for I was well communication before the door was. forced known to the people. You recollect that Open, and the man was so terrified, that he Manasseh, who was in the shop, informed retreated behind our hero and Mr. S—— inte them that my domino was Slashed with white whose arms Miriam had thrown herself for in my sleeves ; he knew me when I obtained protection. The father and brother did not, the dominoes, Had [ not been aware of the however, enter Without resistance on the part violence of the brother, I should have cared of the landlord and Waiters, who followed, little had he followed me to my house, or any tfemonstrating and checking them ; but Joseph other place he might have traced me to; but broke from éhem with his dagger drawn ; it his temper is such that his sister would cer- was wrenched: from him by our hero, who tainly have been sacrificed to his tage and fury, dashed forward. The enraged Israelite then aS you may imagine from what you have seen caught up a heavy bronze clock which was on and heard. [I considered, therefore, that if the sideboard, and crying out, © This for the we once became mixed with the crowd of Gaw and the Meshumied ?’ (the infidel and the masks and dominoes at Vauxhall, I should apostate), he hurled it at them with all his elude them, and all trace of us be lost. Sirength ; he missed the parties it was in- believe, now, that I have made you ac- tended for, but striking the waiter who had quainted with every circumstance, and trust retreated behind them, fractured his skull, and that you will still’ afford me your valuable he fell senseless upon the floor, assistance,’ Upon this Outrage the landlord and _ his ‘Most certainly,’ replied our hero ; ‘I am_ assistants rushed upon Joseph and his father ; on duty bound. “I cannot help thinking that the police were sent for, and, after a desperate UL they have recognized me as the party con- resistance, the Israelites were taken away to replied Joey,the police office, leaving Mr. S—— and Miriam at liberty. Our hero was, however, requested by the police to attend at the ex- amination, and, of course, could not refuse. The whole party had been a quarter of an hour waiting until another case was disposed of, before the magistrate could attend to them, when the surgeon came in and acquainted them that the unfortunate waiter had expired. The depositions were taken down, and both father and son were committed, and Joey and some others bound over to appear as witnesses. In about two hours our hero was enabled to re- turn to the hotel, Where he found that Mr. 5 had left a note for him, stating that he considered it advisable to start immediately, lest they should require his attendance at the police-court, and he should be delayed, which would give time to the relations of Miriam to take up the question : he had, therefore, set off, and would write to him as soon as he possibly comld. This affair made some noise,and appeared in all the newspapers, and our hero therefore sat down and wrote a detailed account of the whole transaction (as communicated to him by Mr. S——), which he despatched to Portsmouth. He made inquiries, and found that the sessions would come on in a fortnight, and that the grand jury would sit in a few days. He there- fore made up his mind that he would not think of returning to Portsmouth until the trial was over, and in his next letter he made known his intentions, and then set off for Richmond, where he had been advised to remain for a short time, as being more favourable to an in- valid than the confined atmosphere of London. Our hero found amusement in rowing about in a wherry, up and down the river, and re- plying to the letters received from Mary, and from Portsmouth. He also received a letter from Mr. 5S , informing him of his marriage, and requesting that as soon as the trial was over he would write to him. Our hero’s health also was nearly re-established, when he was informed that his attendance was re- quired at the court to give his evidence in the case of manslaughter found by the grand jury against Joseph, the brother of Miriam. He arrived in town, and attended the court on the following day, when the trial was to take place. A short time after the cause came on he was placed in the witness-box. At the time that he gave his depositions before the magistrate he had not thought about his name having been changed ; but now that he yas sworn, and had declared he would tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, when the council asked him if his name was not Joseph O’Donahue, our hero replied that it was Joseph Rushbrook. ‘Your deposition says Joseph O’ Donahue, THE POACHER. TI7 How is this? Have you an adias, like many others, sir?’ inquired the counsel. ‘My real name is Rushbrook, but I have been called O’ Donahue for some time,’ replied our hero. This reply was the occasion of the opposite counsel making some very severe remarks ; but the evidence of our hero was taken, and was indeed considered very favourable to the prisoner, as Joey stated that he was convinced the blow was never intended for the unfortu- nate waiter, but for Mr. S After about an hour's examination our hero vas dismissed, and in case that he might be recalled, returned as directed to the room where the witnesses were assembled. CHAPTER XLIV. In which the Tide of Fortune turns against our Hero. As soon as Joey had been dismissed from the witness-box he returned to the room in which the other witnesses were assembled, with melancholy forebodings that his real name having been given in open court would lead to some disaster. He had not been there long before a peace-officer came in, and said to him —‘Step this way, if you please, sir; I have something to say to you. Joey went with him outside the door, when the peace-officer, looking at him full in the face, said, ‘Your name is Joseph Rushbrook ; you said so in the w itness-box ?’ ‘Yes,’ replied Joey, ‘ that is my true name.’ ‘Why did you change it?? demanded the officer. ‘T had reasons,’ replied our hero. ‘Yes, and I’ll tell you the reasons, re- joined the other. ‘ You were concerned ina murder some years ago ; a reward was offered for your apprehension, and you absconded from justice. Isee that you are the person ; your face tells me’ so. You are my prisoner. Now, come away quietlys sir ; it is of no use for you to resist, and you will only be worse treated.’ Joey's heart had almost ceased to beat when the constable addressed him ; he felt that denial was useless, and that the time was now come when either he or his father must suffer ; he, therefore, made no reply, but quietly fol- lowed the peace-officer, who, holding him by the arm, called a coach, into which he ordered Joey to enter, and, following him, directed the coachman to drive to the police-office. As soon as the magistrate had been ac- quainted by the officer who the party was whom he had taken into custody, he first a ea ees: arz8 THE POACH ointed out to our hero that he had better not ‘Then don’t you tell anybody else that, and | Say anything which might criminate himself, .I will forget it. You see youth goes a great and then.asked him if his name was Joseph way in court ; and they will see that you must Rushbrook, eS have been quite a child when the deed was Joey replied that it was. done—for I suppose by the evidence there is Have you anything to say that miol no doubt of that—and it won’t bea h langing vent my committing you on the charge of matter, that you may be certain of; you'll murder?’ demanded the magistrate, cross the water, that’s all: so keep up your ‘Nothing, except that I am not fuilty,’ re- spirits, and look as young as you can.’ d Joey. E ae Mary received the letter on the following ‘T have had the warrant inst him day, and was in-the d St dist ‘eSS “atcits over it, her work had been thrown down at her feet, when but'a lad th on. Mrs. Austin came into the i ressing-room where He must have been a child, to judge by she was sittine tS; Ore th escaped me,’ obse rved the +t ones Qe} ~t71] contents. One was st trate, w ho was making committa Le a Alans x e g. his present app earance,’ observed the magis- ‘What is the matter, Mary?’ said Mrs; y coe U > 1 ce ‘ now per ectly recollect the affair,’ [ I have peeved a letter from my brother, e officer cA the committal, and in madam,’ repliec y; ‘hei is 5 in the greatest half: an hour our hero was locked up wit ; I must t beg you to let me go to felons of every description. His blood ran ely cold when he found himself enclosed within ‘ Your brother, Mary! what difficulty is he the massive walls; and, as soon as the gaoler in?’ asked Mrs, Austin had left him alone, he shuddered and covered M: my did 1 not SEY, ut y wept more. his face with his han ls, Our hero had, how- “Ma if your broth I brother ds in eee i-Cer iil not refuse your going to him ; but is innocence : you should tell me what = us distress is, or how happy and shall I be able to advise or r help you? Is it Prosperous he had lately been, when «he very Serious ?” T ever, the greate st of all consolat port him—the consciousness Te : i ho but when he cailed to min fons to sup- tainly w thought of Emma —and that now all his ae © He is in prison. madar = o Prospects and fondest autmipauons were : thrown to the gro it is not surprisi for a short time wept in his solituc silence. To whom should he make kn pee for debt, Panne SS O, madam; on a charge of murder, which be: is not guilty In NT 4 Ail exclaimed Mrs. Austin, ‘and Situation ? ‘Alas! it would too soon be kno wn : y— when—and where > did this ‘pa >?’ and would not every one, eve no Emma 1, Shrin from a supposec ‘derer one who would not i ago, madam, when he was né on whose truth he could depend; Mary would not desert him, €ven now; h e would write to her, and ac- quaint her with his situation. ing made up his made is mind so to do, obtained paper vons] phy eee rassford.’ ane ik arom the gaoler when* he came into if senseless from the chair. his cell, which he did in about two hours after Mary, ‘very mt uch surprised, th lastened to her he had been locked up. joey wrote to, Mary, . asist nce, and, aftera time, Succeeded in re- . mh . c J 7 1 7 Stating his -POSIUlOn In few words, and that the storing (tne storing her, and lead ing her to the sofa. For 1 r . } em qe fu next morning he \y to be taken down to some time Mis Austin: remained with her face Exeter and expressed a buried in the cushions, while Mary stood over wish, if p of 4€, that she would come there her. At last Mrs. Austin looked up, and lay- {Go See him = ai ANS a guinea to the ing her head upon Mary’s arm, said, ina turnke to iorward the letter, sole mn tone— ‘ t x} Uns m ip? en ‘ | & . ‘, It enough, young master,’ re- “Mary, do not deceive me; you say that plied the man. ‘Now, do yor e ken WwW, yours’ that “boy is your brother—tell me, is not came that false? Iam sure 1S O1 1e of t} 1E- Slat 1ges 3t cases whicl lL €Ve that it is. Answer me, to my kn hls lige?’ continued the m in: sO been tal 2) as i 5 1, V hey l ) { + ty me hoy ( < | | | i] all that yo n I bi Wi ou and m ll l ct { i p - that neither 1 Vhat « be the 1 be you may b | I think, ? What c cone i ¥tniIn i l Mm n ¢ I “In L j= tel L A ; for ‘1 } him m I ere of ji Mary then DJ it sh officer ; but there W at (sta Je 1 2, BLD I l Ge t | | ith | ie] \ u on) ut 1t and I cemen Oot Nel I vc, \ et \ l t | i] 1 not to IBCrVEe 5 SNe, 4 mM l ¢ in 1, Wl 1D-\ EP 1 le 5 I l ] iC Lic i ( lI di t i { 1i€ i Fee i marine, tl ( ADE, ad! l } it M .ust Mrs. Aus family. J 4 h rt And it was Joseph Rus! Jok that ca ( he could no gain. sufficient calm- with you to this ho 2" I to en her to decid yw to act. Her ‘Yes. madam,’ replied Mary; ‘but one « Vn} >». be tried his life for a the men was quite rude to , and joey E. Crin ( ! Would he up Mr. Austin, bh ral , sent divulge the truth, and sacrifice 7 ee own to inquire the cause ; the servants She thought not. Jf he did not uld he hrew all the blame upon Jo lt he was not bec d? and ifhe were, could she ordered out of the hous ymn , He remain away from him? or ought she not to refused ev >the Hall, after divulge what the boy would cot And if .e treatm: ived, for x he did confess the truth, would they find out while ; bu 3 in > parlour t Austin and joseph Rt hbrook were when y uO if ) a t,a oneandtl me person? Would there be any A ( 0.’ cl escape? Would he not sooner Mrs. Austin clasped her hands, and then la I 7 1? How dreadful was D ack 1 them to h .r forehead; after a whil tion ! ie hen, a in, should she ac- che said int her husband with the position of his \nd what has he been doing since he came son > Ifso, would he come forward? Yes, ee most certainly, he would never let Joey suffer ane then inf« ristress of all she forhis crime. Ought she to tell her husband ? new of Joe} it careel \nd, th n, Mary, who knew so much already, Well, Mary,’ s uid rs. Austin, ‘youmust who had witnessed her distress and auguish, eo to him directly You will want money; who was st SO fond of her son, could she oe et Mary, promi me that you will not her ¢ Could she do without trusting her about what has passed be- ich were the various and conflic ting ideas say a word to him a THE POACHER, 19g replied Mrs. d or the present ; by-and-by120 THE POACHER. which passed in the mind of Mrs. Austin. once, I confess it ;} and Mary’s cheeks were At last, she resolved that she would say no- red with shame, and she hung down her thing to her husband ; that she would send head. Mary to her-son; and that she would that ‘We are all sinful creatures, Mary,’ replied evening have more conversation with the Mrs. Austin; ‘and who is there that has not girl: and decide, after she had talked with fallen intoerror? The Scriptures say, ‘‘ Let her, whether she would make her a confidante him who is without sin cast the first stone ;” ornot. Having made up ‘ser mind so far, nay niore, Mary, ‘‘ there is more joy over one she rang the bell for Mary. sinner that repenteth than over ninety and ‘Are you better, madam?’ asked Mary, nine who need no repentance ;” shall I then who had entered the room very quietly. be harsh to you, my poor girl? No, no. By “Yes, I thank you, Mary ; take your work trusting me you have made me your friend; you and sit down; I wish to have some more must be mine, Mary, for I want a friend now,’ conversation with you about this young per- Poor Mary fell on her knees before Mrs. son, Joseph Rushbrook ; you must have seen Austin, and wept over her hand as she kissed that I am much interested about him.’ it repeatedly. “Yes, madam.’ Mrs. Austin was much affected, and as the “There were some portions of your story, contrite girl recovered herself, Mrs. Austin Mary, which I do not quite understand. You leaned on her elbow, and putting her arm have now lived with me for five years, and round Mary’s neck, drew her head towards I have had every reason to be satisfied with her, and gently kissed her on the brow. your behaviour. You have conducted yourself ‘You are indeed a kind friend, madam,’ as a well-behaved, modest, and attentive said Mary, after a pause, ‘and may the Al- young woman.’ mighty reward you! You are unhappy; I ‘I am much obliged to you, madam, for know not why; but I would die to setve Jou. Roe ems oe eons P your good opinion,’ replied Mary. I only wish that you would let me prove it.’ ‘And I hope you will admit that Ihave ‘ First, Mary, tell me as much-of your own not been a hard mistress to you, Mary; but, history as you choose to tell; I wish to on the contrary, have shown you that I have know it.’ been pleased with your conduct.’ Mary then entered into the details of her ‘Certainly, madam, you have; and I trust I marriage, her husband’s conduct, her sub- am grateful.’ sequent career, and her determination to lead ‘I believe so,’ replied Mrs. Austin. ‘Now, a new life, which she had so sincerely proved Mary, I wish you to confide in me altogether. by her late conduct. What I wish to know is,—how did you inso. Mary having concluded her narrative, Mrs, short a time become acquainted with this Austin addressed her thus :-— Furness, so as to obtain this secret ‘from him ? ‘Mary, if you imagine that you have fallen I may say, whom did you live with, and how in my good opinion, after what you have con- did you live, when at Gravesend? for you fessed to me, you are much mistaken; you have not mentioned that to me. It seems so have, on the contrary, been raised. There odd to me that this man should have told to have been few, very few, that have had the a person whom he had seen but for a few courage and fortitude that you have shown, hours a secret of such moment.’ or who could have succeeded as you have Mary's tears fell fast, but she made no done. I was afraid to trust you before, but reply. now I am not. I will not ask you not to be- ‘Cannot you answer me, Mary ?’ tray me, for I am sure you will not. On-two “I-can, madam,’ said she, at last : ‘but, if points only my lips are sealed; and the I tell the truth—and I cannot tell a lie now— reason why they are sealed Is, thatthe you will despise me, and perhaps order me to secret is not mine alone, and I have not per- leave the house immediately ; and, if you do, mission to divulge it. That I am deeply in- what will become of me ?’ terested in that boy is certain; nay, that he is ‘Mary, if youthink I intend to take advan- a near and very dear connection is also the tage of a confession extorted from you, you do case: but what his exact relationship is to- me wrong ; I ask the question because it is wards me I must not at present say. You necessary that I should know the truth—be- have asserted your belief of his innocence, and cause I cannot confide in you without you I tell you that you are right ; he did not do first confide in me; tell me, Mary, and donot the deed ; I know who did, but I dare not re- be afraid.’ veal the name.’ ‘Madam, I will; but pray do not forget ‘That is exactly what Joey said to me that I have been under your roof for five madam,’ observed Mary, ‘and, moreover. years, and that I have been during that time that he never would reveal it, even if he were an honest and modest girl. I was not so on his trial.’THE POA ‘? do ndt think that he ever will, Mary,’ nating the purport of the structure. CHER. T2k There rejoined Mrs. Austin, bursting into tears, were several people at the steps and in the ‘poor boy ; for an offence that he has not committed.’ itis horrible that he should suffer passage, making inquiries, and demanding permission of the turnkey to visit the pri- Po ley , . oe ee ago E ’ : Surely, madam, if he is found guilty, they soners; and Mary had to wait some minutes will not hang him, he was such a child.’ ‘TI scarcely know. A before she could make her request. pearance was so different to the usual class of Her ap- ‘It's very odd that his father and mother applicants, that the turnkey looked at her have disappeared in the manner they lid ; I with some surprise. think it is very suspicious,’ observed Mary. ‘You must, of course, have your own ideas man, for Mary’s voice had fa from what you have alreacy heard,’ replied Mrs. Austin, in a calm tone ; already said, my lips on that subject are sealed. at first to let him know that I am interested about him, or even that I know anything about him. Make all the inquiries you can as to what is likely to be the issue of the affair ; and, when you have seen him, you must then come back and tell me all that he says, and all that has taken place.’ ‘J will, madam.’ ‘You had better go away early to-morrow ; one of the grooms shall drive you over to meet the coach which runs to Exeter. While I think of it, take my putse, and do not spare it, Mary, for money must not: be thought of now ; | am very unwell, and must go to bed.’ ‘T had better bring up the tray, madam; a mouthful and a glass of wine will be of service to you.’ €Do so, dear Mary ; I feel very faint.’ As soon as Mrs. Austin had taken some re- freshment, she entered again into conversation with Mary, asking her a hundred questions about her son. Mary, who had now nothing to conceal, answered freely ; and when Mary wished her good night, Mrs. Austin was more than ever convinced that her boy's rectitude of principle would have made him an ornament to society. Then came the bitter feeling that he was about to sacrifice himself; that he would be conuemned as a felon, disgraced, and perhaps executed ; and as she turned on her restless pillow, she exclaimed, “Lirapk God that he is innocent |_his poor father suf- fers more.’ CHAPTER XLV. In which Mary makes a Discovery of what has been long known to the Reader. It was hardly ten o'clock on the second morning when Mary arrived at Ixeter, and proceeded to the gaol. Her eyes were directed to the outside of the massive building, and her cheeks blanched when she viewed the chains and fetters over the entrance, So truly desig- What I wish you to do, Mary, is, not the wicket. ee? inquired. the ltered. ‘Joseph Rushbrook, my brother,’ repeated ‘Whom do you wish to s C, ‘but, as I have Mary. At this moment the head gaoler came to ‘She wishes to see her brother, young Rushbrook,’ said the turnkey. ‘Yes, certainly,’ replied the gaoler ; ‘walk in, and sit down in the parlour fora little while, till I can send a man with you.’ There was a gentleness and kindness of manner shown by both the men towards Mary, for they were moved with her beauty and evident distress. Mary took a seat in the gaoler’s room ; the gaoler's wife was there, and she was more than kind. The turnkey came to show her to the cell ; and when Mary rose, the gaoler’s wife said to her, ‘ After you have seen your brother, my dear child, you had better come back again, and sit down here a little while, and then, perhaps, I can be of some use fo you, in letting you know what can be done, and what is not allowed.’ Mary could not speak, but she looked at the gaolers wife, her eyes brimming over with tears ; the kind woman understood her. ‘Go now,’ said she, ‘and mind you come back to me.’ The turnkey, without speaking, led her to the cell, fitted the key to the ponderous lock, pushed back the door, and remained outside. Mary’ entered, and in a second was in the arms of our hero, kissing him, and bedewing his cheeks with her tears. ‘I was sure that you would come, Mary,’ said Joey; ‘now sit down, and I will tell you how this has happened, while you compose yourself ; you will be better able to talk tome after a while. They sat down on the stretchers upon which the bed had been laid during the night, their hands still clasped, and as Joey entered into a narrative of all that had passed, Mary’s sobs gradually diminished, and she was restored to something like composure, ‘ And what do you intend to do when you are brought to trial, my dear boy?’ said Mary, at last. ‘T shall say nothing, except « Not Guilty,” which is the truth, Mary ; I shall make no de- fence whatever.’ = mace 2D estes apes aaenna omen Nii cee ama LTHE POACHER. c 5 replied Mary. ‘I have often thought of this, Your spirits up, and, and have Jong made up my mind, Joey, that good I: Lwyer. no one could act as you do if a parent's life te you te Il Yr were not concerned ; you Ly would be mad to sacriff unless it were to s¢ Joey's eyes we y g or anybody else, lawyer to at ’ i AtT We Sat Are imself in this way YES 3. vi and_come es down on the stone can save ] YAVO l lI one Ci Pavement ; he Vian: no reply. ‘T wi ue ake his nat “Why, then. if 1 am right in my supposi- said M: ry. tion, continued Mary—‘1 do not ask you to The 1 gaoler's wife say yes or no on that point—why should you paper and pen and not telt the truth? Furness toldmethat your the name and ad father and mother had left the village, and that he had attemp race them, bu could not; and he « imself sure that they had goné to Am Why, then, sup- posing I am right, sh¢ ita. you Sacrifice your- f us resolu self for nothing ?” be done was to procu ‘Supposing you Joey, with his eyes proof is there that country? It waso ness, and it is my conviction that they have say that AVE not. Where they may be, I know not - but I. best ( > tion, 1OWw yy OM ary hw RAS aown, what NLATY, INY poor ee Tate a WS ven eps reel has oe Om Aa a Nave Leto the nere is money, whicl feel positive that my mothe - would not leave half. the country without nevi first found where I was, and have taken me wit! Liic With No, Mary, my father and mother, if alive, are you of course ‘see still in this ec untry.’ You mu cy 2 aa 1] } se father may Bs ( “And if so, my mothe pitty Sant ho ee oe bes adh Zi ce et foe ) any. Gear Dos that yOu! Peles Be mat se. , T rir ¥ TrA\I7 ad. ad, Wary, if you + 7 | A But why will you not confess the truth > é Pe he will be pardoned, dear; 1a ire the best legal assist- . - x o PAs oh y wt -) you Nave opta keep if you have money, geta who would be a-good - he is a very oar man, } if any one ne down, if you please,’ gave Mary a piece of ink ; Mary wrote-down ; Trevor, and ‘ leave jall, Mary commu- what had passed. hrs. ived that Joey would not sy rve and that all that cbt 1 you will f id necessary sapoattt on Of Fur- for your adopted brother's acme You ined the name of the st legal person to be employed in his be- To-morrow you ) ie must go to Londot mann that yentlama? Tt wr Qc ilpon that gentleman. It may be as ler. Well not to mention my name. As his sister, the best legal advice, this as if from yourself. 1 think it ac sable, you j r would have by this can remain in town for two or three days; ; time foun A me out; she would have er- but pray write to me every day. : tised for me—done everything—I feei that “i will, madam. she outa 4 have—she would have returned to ‘Let me knoy your address, as I may wish Grassford. _and ee fo say something to you when I know what ‘And what, Joey ?’ has been done.’ Monat not say what, Mary,’ replied our “I will, madam.’ hero; ‘I have thon neh a great deal since I ‘And’ now you had better go to bed have been shut up here, and I have taken my for you must be tired ; resolution, w hich is not to be changed ; sol let fatigued, my poor gir us Say no more upon the subject, dear Ma you not to say Tel! me all about yourself.’ vants ; Mary remained another hour with Joey, M [ and then bade him farewell: s Hd inde ed, VY I need not caution nes to any Of; the Scl= Le f on the bed, she was in- 1€ was.anxious deed worn out with anxiety and eri Tats ak net: ataast , ¢o return to Mrs. \ustin, and acquaint her she slept. The next morning ahe was on her with the result of her a erview ; Withaheavy way to town, having reart she walked away from the cell, and of the servant went down into the parlour of the gaoler. “Would you like to stake anything ?’ said the gaoler’s wife, ue Mary had sat down. — “A little water,’ replied Mary. “And how is your ‘Groth signe: 1e had obtai ‘ He is innocent,’ repli d Viaty 2. he gs an: deed ; but he won't tell anything, and they will condemn him. ‘Well, well ; but do not be afraid > he have been very young at the time, innocent or i can l do for Mr. Trevor, with ¢ guilty, and he won't suffé r, that I know; but not often that the den of he will be sent out of the country.’ bright vision to cheer it. ‘Then I will go with him,’ replied }, lary. to take a chair,’ “I in reply to the curiosity : l 1U, lat the cause of her gerous illness of her arrived in London, Mary of the lawyer, whose ned from the Exeter he was at home, and after waiti ng a she was ushe ered by the clerk into you, youns ome Sur a latipes Do me 5 STP aS ssuch a favourTHE POACHER. 123 | ‘ 13 — or et at a A ee fi I am not a young , replied Mary; overcc - Hr : } +1} > Str | *T have come to you st that you will recovered . ] ; } ] } , + } ‘ c | ‘ , * be so kind. as to « rothe vho 1 L thank vot ; ; Nn about to be tried. } c ‘Your brother! what 1 e ¢ L \ : 1 Mary KN ur : ic . svYiad ; UU L lL, oll, ) Lil heis n Sullty, ae A c s rs Py cal ; IntoLe 5 LOL! Mr VOr n only r but soa ‘No, 1n | ee k BU <1 ¢ | i ea iil Lil Ssiient tor Some min 5 c OW i l to l L ado . h f \ ~} y ( , a} ial reCo A Nn i \ ‘ - X C ; iil - } ha } tc bt i > = : 1 © VAS . sary’ nam \ ) ' YV ii > > y A Ad 4 AN “7 sendh | h] i) ul i." . 7 7 Y j Al- f ] } \ \ “Ru Jim = } >» [ WCi I ne- i 4 ae : tae iL ne : 1 [ Frevor ° ‘ noe “Do vou stay. 3 ber th lame, remarked Mr. irevor ; n¢ J st | ' . th > (Christian name ~@) Ss KP 4 n l- 7 7 7 ‘i T ~ x T ( nh Che las ne I was c l £ r +} NaAmMe | >? O c x } i S } I ot Ee L prison, should think lf ab- qaetoin lino astounding e . 3 ring fi r I r re rd for Mrs. Austin, anda Mc 4 4 ] | 11 of x : See ene ro ror 1 th 1 I But why do talk O LVSeli F i, ht : hi WI upon the mt 21 pa con. aI UL td A L \ VA / “52 j EES foe nad DELO i tl ‘What has made you thus, Mary : shown for ve on wy fferin’g which had € Joey, I cannot keep ita secret from you; it . - < oO er S111 erlneg, Whict : y; what must be i124 THE POACHER. ‘ is useless toattempt it. I have discovered your ‘Mary, recollect one thing ;—recollect it } father and mother !’ supports me, and let it support you ;—I am = : re are they ? and do they know any- innocent.’ pee aioe te { x ‘You are, I’m sure ; would to Heaven that } ‘Yes; your mother does, but not your. J could say the same for another! But tell | father.’ me, Joey, what shall I do when I meet your ' ‘Tell me, Mary, and tell me quickly.’ mother? I loved her before; but, oh! how } ‘Your father and mother are Mr. and Mrs. much I love her now! What shall I do? § Austin.’ Shall I tell her that I have discovered all? I Joey’s utterance failed him from astonish- do not know how I can keep it from her. ment; he stared at Mary, but he could not ‘ Mary, Isee no objection to your telling utter aword. Maryagain wept; and Joey for her, but tell her also that I will not see her till some minutes remained by her side in'silence. after my trial; whatever my fate may be, I “Come, Mary,’ said Joey at last, ‘you can should like to see her after that is decided. now tell me everything.’ ‘IT will take your message the day after to- Joey sat-down by her side, and Mary then morrow,’ replied Mary; ‘now I must go and communicated what had passed between her- look out for lodgings, and then write to your self and Mrs. Austin ; her acknowledgment mother. Bless you !’ that he was her relation; the interest she took Mary quitted the cell; she had suffered SO in him;* the money she had lavished ; her much that she could hardly gain- the gaoler's sufferings, which she had witnessed : and then parlour, where she sat down to recover herself, she wound up with the conversation between She inquired of the gaoler’s wife if she could her and Mr. ‘Trevor. procure apartments near to the prison, and ‘You see, my dear boy, there is no doubt the woman requested one of the! turnkeys to of the fact. I believe I did promise Mrs, take her toa lodging which would be suitable. Austin to say nothing to you about it; but I Assoonas Mary was located, she wrote a letter forgot my promise till just this minute. Now, to Mrs. Austin informing her of her having Joey, what is to be done?” seen the lawyer, and that his services were ‘Tell me something about my father, secured ; and then, worn out with the anxiety Mary,’ said Joey; ‘I wish to know how he is and excitement of the three last days, she estimated, and how he behaves in his new retired to bed, and in her sleep forgot her position.’ sufferings. Mary told ‘him all she knew, which was not a great deal: he was respected; but he wasa strange man, kept himself very much aloof : from ‘others and Sierra seclusion. CHAPTER XLVI. ‘Mary, said Joey, ‘you know what were In which our Hero makes up his Mind to be my intentions before; they are now still more Hanged. fixed. I will take my chance: but I never : will say one word. You already know and OuR hero was not sorry to be left alone; for have guessed more than I could wish ; I will the first time he felt the absence of Mary a re- not say that you are right, for it is not my lief. He was almost as much bewildered as secret.’ poor Mary with the Strange discovery ; his ‘I thought as much,’ replied Mary, ‘and fathera great landed proprietor, one of the I feel how much my arguments must be _ first men in the county, universally respected weakened by the disclosures I have made. —in the first society ! his mother, as he knew Before, I only felt for you; now I feel for all. by Mary’s letters Written long ago, courted Oh, Joey! why are you, so innocent, to be and sought after, loved and admired !° If he punished this way, and I, so guilty, to be had madea resolution—a promise he might spared ?’ Say—when a mere child, that he would take ‘It is the will of God that I should be in the onus of the deed upon his own shoulders, this strait, Mary; and now let us not renew to protect his father, then a poacher and in the subject.’ humble life, how much more was it his duty, * But, Joey, Mr. Trevor is coming here to- now that his father would so feel any degrada- Morrow ; and he told me to tell you that you tion—now that, being raised so high, his fall must have no reservation with your lawyer, if would be so bitter, his disgrace so deeply felt, you wish him to be of service to you.’ and the stigma so doubly severe! ‘ No, no,’ “You have given your message, Mary; and thought Joey, ‘were I to impeach my father now you must leave me to deal with him.’ how—to accuse him of a deed which would ‘ My heart is breaking,’ said Mary, solemnly. bring him to the scaffold—] should not only ‘I wish I were in my grave if that wish is not be considered his murderer, but it would be wicked,’ said I had done it to inherit his possessions ; Ishould be considered one wh his father to obtain his prop ] iil c 11f } Cc scouted, sh ‘art lad sacrifi ced and deservedly the disgrace of my father beALLiC] unned, despised ; having been hanged A : would be a trifle com pared with the reproach of a son having condemned a parent to the gallows. «Now I am doubly bound to keep to my resolution ; id. come what may, the secret shall die with me: and Joey slept soundly meat ‘The orning Mr. Trevor came into his cell, no very confic lence w me more earnest in your de > here all the evi ce at th ners inquest, and the ver- dict against you ; tell me honestly what did take pl ind then I shall know better how © convil the jury that it did not.’ “You are very kind, sir; but I can say no- thing even to you, except that, on my honour, Iam not guilty.’ ‘But, tell me, then, how did it happen.’ ‘I have nothing more to say, and, with my thanks to you, sir, I will say nothing more.’ ‘This is very strange: dence was strong against you; was the evidence cor rect? “ The pat ; were correct in tl vidence, as it aj oi y not guilty !’ ‘] iall plead not guilty, and leave my fat e jury.’ ‘Are you mad? Your sister is a sweet young wom: ind has interested me greatly ; but, if inn ou are throwing away your life,” ‘l am doing my , sir; whatever you may think of my co , the secret dies with me “And for whom do you sacrifice yourself m this way, if, as you say, and as your sister de- l ot guilty ?’ reply, but sat down on the t vas not done by you, by whom was it done?’ urged Mr. Trevor. If you make no reply to that, I must throw up my brief.’ ‘You said just now,’ ee Joey, ‘that if I declared myself guilty of the murder, you would still defend me; “now, because I s: ay I am not, and will not say who is, you mus THE POACHER I should be 125 throw up your brief. Surely you are incon- sistent.’ ‘I must have your confidence, my good lad.’ ‘You never will have more than you haye now. I have not requested you to defend me. I care nothing about defence.’ ‘Then, you wis sh to be hanged ?’ ] ‘No, Ido not; but, rather than say any- thing, I will take my chance of it.’ This is very strange,’ said Mr. Trevor: after a pause, he continued, ‘I observe that you are supposed to have killed this man, Byres, when nobody else was present ; you were known to go out wes your father’s gun, and the keeper’ s evidence proved that you poac hed. Now. as there is no evidence of in- tentional murder on your part, it is not impos- sible that the gun went off by accident, and th lat, mere boy as you must have been at that age, you were so frightened at what had taken place, that you absconded from fear. It appears to me that that should be our line of defence.’ ‘I never fired at the man at all,’ said Joey. “Who fired the gun, then?’ asked Mr. Trevor + V1 Rachiacee said ‘Mr. afraid I can be of little use to you ; indeed, were it not that your sister’s tears have in- terested me, I would not take up your cause. I cannot understat nd your conduct, which ap- pears to me to be absurd ; your motives are inexplicable, and all I can believe is, that you Trevor, ‘I am have committed the crime, and will not divulge the s ‘cret to any one, not even to those who wou friend you.’ “Think of me what you please, sir,’ rejoined our hero; ‘see me condemned, and; tit should be oo executed ; and, after all that has taken place, believe me, when I assert to you—as I hope for salvation—I am not guilty. I thank you, sir, thank you sincerely, for the interest you have shown for me; I feel grate- ful, excessively grateful, and the more so for what you have said of Mary ; but if you were to remain here for a month, you could gain no more from me than you have already.’ ‘After such an avowal, it is useless my stopping here,’ said Mr. Trevor; ‘I must make what defence I can, for your sister's sake.’ ‘ M:; nv 1 | any, many thanks, sir, for your kind- ness; I am really grateful to you,’ replied Joey. Mr. Trevor remained for a minute scanning the countenance of our hero. There was something in it so clear and bright, so un- flinching, ‘so proclaiming innocence, and high feeling, that he sighed deeply as he left the a? Aall WNwlde126 THE POACHER, His subsequent interview with Mary was madam, short ; he explained to her the difficulties be unti V7; eplied 2 Mary ; ‘but-still it must not er he is re aft Ait arising from the obstinacy of her brother ; Yes ; ae he is condemned ! God have but at the same time expressed his determina- mercy on me! . Mary, you had better return tion to do his best to save him. to Exeter; but write to me every day. Stay Mary, as soon as she had seen Mr. Trevor, by him and comfort him; and may the God set off on her return to the Hall. As soon as of comfort listen to the prayers of an unhaj APP} she went to Mrs, Austin, Mary apprised her and distracted mother! Leave me now. Go of Mr. Trevor's having consented to act as bless you, my dear girl! you have indee counsel soe our hero, and also of Joey's re- proved a comfort. Leave me now. solute determination not to divulge the secret. ————— ae ‘Madam; said y, after so1 ; ‘it is my-duty to have no secret : CHAPTER XLVI, and-I hope you will not be angry when you that I have discovered that which you In which our would have concealed.’ ‘What have you discovered, Marv?’ asked MARY returned Exeter. The trial of our Mrs. Austin, looking at her with alarm. hero was expec to come on on the follow- r a. in ) Ti on owl oe Bien ie . = - ae ino daw CC}, —"roatarrec a ‘That Joseph Rushbrook is your own son, ing day. She preferred _beins with Joey to 1& . . ? ee Ma x down a kissing the witnessing the agony -and Se ress: of : Mrs: L=Or istress. ‘The secret is safe Austin, to.whom she could offer no cee me, depend upon it ontinued indeed, | , : leed, her own state: of si Isp yense was so overy, Wearing, that she almost felt ate “aie the i day of trialcame on. Mr. Trevor had once nore attempted to reason with Joey, but our ro continued firm se his resolution, and Mr. Trevor, when he made his ap “And. how. have. you Mary B for I will not attem: Mary then entered into a de versation with ee are vor said she, ‘as the r of we had any appearance in the “ ae GetLast nd hah as apn rt VWOTA TIAN. Nie Poamntennnes Fhe eee relatives, and I re} tS Nos so-that he bas court, wore upon his countenance the marks no suspicion of ae fact. I bee your pardon, of sorrow and d nt: he did not, never- madam, but I could not keep it from Joey; I theless, fail in hi ity. Joey was brought to quite forgot my promise to you at the time.’ the bar, and his appearance was so different ‘ And what did my poor child say ?’ from that which was to be expected in one "That he would not see you untit after his charged with the crime of murder, that strong trial: but, when his fate was decided, he interest was immediately excited ; the-specta- should like to see you madam! what a painful s now, I do not blame him once more. dh, tors anticipated a low-bred ruffian, and they ne ene Tinh) ae eee ae ee te ee “7 and yet, behelda iundsome young man, with an 7 Rea a7 1 In? 13 * for it is his duty. open brow and intelli ountenance, whose - ‘ > 7c > fe Ace Hien re AY AT “tyr 8 ~ 1c 1A 1 nailed nt rr 1y AY ats i See : ~ My dread is noi foi My Son, Lary ; he 1S eve quailed not when it met their own, and l € ‘ Neent*s and that to me is evervthine: bit whose demean Re ee arc ate a TONOCEN | ANG Wat: tO: ME IS ,eVEryunIins DU WilOS€ AGeMmeanouUr Was Dol ; without being if my husband was to hear of his being about offensive. True that there were traces of to be tried, I know not what would be the sorrow on his countenance, and that ~his consequence. fit can only be kept from his cheeks were pale; but no one who had any knowled lve! God knows that he has suffered kn ioe of human nature, or any feeling of enough ! But wha am I saying? I was talk- charity in his 3. disposition, could say that there ing nonse was the least nee of guilt. The jury “Oh, m! I knowthewhole; I cannot were empanelled counts of the indict- be blinded either by Joey or you. ‘I beg your ment read over, | the ~rial commenced, pardon, madam ; but, although Joey would and, as the indic ‘nt was preferred, the date of the supposed not reply, t told him that his father did the deed. But do not answer me, mad: ilent, as your son has been. s judge ; ‘the when I say that my suspicion 1 wrenched from me even by 1e his lordship ‘I co trust you, Mary; and then look- knowledge that you have obtaine ‘Why, he must tageous. When does the tri a as 25 1 men t MOrrOW rp “¢ Ac jc ry nD } AAC . lian + J { l tO | j 7 ‘ i iam awal Dut I wi wh Ea ion hn to Ly that the + 1 - , ) rT qaerence 1s, not h a 11D Dur « > > ath or the pedla ; OF UPON= THe: 1 On « ' off by nt? gul z * Ol dV ¢ ident nA ] 1 : hm ite cl sce t . IVI \ i, JIS: My a tO My cilent to m< J J Y DII- | ‘efore coulc¢ “Tes Tete ea tO Nim. Ne ro’s assel he rou up, howe ippeal to jury; unfot ination only, 7 t d TOO the cha nd tl i of th DTOSE teLly-es hed the gunt Lib c¢ if S tive y retire Ol m ri rp Of judge, a iC ainst our hero of imended him to mercy. Although the time to which we refer vas one i leniency was seldom ex- \ en st é the youth of our hero, and so much mystery in the transaction, that when the judge passed the sentence, he dis- oe£58 tinctly stated that the royal mercy would beso far extended, that the sentence would be com- muted to transportation. Our hero made no reply; he bowed, and was” led back to his place of confinement, and in a few minutes afterwards the arms of the weeping Mary were encircled round his neck. ‘You don’t blame me, Mary?’ said Joey. ‘No, no,’ sobbed Mary; ‘all that the world can do is nothing when we are innocent.’ “I shall soon be far from here, Mary,’ said Joey, sitting down on the bedstead ; ‘ but, thank Heaven ! it is over.’ The form of Emma Phillips rose up in our hero’s imagination, and he covered up his face with his hands. ‘Had it not been for her!’ thought he. ‘What must she think of me! a convicted felon ! this is the hardest of all to bear up against.’ ‘Joey, said Mary, who had watched him in silence and tears, ‘1 must go now; you will see her now, will you not ?’ ‘She never. will see me; she despises me already,’ replied Joey. ‘Your mother despise her noble boy? oh, never! How can you think so? ‘T was thinking of somebody else, Mary,’ replied Joey. ‘ Yes, I wish to see my mother.’ ‘Then I will go now; recollect what her anxiety and impatience must be. I will travel post to-night, and be there by to-morrow morning.’ ‘Go, dear Mary, go, and God bless you! hasten to my poor mother, and tell her that I am quite—yes—quite happy and resigned. Go now, quickly.’ Mary left the cell, and Joey, whose heart was breaking at the moment that he said he was happy and resigned, for he was thinking of his eternal separation from IZmma, as soon as he was alone, threw himself on the bed, and gave full vent to those feelings of bitter anguish which he could no longer repress. CHAPTER XLVIII. In which everybody appears to be on the move except our Hero. MARY set off with post-horses, and arrived at the Hall before daylight. She remained in her own room until the post came in, when her first object was to secure the newspapers before the butler had opened them, stating that her mistress was awake, and requested to see them. She took the same precaution when the other papers came in late in the day, so that Mr. Austin should not read the account of the trial; this was the more THE POACHER. easy to accomplish, as he seldom looked at a newspaper. As soon as the usual hour had arrived, Mary presented herself to her misiress, and communicated the melancholy result of the trial. Mrs. Austin desired Mary to say to the servants that she was going to remain with a lady, a friend of hers, some miles off, who was dangerously ill ; and should, in all probability, not return that night, or even the next, if her friend was not better ; and, her preparations for the journey being completed, she set off with Mary alittle before dark on her way to Exeter. 3ut, if Mr. Austin did not look at the news- papers, others did, and amongst the latter was Major M‘Shane, who, having returned from his tour, was sitting with O’ Donahue and the two ladies, in the library of his own house when the post came in. The major had hardly looked at the newspapers, when the name of Rushbrook caught his eye ; he turned to it, read a portion, and gave a loud whistle of surprise. “What's the matter, my dear?’ M‘Shane. ‘Murder’s the matter, my jewel,’ returned the major : ‘but don’t interrupt me just now, for I’m breathless with confusion. M‘Shane read the whole account of the trial, and the verdict, without saying a asked Mrs. and then, word, put it into the hands of O’Donahue. As soon as O’Donahue had _finished it, M‘Shane beckoned him out of the room. ‘T didn’t like to let Mrs. M‘Shane know it, as she would take it sorely to heart,’ said M'Shane: ‘but what's to be done now, O’Donahue? You see the boy has not peached upon his father, and has convicted himself. It would be poor comfort to Mrs. M‘Shane, who loves the memory of that boy better than she would a dozen little M ‘Shanes, if it pleased Heaven to grant them to her, to know that the boy is found, when he is only found to be sent away over the water ; soit is better that nothing should besaid about itjust now: but what is to be done?’ ‘Well, it appears to me that we had better be off to Exeter directly,’ replied O’ Donahue. ‘Yes, and see him,’ rejoined the major. ‘Before I saw him, M‘Shane, I would call upon the lawyer who defended him, and tell him what you know about the father, and what our suspicions, I may say, convictions, are. He would then tell us how to proceed, so as to procure his pardon, perhaps.’ ‘That's good advice; and now what excuse are we to make for running away?’ ‘As for my wife,’ replied O'Donahue, ‘ I may as well tell her the truth ; she will keep it secret; and as for yours, she will believe any- thing you please to tell her.’ ‘And so she will, the good creature, andTHE POACHER. that's why I never can bear to deceive her mystery, having, as we have before observed, about anything ; but, in this instance, it is all already been sufficiently clear-sighted to for her own sake: and, therefore, Suppose fathom it; and referred to O’Donahue to cor- your wife says that you must go to town im- roborate his opinion of the elder Rushbrook’s mediately, and that I had better accompany character. you, as it is upon aserious affair ?’ ‘And this father of his is totally lost sight ‘ Be it so,’ replied O’Donahue ; ‘do you of, you say?’ observed Mr. Trevor. order the horses to be put to while I settle the ‘ Altogether : I have never been able to trace affair with the females.’ him,’ replied M ‘Shane. This was soon done, and in half an hour the ‘I was observing to his sister "said Mr. two gentlemen were on their way to Exeter; Trevor. and as soon as they arrived, which was late in the evening, they established themselves at the ‘Stili there is a young woman—and a very principal hotel. Sweet young woman, too—who came to me in In the meantime Mrs. Austin and Mary London, to engage me for his defence, whe had also arrived and had taken up their represented herself as his sister.’ ‘ He has no sister,’ interrupted M‘Shane. quarters at another hotel, where Mrs. Austin ‘That is strange,’ rejoined M ‘Shane, would be less exposed. It was, however, too musing. late to visit our hero when they arrived, and ‘But, however,’ continued Mr. Trevor, “as the next morning they ptoceeded to the gaol, I was about to say, I was observing to this much about the’same hour that M‘Shane and young woman how strange it was, that the O’Donahue paid their visit to Mr. Trevor. first time [ was legally employed for the name Perhaps it will be better to leave to the of Rushbrook, it should be a case which, in imagination of our readers the scene which the opinion of the world, should produce the occurred between our hero and his mother, as_ highest gratification, and thatin the second in we have had too many painful ones already in one which has ended in misery.’ this latter portion of our narrative. The joy ‘How do you mean ?’ inquired M‘Shane. and grief of both at meeting again, only to ‘I put a person of the name of Rushbrook part for ever—the strong conflict between duty in possession of a large fortune. I asked our and lc ¢e—the lacerating feelings of the doting young friend’s sister whether he could be any mother, the true and affectionate son, and relation; but she said no.’ the devoted servant and friend—may be ‘Young Rushbrook had no sister, I am better imagined than expressed; but their Sure, intetrupted M ‘Shane. grief was raised to its climax when our hero, ‘I now recollect,’ continued Mr. Trevor, pressed in his mother’s arms as he narrated ‘that this person who came into the fortune his adventures, confessed that another pang stated that he had formerly held a commis- was added to his sufferings in parting with the. sion in the army.’ object of his earliest affections. ‘Then, depend on it, it's Rushbrook him- ‘My poor, poor boy, this is indeed a bitter self, who has given himself brevet rank,’ re- cup to drink !' exclaimed Mrs. Austin. ‘May plied M‘Shane. ‘Where is he now?’ God, in his mercy, look down upon you, and ‘Down in Dorsetshire,’ said Mr. Trevor. console you !’ ‘He succeeded to the Austin estate, and has ‘He will mother ; and when far away—not taken the name.’ before, not until you can safely do so—pro- ‘’Tis he—'tis he—I’ll swear to it !’ cried mise me to go to Emma, and tell her thatI M‘Shane. ‘Phillaloo! Murder and [rish ! was not guilty. I can bear anything but that the murder’s out now. No wonder this she should despise me.’ gentleman wouldn’t return my visit, and keeps ‘I will, my child, I will; and I will love himself entirely at home. I beg your pardon, her dearly for your sake. Now goonwith Mr. Trevor, but what sort of a looking per- your history, my dear boy.’ sonage may he be, for, as I have said, I have We must leave our hero and his mother in never seen this Mr. Austin ? conversation, and return to M‘Shane and ‘A fine, tall, soldierly man; I should say O’Donahue, who, as soon as they had break- rough, but still not vulgar; dark hair and fasted, repaired to;the lodgings of Mr. Trevor. eyes, aquiline nose ; if I recollect right—— M ‘Shane, who was spokesman, soon entered 1S the man ! exclaimed O Donahue. upon the business which brought them there, ‘And his wife—did you see her?’ asked Mr. Trevor stated to him the pertinacity of M ‘Shane. our hero, and the impossibility of saving him ‘No, I did not,’ replied Mr. Trevor. ae from condemnation, remarking, at the same ‘Well, I have seen her very often,’ rejoined time, that there was a mystery which he could M‘Shane; ‘and a very nice creature she ap- not fathom. pears to be. I have never been:in their M'‘Shane took upon himself to explain that house in my life, I ealled and left_my eard, 5 129cea cae an ae” 130 THE POACHER. that's all ; but I have met her several times ; however, as you have not seen her, that proves nothing ; and now, Mr, Trevor, what do you think we should do?’ ‘T really am not prepared to advise ; it isa case of great difficulty; I think, however, it would be advisable for you to call upon young Rushbrook, and see what you can obtain from him : after that, if you come here to-morrow morning, I will be better prepared to give you an answet.’ ‘T will do as you wish, sir ; I will call upon my friend first, and my name’s not M‘Shane if 1 don’t call upon his father afterwards.’ ‘Do nothing rashly, I beg,’ replied Mr. Trévor; ‘recollect you have come to me for advice, and I think you are bound at least to hear what I have to propose before you act.’ ‘That’s the truth, Mr. Trevor ; so now, with many thanks, we will take our leave, and call upon you to-morrow.’ M ‘Shane and O' Donahue then proceeded to the gaol, and demanded permission to see our hero. ‘There are two ladies with him, just now,’ said the gaoler ; ‘they have been there these three hours, so I suppose they will not be much longer.’ ‘We will wait, then,’ replied O’ Donahue. {n about'a quarter of an hour Mrs. Austin and Mary made their appearance ; the former was closely veiled when she entered the gaoler's parlour, in which O'’Donahue and M ‘Shane were waiting. It had not been the intention of Mrs. Austin to have gone into the parlour, but her agitation and distress had so overcome her that she could scarcely walk, dnd Mary had persuaded her as she came down to go in and» take a glass of water. The gentlemen rose when she came in ; she immediately recognized M‘Shane, and the sudden rush into her memory of what might be the issue of the meeting, was so over- whelming, that she dropped into a chair and fainted. Mary ran for some water, and while she did so, M‘Shane and O’Donahue went to the assistance of Mrs. Austin. ‘The veil was re- moved ; and, of course, she was immediately recognized by M‘Shane, who was now fully convinced that Austin and Rushbrook were one and the same person. Upon the first signs of returning animation, M‘Shane had the delicacy to withdraw, and making a sign to the gaoler, he and O’Dona- hue repaired’ to the cell of our hero. The erecting was warm on both sides. M‘Shane was eager to enter upon the subject; he pointed out to Joey that he knew who com- mitted the murder ; indeed, plainly told him that it was the deed of his father. But Joey, as before, would admit nothing ; he was satis- fied with their belief in his innocence, but, having made up his mind to suffer, could not be persuaded to reveal the truth, and M ‘Shane and O’Donahue quitted the cell, perceiving that, unless most decided steps were taken, with- out the knowledge of our hero, there was no chance of his being extricated from his melan- choly fate. Struck with admiration at his courage and self-devotion towards an un- worthy parent, they bade him farewell, simply promising to use all their endeavours in his behalf, CHAPTER XLIX, The Interview. ACCORDING to their arrangement, on the fol- lowing morning, M‘Shane and O’Donahue called upon Mr. Trevor, and after half an hour's consultation, it was at last decided that they should make an attempt to see Austin, and bide the issue of the interview, when they would again communicate with the lawyer, who was to return to town on the following day. They then set off as fast as four horses could convey them, and drove direct to the Hall, where they arrived about six o’clock in the evening. It had so happened that Austin had the evening before inquired for his wife. The servant reported to him what Mary had told them, and Austin, who was in a fidgety humour, had sent for the coachman who had driven the carriage, to quire whether Mrs. Austin’s friend was very ill. The coachman stated that he had not driven over to the place in question, but to the nearest post-town, where*Mrs. Austin had taken a postchaise. This mystery and concealment on the part of his wife was not very agreeable to a man of Mr. Austin’s temper; he was by turns indig- nant and alarmed; and after having passed a sleepless night, had been all the day anxiously awaiting Mrs. Austin’s return, when the sound- of wheels was heard, and the carriage of M‘Shane drove up to the door. On inquiry if Mr. Austin was at home, the servants replied that they would ascertain ; and Austin, who imagined that this unusual visit might be connected with his wife's mysterious absence, desired the butler to show in the visitors. Austin started at the announce- ment of the names, but recovering himself, he remained standing near the table, drawn up to his full height. ‘Mr. Austin,’ said O'’Donahue, ‘we have ventured to call upon you upon an affair of some importance: as Mr. Austin, we have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, but wewere formerly, if I mistake not, majesty in the same regiment.’ “I do not pretend to de ny, you once knew me stances,’ replied Austin, haugh itily ; ‘will you please to be seated, and then probably you will favour me with the cause of this visit.’ ‘May I inquire of you, Mr. Austin,’ said M'‘Shane, ‘if you may have hap pened to look over the newspapers within these few days ?’ ‘No! and now I recollect—which is un- usual—the papers have not been brought .to me regularly,’ ‘They were probably withheld fro1 nj consequence of the intelligence have conveyed to you. ‘ May I ask what that inte lligence may be ?” inquired Austin, surprised, ‘The trial, conviction, and sentence to transportation for life of one Joseph Rush- brook, for the murder of a man of the name of Byres,’ replied M‘Shane ; ‘ Mr. Aust tin, you are of course aware that he is your son.’ ‘You have, of course, seen the party, and he has made that statement to you?’ replied gentlemen, that ou in they W seal Mr. Austin. ‘We have seen the party, but_he has-not made that statement,’ replied O'’Donahue ; ‘ but do you pretend to deny it ? ‘Iam not aware upon what grounds you have thought proper to come here to interro- gate me,’ replied Austin ‘Supposing that I had a son, and that son has, as you say, been guilty of the deed, it certainly is no concern of yours.’ ‘First, with your leave, Mr. Austin,’ said M ‘Shane, ‘let me prove that he is your son. You were living at Grassford, where the murder was committed ; your son ran away in consequence, and fell into the hands of Captain (now General) O’ Donahue ; from him your son was made over to me, and I adopted him; but having been recognized when at school, by Furness, the schoolmaster of the village, he absconded to avoid being appre- hended ; and I have never seen him from that time till yesterday morning, when I called upon him, and had an interview, as soon as his mother, Mrs. Austin, had quitted the cell in Exeter gaol, where he is at present confined.’ Austin started—here was the cause of Mrs Austin’s absence explained ; neither could he any longer refuse to admit that Joey was his son. After a silence of a minute, he- re- plied— ‘I have to thank you much for your kind ness to my poor boy, Major M‘Shane; and truly sorry am I that he is in such a dilemma. Now that I am acquainted with it, I shall do all in my power. ‘There are other Rush- brooks, gentlemen, and you cannot be sure THE POACHER. serving his under dif fferent circum- and Mary drove I3I +) } ny n i Sat saniantaly prised at my not immediately admittin oe such a dicen uce had occurred to my Ov family. Of Mrs. Austin’s having’ been with him I assure you I had not any idea; her having gone there puts it beyond a doubt, although it has been carefully concealed fron me till this moment.’ It must not be suppos sed that, because Austin replied so calmly te o Major M'‘Shane, he was calm within. On fe contrary, from the very first of the interview he had been in a state of extre citement, and the struggle to command his feelings was terrible ; indeed, it was. now so painfully expressed in his countenance, that O’ Donahue said, — ‘Perhaps, Mr. Austin, you will allow to ring for a little water ?’ ‘No, sir, thank you,’ replied Austin, ing for breath, ‘Since you have admitted that Joseph Rushbrook is your son, Mr. Austin,’ con- ed M‘Shane, ‘your own flesh and blood, “Ime Cx me gasp- tinue may I inquire of you what you intend to do in his behalf? Do you intend to allow the law to take its course, and your son to be banished for life ?’ ‘What can I do, gentlemen? He has been tried and condemned: of course, if any exertion on my part can avail—but I fear thaé there is no-chance of that.’ ‘Mr. Austin, if he were guilty I should not have interfered ; but, in my opinion, he is in- nocent ; do you not think so?’ ‘I do not believe, sir, that he ever would have done such a deed ; but that avails no- thing, he is condemned.’ ‘I grant it, unless the real murderer of the ped lar could be brought forward.’ ‘Y-e-s,' replied Austin, trembling, ‘ Shall I denounce him, Mr. Austin ?’ ‘Do ya seg him ? replied Austin, ing on his feet Start- "Yes; Birk rook,’ replied M ‘Shane, in a voice of th eee ‘T do know him, ’tis your- self !’ Austin could bear up no longer, he fell down. on the floor as if he had been shot. O’Donahue and M‘Shane went to his assist- ance ; they raised him up, but he was insen- sible ; they then rang the bell for assistance, medical advice was sent for, and M‘Shane and O'Donahue, perceiving there was no chance of prosecuting their in- tentions in Mr, Austin’s present state, quitted the Hall just as the chaise with Mrs, Austin up to the door, the servant came in,CHAPTER L. In which it is to be hoped that the Story winds up to the satisfaction of the Reader. It was not for some time after the arrival of the medical men that Mr. Austin could be re- covered from his state of insensibility, and when he was at last restored to life, it was not to reason. He raved wildly, and it was pro- nounced that his attack was a brain fever. As, in his incoherent exclamations, the name of Byres was frequently repeated, as soon as the medical assistants had withdrawn, Mrs. Austin desired all the servants, with the ex- ception of Mary, to quit the room; they did so with reluctance, for their curiosity was ex- cited, and there was shrugging of the shoulders and whispering, and surmising, and repeating of the words which had escaped from their unconscious master’s lips, and hints that all was not right passed from one to the other in the servants’ hall. In the meantime, Mrs. Austin and Mary remained with him; and well it was that the servants had been sent away, if they were not to know what had taken place so long ago, for now Austin played the whole scene over again, de- nounced himself as a murderer, spoke of his son, and of his remorse, and then he would imagine himself in conflict with Byres—he clenched his fists-—-and he laughed and chuckled—and then would change again to bitter lamentations for the deed which he had 1 do ‘Oh, Mary, how is this to end?’ exclaimed Mrs. Austin, after one of the paroxysms had subsided. ‘As guilt always must end, madam,’ repTied Mary, bursting into tears, and clasping her hands,—‘ in misery.’ ‘My dear Mary, do not distress yourself in that manner; you are no longer guilty.’ ‘Nor is my master then, madam; for lam sure that he has repented.’ “Yes, indeed, he has repented most: sin- cerely; one hasty deed has embittered - his whole life—he never has been happy since, and never will be until he is in heaven.’ ‘Oh, what a happy relief it would be to him !’ replied Mary, musing. ‘I wish that I was, if such wish is not sinful.’ ‘Mary, you must not add to my distress by talking in that manner; I want your support and consolation now.’ ‘You have a right to demand everything of me, madam, replied ary, ‘Mand I will do my best, I will indeed. I have often-felt this before, and I thank God for it; it will make me more humble,’ THE POACHER. The fever continued for many days, during which time Mr. Austin was attended solely by his wife and Mary; the latter had written to our hero, stating the cause of her absence from him in so trying a period, and she had re- ceived an answer, stating that he had received from very good authority the information that he was not likely to leave the country- for some weeks, and requesting that Mary would remain with his mother until his father’s dan- gerous illness was decided one way or the other; hestated that he should be perfectly satisfied if he only saw her once before his de- parture, to arrange with her relative to her affairs; and to give her legal authority to act for him, previous to his removal from the country. Hetold her that he had perceived an advertisement in the London papers, evi- dently put in by his friends at Portsmouth, offering a handsome reward to any one who could give any account of him—and that he was fearful that some of those who were at the trial would read it, and make known his position ; he begged Mary to write to-him every day if possible, if it were only a few lines, and sent his devoted love to his mother. Mary complied with all our hero’s requests, and every day a few lines were despatched ; and it was now ascertained by the other do- mestics, and by them made generally known, that a daily correspondence was kept up with a prisoner in Exeter gaol, which added still more mystery and interest to the state of Mr. Austin. Many were the calls and cards left at the Hall, and if we were to inquire whether curiosity or condolence was the motive of those who went there,-we are afraid that the cause would, in most cases, have proved to have been the latter. Among others, O’Dona- hue and M‘Shane did not fail to send every day, waiting for the time when they could persuade Austin to do justice to his own child. The crisis, as predicted by the medical at- tendants, at last arrived, and Mr. Austin re- covered his reason; but, at the same time, all hopes of his again rising from his bed were given over. ‘This intelligence was communi- cated to his wife, who wept and wished, but dared not utter what she wished ; Mary, how- ever, took an opportunity, when Mrs. Austin had quitted the room, to tell Mr. Austin, who was in such a feeble staie that he could hardly speak, that the time would soon come when he would be summoned before a higher tribunal, and conjured him, by the hopes he had of forgiveness, now that the world was fading away before his eyes, to put away all pride, and to do that justice to his son which our hero's noble conduct towards him de- manded—to make a confession, either in writing or in presence of witnesses, before he died—which would prove the innocence ef hisonly child, the heir to the property and the name. There was a struggle, and a long one, in the proud heart of Mr. Austin before he could consent to this act of justice. Mary had pointed out the propriety of it early in the morning, and it was not until late in the even- ing, after having remained in silence and with his eyes closed for the whole day, that Austin made a sign to his wife to bend down to him, and desired her in a half-whisper to send for a magistrate. His request was immediately attended to; and in an hour the summons Was answered by one with whom Austin had been on good terms. Austin made his depo- sition in few words, and was supported by Mary while he signed the paper. It was done ; and when she would have removed the pen from his fingers, she found that it was still held fast, and that his head had fallen back ; the conflict between his pride and this act of duty had been too overpowering for him in his weak condition, and Mr. Austin was dead before the ink of his signature had time to dry. The gentleman who had been summoned in his capacity of magistrate, thought it ad- visable to remove from the scene of distress without attempting to communicate with Mrs. Austin in her present distress, He had been in conversation with O' Donahue and M ‘Shane at the time that he was summoned, and Mr. Austin’s illness and the various reports abroad had been there canvassed. O’Donahue and M’Shane had reserved the secret; but when their friend was sent for, anticipating some such result would take place, they requested him to return to them from the Hall; he did so, and acquainted them with what had passed. ‘There’s no time to lose, then,’ said M ‘Shane ; ‘I will, if you please, take a copy of this deposition.’ O’ Donahue entered into a brief narrative of the circumstances and the behaviour of our hero; and, as soon as the copy of the deposi- tion had been attested by the magistrate, he and M‘Shane ordered horses, and set off for London. ‘They knocked up Mr. Trevor, at his private house in the middle of the night, and put the document into his hands. ‘Well, Major M‘Shane, I would gladly have risen from a sick bed to have had this paper put into my hands ; we must call upon the Secretary of State to-morrow, and I have no doubt but that the poor lad will be speedily released, take possession of his property, and be an honour to the country.’ ‘An honour to old England,’ replied M‘Shane; ‘ but I shall now wish you good- night.’ q'‘Shane, before he went to bed, imme- ‘ THE POACHER. t3 4 YI diately wrote a letter to Mrs. Austin, acquaint- ing her with what he had done, and the in- tentions of Mr. ‘Trevor, sending it by express; he simply stated the facts, without any com- ments. But we must now return to Portsmouth. The advertisement of Mr. Small did not escape the keen eye of the police-constable who had arrested our hero—as the reader must recollect the arrest was made so quietly that no one was aware of the circumstance, and as the reward of £100 would be a very handsome addition to the £200 which he had already received—the man immediately set off for Portsmouth on the outside of the coach,and vent to Mr. Small, where he found him in the counting-house with Mr. Sleek. He soon intro- duced himself, and his business with them ; and such was Mr. Small’s impatience that he immediately signed a cheque for the amount, and handed it to the police-officer, who then bluntly told him that our hero had been tried for murder, and sentenced to transportation, his real name being Rushbrook, and not O' Donahue. This was a heavy blow to Mr. Small: having obtained all the particulars from the police-constable, he dismissed him, and was for some time in consultation with Mr. Sleek; and as it would be impossible long to with- hold the facts, it was thought advisable that Mrs. Phillips and Emma should become ac- quainted with them immediately, the more so as Emma had acknowledged that there wasa mystery about our hero, a portion of which she was acquainted with. Mrs. Phillips was the first party to whom the intelligence was communicated, and she was greatly distressed. It was sometime be- fore she could decide upon whether Emma, in her weak state, should be made acquainted with the melancholy tidings, but as she had suffered so much from suspense, it was at last considered advisable that the communication should be made. It was done as cautiously as possible; Emma was not so shocked as they supposed she would_have been at the in- telligence. ‘I have been prepared for this, or some- thing like this,’ replied she, weeping in. her mother's arms, ‘ but I cannot believe that he has done the deed; he told me that he did not, when he was a child; he has asserted it since. Mother, I must—I will go and see him.’ ‘See him, my child! he is confined in gaol.’ ‘Do not refuse me, mother, you know not what I feel—you know not—I never knew my- self till now how much I loved him. See him I must, and will. Dearest mother, if you value my life, if you would not drive reason from its seat, do not refuse me,’134 Mrs. Phillips found that it was in vain to argue, and consulted with Mr. Small, who at length (after having in vain remonstrated with Emma) decided that her request should be granted, and that very day he accompanied his niece, travelling all night, until they ar- rived at Exeter. In the meantime, Mrs. Austin had re- mained in a state of great distress ; her hus- band lay dead’; she believed that he had con- fessed his guilt, but to what extent she did not know, for neither she nor Mary had heard what passed between him and the magistrate. She had no one but Mary to confide in or to console, no one to advise with or to consult. She thought of sending for the magistrate, but it would appear indecorous, and she was all anxiety and doubt. The letter from M ‘Shane, which arrived the next afternoon, relieved her at once ; she felt that her boy was safe. ‘Mary, dear, read this; he is safe,’ ex- claimed she. ‘God of heaven, accept a mother’s grateful tears.’ ‘Cannot you spare me, madam?’ replied Mary, returning the letter. ‘Spare you. Oh, yes! quick, Mary, lose not a moment, go to him, and take this letter with you: My dear, dear child.’ Mary did not wait a second command ; she sent for post-horses, and in half an hour was on her way to Exeter ; travelling with as much speed as Emma and her uncle, she arrived there but a few hours after them. Our hero had been anxiously awaiting for Mary’s daily communication ; the post time had passed, and it had not arrived. Pale and haggard from long confinement and distress of mind, he was pacing up and down, when the bolts were turned, and Emma, supported by her uncle,-entered the cell’ At the sight of her, our hero uttered a cry, and staggered against the wall ; he appeared to have lost his usual self-control. ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘ this might have been spared me; I have not deservec this punishment. Emma, hear me. As IJ hope for future happiness I am innocent; I am—I am, indeed——’ and he fell senseless on the pavement. Mr. Small raised him up and put him on the bed; after a time he revived, and re- mained where he had been laid, sobbing con- vulsively. As soon as he became more composed, Emma, who had been sitting by him, the tears coursing each other down her pale cheeks, addressed him in a calm voice. ‘I feel—I am sure that you are innocent, or I should not have been here.’ ‘Bless you for that, Emma, bless you ; those few words of yours have given me more eonsolation than you can imagine. Is it nothing to be treated as a felon, to be dis- THE POACHER. graced, to be banished to a distant country, and that at the very time that I was full of happiness, prosperous, and anticipating ?>— but I cannot dwell upon that. | Is it not hard to bear, Emma? and what could support me, but the consciousness of my own innocence, and the assurance that she whom I love so, and whom I now lose for ever, still believes me so? Yes, it is a balm; a consolation ; and I will now submit to the will of Heaven.’ Emma burst into tears, leaning her face on our hero’s shoulders. After a timeshe replied, ‘Andam [ not to be pitied ?- Is it nothing to love tenderly, devotedly, madly—to have given my heart, my whole thoughts, my ex- istence to one object—why should I conceal it now ?—to have been dwelling upon visions of futurity so pleasing, so delightful, all passing away asadream, and leaving a sad reality like this? Make me one promise; you will not refuse Emma—who knelt by your side when you first met her, she who is kneeling before you now ?’ ‘I dare not, Emma, for my heart tells me that you would propose a step which must not be you must leave me now and for ever.’ ‘For ever! for ever !’ cried Emma, spring= ing on her feet. ‘No! no!—uncle, he says I am to leave him for ever? Who is that?’ continued the frantic girl. ‘Mary! yes'tis! Mary, he says I must leave him for ever!’ (It was Mary who had just come. into the cell.) ‘Must I, Mary ?’ ‘No—no!’ replied Mary, ‘not so! he is saved, and his innocence is established ; he is yours for ever !’ We shall not attempt to describe the scene we could not do justice to. We must allow the day to pass away ; during which Emma and our hero, Mr. Small and Mary, were sit- ting together ; tears of misery wiped away— tears of joy still flowing and glistening with the radiance of intermingled smiles. The next morning M‘Shane and O’Dona- hue arrived ; the Secretary of State had given immediate orders for our hero's release, and they had brought the document with them. The following day they were all ex route, Emma and her uncle to Portsmouth, where they anxiously awaited the arrival of our hero as soon as he had performed his duty to his parents, 2 We must allow the reader to suppose the joy of Mrs. Austin in once more holding her child in her embrace, and the smiles and happiness of Mary at his triumphant acquit- tal; the wondering of the domestics, the scandal and rumour of the neighbourhood. Three days sufficed to make all known, and by that time Joey was looked upon as the hero of a novel. On the fourth day he ac- companied the remains of his father as chiefmourner. The funeral was quiet without be- ing mean; there was no attendance, no carriages of the neighbouring gentry followed. Our hero was quite alone and unsupported, but when the ceremony was over, the want of respect shown to the memory of his father was more than atoned for by the kindness and consideration shown towards the son, who was warmly, yet delicately, welcomed as the future proprietor of the Hall. Three months passed away, and there was a great crowd before the house of Mr. Small, Navy-agent at Portsmouth. There was a large company assembled, the O’Donahues, the M‘Shanes, the Spikemans, and many others. Mrs. Austin was there, looking ten years younger: and Mary was attending her at the toilet, both of them half smiles, half tears, for it was- the morning of our hero's wedding-day. Mr. Small strutted about in white smalls, and Mr. Sleek spluttered over everybody. The procession went .to the church, and soon after the ceremony, one couple of the party set off for the Hall; where the others went is of no consequence. We have now wound up the history of little Joey Rushbrook, the poacher. We have only to add, that the character of our hero was not the worse as he grew older, and was the father of a family. The Hall was celebrated for hospitality, for the amiability of its posses- THE POACHER, 135 sors, and the art which they possessed of making other people happy. Mary remained with them more as a4 confidant than as a ser- vant; indeed, she had so much money, that she received several offers of marriage, which she invariably refused, observing, with the true humbleness of a contrite heart, that she was undeserving of any honest, good man. Everybody else, even those who knew her history, thought otherwise ; but Mary con- tinued firm in her resolution. As for all the rest of the personages introduced into these pages, they passed through life with an aver- age portion of happiness, which is all that can be expected. In conclusion, we have only one remark to make. In this story we have shown how a young lad, who commenced his career with poaching, ultimately became a gentleman of £7000 a year; but we must remind our youthful readers, that it does not follow that every one who commences with poaching is to have the same good fortune. We advise them, therefore, not toattempt it, as they may find that instead of £7,000 a year, they may stand a chance of going to where our hero very narrowly escaped from being sent; that is, to a certain portion of her Majesty’s do- minions beyond the seas, latterly termed Australia, but more generally known by the appellation of Botany Bay.Nitec ae nae A RENCONTRE, ONE evening I was sitting alone in the salle a@ manger of the Couronne d'Or, at Boulogne, when Colonel G , an old acquaintance, came in. After the first greeting, he took a chair, and was soon as busily occupied as I was with a cigar, which was occasionally re- moved from our lips, as we asked and replied to questions as to what had been our pursuits subsequent to our last rencontre. After about half an hour's chit-chat, he observed, as he lighted a fresh cigar— ‘When I was-last in this room, I was in company with a very strange person- age.’ ‘ Male or female?’ inquired I. ‘Female,’ replied Colonel G——. ‘ Alto- gether it’s a story worth telling, and, as it will pass away the time, I will relate it to you —unless you wish to retire.’ As I satisfied him that I was not anxious to go to bed, and very anxious to hear his story, he narrated it, as near as I can recol- lect, in the following words :— ‘T had taken my place in the diligence from Paris, and when I arrived at Wotre Dame des Victotres it was all ready for a Start ; the lug- gage, piled up as high as an English haystack, had been covered over and buckled down, and the conducteur was calling out for the passen- gers. I took my last hasty whiff of my cigar, and unwillingly threw away more than half of a really good Havannah ; for I perceived that in the zz¢érzexr, for which I had booked my- self, there was one female already seated : and women and cigars are such great luxuries in their respective ways, that they are not to be indulged in at one and the same time— the world would be too happy, and happi- ness, we are told, is not for us here below. Not that I agree with that moral, although it comes from very high authority ; there is a great deal of happiness in this world, if you knew how to extract it—or, rather, I should say, of pleasure : there is a pleasure in doing good ; there is a pleasure, unfortunately, in doing wrong ; there is a pleasure in looking forward, ay, and in looking backward also ; there is pleasure in loving and being loved, in eating, in drinking, and, though last, not keast, in smoking. I do not mean to say that there are not the drawkacks ‘of pain, regret, and even remorse; but there is a sort of pleasure even in them: it is pleasant to re- pent, because you know that you are doing your duty ; and if there is no great pleasure in pain, it precedes an excess when it has left you. Isay again that, if you know how to extract it, there is a great deal of pleasure and of happiness in this world, especially if you have, as I have, a very bad memory. “« Allons, messteurs I’ said the conducteur; and when I got in I found myself the sixth person, and opposite to the lady ; for all the other passengers were of my own sex. Having fixed our hats up to the roof, wriggled and twisted a little so as to get rid of coat-tails, &c., all of which was effected previous to our having cleared Rue Notre Dame des Victotres, we began to scrutinize each other. Our female companion’s veil was down and doubled, so that I could not well make her out; my other four companions were young men—all Frenchmen—apparently good-tem- pered, and inclined to be agreeable. A few seconds were sufficient for my reconnoitre of the gentlemen, and then my eyes were natu- rally turned towards the lady. She was muffled up in a winter cloak, so that her firure was not to be made out; and the veil still fell down before her face, so that only one cheek and a portion of her chin could be de- ciphered ;: that fragment of her physiognomy was very pretty, and I watched in silence for the removal of the veil. ‘I have omitted to state that, before I got into the diligence, I saw her take a very ten- der adieu of a very handsome woman ; but, as her back was turned to me at the time, I did not see her face. She had now fallen back in her seat, and seemed disposed to commune with her own thoughts: that did not suit my views, which were to have a view of her face. _ Real politeness would have in- duced me to have left her to herself, but pre- tended politeness was resorted to that I might gratify my curiosity ; so I inquired if she wished the window up.. The answer was in the negative, and in a very sweet voice; and then there was a pause, of course—so I tried again. “You are melancholy at parting with your handsome sister,” observed I, leaningforward with as much appearance of interest as I could put into my beautiful phiz. ‘ ““ How could you have presumed that she was my sister?” re plied she. ‘“From the strong fa mily likeness,’”’ re- joined I, ‘‘T felt certain of it. ‘**But she is only my sister-in-law,—sir, my brother’s wife. his sister as he could find: nothing more natural—I should have done the same.”’ ‘Sir, you are very polite,” replied the lady, who lowered down the window, adding, “T like fresh air." ‘** Perhaps you will find yourself less in- commoded if you take off your veil ?” ‘«*T will not ascribe that cP oe to curiosity on your part, sir,” replied the lady, ‘as you have already seen my face.” ‘**You cannot, then, be ‘surprised at my wishing to see it once mer) *** You are very polite, sir. ‘Although her voice was soft, there was a certain quickness and decision in her manner and language, which were very remarkable. The other passengers now addressed her, and the conversation became general. ‘The veiled lady took her share in it, and showed a great deal of smartness and repartee. In an hour more -we were all very intimate. As we into it my cigar. -case, which I feat ft in my pocket, upon which the lady observed, ‘‘ You smoke, I perceive ; and so, I dare say, do all the rest of the gentlemen.—Now, do not mind me; I am fond of the smell of tobacco—I am used to it.” ‘We hesitated. ‘** Nay, more, I smoke myself and will take a cigar with you.” ‘ This was decisive. I offered my cigar-case —another gentleman strucka light. Lifting up her veil so as to show a very pretty mouth, with teeth as white as snow, she put the cigar in her mouth, and set us the example. Ina minute both windows were down, and every one had a cigar in his mouth. ‘«* Where did you learn to smoke, madam ?” was a question put to the zzcognzta by the passenger who sat next to her. ‘«* Where ?—In the eal sient he ae where. ‘I did belong to the army—that is my husband was the captain of the 471 th. He was killed, poor man! in the last suc- cessful expedition to Constantine :—c'élazt uz brave homme.” *«*Indeed ! Were you at Constantine?” bt Neas: Togas. +1 follow ed the army through the whole campaign.” ‘The diligence stopped for supper or dinner, whichever it might be considered, and the conducteur threw open the doors, ‘‘ Now,” Then I presume, he chose a wife as like A RENCONTRE. 137 thought I, ‘‘ we shall see her face ;” and 50, I believe, thought the other passengers : but we were mistaken; the lady went up-stairs and had a basin of soup taken to her. When all was ready we found her in the diligence, with her veil down as before. ‘This was very provoking, for she was so lively and witty in conversation, and the features of her face which had been dis- closed were so perfect, that I was really quite on a fret that she would leave me with- out satisfying my curiosity: they talk of woman's curiosity, but we men have as much, after all. It became dark ;—the lady evi- dently avoided further conversation, and we il composed ourselves as well as we could. it may be as well to state in few words, that the next morning she was as cautious and reserved as ever. The diligence arrived at this hotel —the passengers separated—and I found that the lady and I were the only two who took up our quartersthere, Atall events, the Frenchmen who travelled with us went away just as wise’as they came. ‘** You remain here?” inquired I, as soon s we had got out of the diligence. ‘“* Yes,” replied she. “And you——”’ ‘I remain here, certainly ; but I hope you do not intend to remain always veiled. It is too cruel of you.” ‘** Ff must go to my room now, and make myself a little more comfortable ; after that, Mons. l’Anglais, I will speak to you. You are going over in the packet, I presume : t; ***T am, by to-morrow’s packet.”’ ©«T shall put myself under your protection, for Iam also going to London.” ‘“T shall be most delighted. ‘"' Au revoir.” ‘About an hour afterwards a message was brought to me by the garconz, that the lady would be happy to os me at Novdga, ok ascended to the se¢ond floor, knocked, and was told to come in. ‘She was now without a veil ; and what do you think was her reason for the concealment f her person : r ey the beard of tell ? ‘Well, then, she had two of the most beau- tiful eyes in the world; her eyebrows were finely arched ; her forehead was splendid ; her mouth was tempting,—in short, she was as pretty as you could wish a woman to be, only she had droken her nose,—a thousand pities, for it must once have been a very handsome one. Well, to continue, I made my bow. _ ‘* You perceive now, Sir,’ said she, ‘‘ why I wore my veil down.” ‘‘'*No, indeed,”’ replied I. *‘* Vou are very nol or very blind,” re- joined she: ‘ the latter I believe not to be the v Mokhanna, how can ISe 138 A RENCONTRE. fact. I did not choose to submit to the im- pertinence of my own countrymen in the dili- gence ; they would have asked me a hundred questions upon my accident. But you are an Englishman, and have respect for a female who has been unfortunate.” ‘«‘T trust I deserve your good opinion, madam ; and if I can be in any way useful to you 3 «“VYoucan. I shall be a stranger in Eng- land. J know that in London there is a great man, one Monsieur Lis-tong, who is very clever.” «« Very true, madam. If your nose, in- stead of having been slightly injured as it is, had been left behind you in Africa, Mr. Liston would have found you another.” «<< Tf he will only repair the old one, I ask no more. You give mehopes. But the bones are crushed completely, as you must see.” «“« That is of no consequence. Mr. Liston has put a new eye in, to my knowledge. The party was short-sighted, and saw better with the one put in by Mr. Liston than with the one which had been left him.” © Fst-il possible? Mats, quel homme ex- traordinaire / Perhaps you will do me the favour to sit with me, monsieur: and, if I mistake not, you have a request to make of me—z7 est-ce pas ?° ‘«T feel much interest about you, madam, that I acknowledge, if it would not be too painful to you, I should like to ask a question.” ‘«* Which is, How did I break my nose? Of course you want to know. And as it is the only return I can make for past orfuture obligations to you, you shall most certainly be gratified. I will not detain you now. I shall expect you to supper. Adieu, monsieur.” ‘TI did not, of course, fail in my appoint- ment ; and after supper she commenced :— ‘The question to be answered,”’ said she, ‘tis, How did you break your nose?—is it not? -Well, then, at least, I shall answer it after my own fashion. So, to begin at the beginning, I am now exactly twenty-two years old. My father was tambour-majeur in the Garde Impériale. Iwas born in the camp— brought up in the camp—and, finally, I was married in the camp, toa lieutenant of in- fantry at the time. So that you observe, I am altogether mzlztaire. Asa child, I was wak- ened up with the drum and fife, and went to sleep with the bugles; as a girl, I became quite conversant with every military man- ceuvre ; and now that Iam a woman grown, I believe that I am more fit for the dd¢oz than one-half of those marshals who have gained it. I have studied little else but tactics and have as my poor husband said, quite a genius for them ; but of that hereafter, Iwas married at sixteen, and have ever since followed my husband. I followed him at last to his grave. He quitted my bed for the bed of honour, where he sleeps in peace. Weill drink to his memory.” ‘We emptied our glasses, when she con- tinued :— ‘My husband's regiment was not ordered to Africa until after the first disastrous at- tempt upon Constantine. It fell to our lot to assist in retrieving the honour of our army in the more successful expedition which took place, as you, of course, are aware, about three months ago. I willnot detain you with our embarkation or voyage. We landed from asteamer at Bona, and soon afterwards my husband’s company were ordered to escort a conyoy of provisions to the army which were collecting at Mzez Ammar. Well, we arrived safely at our various camps of Dréan, Nech Meya, and Amman Berda. We made a little détour to visit Ghelma. I had curiosity to see it, as formerly it was an important city. I must say, that a more tenable position I never beheld. But I tire you with these details.” ‘“On the contrary, I am delighted.” ‘* You are very good. I ought to have said something about the travelling in these wild countries, which is anything but pleasant. The soil is a species of clay, hard as a flint when the weather is dry, but running intoa slippery paste as soon as moistened. — It is, therefore, very fatiguing, especially in wet weather, when the soldiers slip about, ina very laughable.manner to look at, but very dis- tressing to themselves. I travelled either on horseback or in one of the waggons, as it hap- pened. I was too well known, and, I hope I may add, too well liked, not to be as well provided for as possible. Itis remarkable how soon a Frenchman will make himself comfort- able, wherever he may.chance to be. The camp of Mzez Ammar was as busy and as lively as if it was pitched in the heart of France. The followers had built up little cabins out of the branches of trees, with their leaves on, interwoven together, all in straight lines, forming streets, very commodious, and perfectly impervious to the withering sun. There were restaurants, cafés, débis de vin et @'cau-de-vie, sausage-sellers, butchers, grocers —in fact, there was every trade almost, and everything you required; not very cheap, certainly, but you must recollect, that this little town had sprung up, as if by magic, in the heart of the desert.” ‘*«Tt was in the month of September that Damremont ordered a recoznoissance in the direction of Constantine, and a battalion of my husband's regiment, the 47th, was ordered to form a part of it. Ihave said nothing about my husband. He wasa good little man, anda brave officer, full of honour, but very obsti- hate. Henever would take advice, and it was nothing but ‘ Lais-tot, Coralie, all day long —but no one is perfect, He wished me to re- main in the camp, but I made it a rule never to be left behind. We set off, and I rode in one of the little carriages called dacolets which had been provided for the wounded. It was terrible travelling, I was jolted to atoms, in the ascent of the steep mountain called the Rass-el-akba; but we gained the summit Without a shot being fired. When we arrived there, and looked down beneath us, the sight was very picturesque. There were about four or five thousand of the Arab cavalry awaiting our descent; their white bournous,as they term the long dresses in which they enfold them- selves, waving in the wind as they galloped at speed in every direction ;. while the glitter of their steel arms flashed like lightning upon your eyes. We closed our ranks and de- scended ; the Arabs, in parties of forty or fifty, charging upon our flanks every minute, not coming to close conflict, but stopping at pistol-shot distance, discharging their guns, and then wheeling off again to a distance— mere child’s play, sir; nevertheless, there were some of our men wounded, and the little waggon, upon which I was tiding, was ordered up in the advance to take them in. Unfortunately, to keep clear of the troops, the driver kept too much on one side of the narrow defile through which we passed ; the consequence was, that the waggon upset, and I was thrown out a considerable distance down the precipice ; ‘** And broke your nose,” interrupted I. ***No, indeed, sir, I did not. I escaped with only a few contusions about the region of the hip, which certainly lamed me for some time, and made the jolting more disagreeable than ever. Well, the veconnotssance suc- ceeded. Damremont was, however, wrong altogether. I told him so when I met him ; but he was an obstinate 6ld fool, and his answer was not as polite as it might have been, considering that at that time I was a very pretty woman. We returned to thecamp at Mzez Ammar; a few days afterwards we were attacked by the Arabs, who showed great spirit and determination in their desul- tory mode of warfare, which, however, can make no impression on such troops as the French. ‘The attack was continued for three days, when they had decamped as suddenly as they had Come. But this cannot be very interesting to you, monsieur.”’ ‘**On the contrary, do not, I beg, leave out a single remark or incident.” ‘**You are very good. I presume you know how we mletacres like to fight our battles over again, Well, sir, we remained A RENCONTRE. 159 in camp until the arrival of the Duc de Nemours—a handsome, fair lad, who smiled upon me very graciously. On the ast of October we set off on our expedition to’ Con- Stantine ; that is to say, the advanced guard did, of which my husband's company formed a portion. The weather, which had been very fine, now changed, and it rained hard all the day. The whole road was one mass of mud, and there was no end to delays and accidents. However, the weather became fine again, and on the sth we arrived within two leagues of Constantine, when the Arabs attacked us, and I was very nearly taker prisoner. ” ‘ “* Indeed !” ““‘Yes ; my husband, who, as I before ob- served to you, was very obstinate, would have me_ride on a cassion in the rear; whereas I wished to be in the advance, where my advice might have been useful. The charge of the Arabs was very sudden ; the three men who were with the cassion were sabred, and I was in the arms of a chieftain, who was wheeling round his horse to make off with me when a ball took him in the neck, and he fell with me. I disengaged myself, seized the horse by the bridle, and prevented its escape ; and I also took possession of the Arab’s pistols and cimeter.” *** Indeed |” ‘My husband sold the horse the next day to one of our generals, who forgot to pay for it after my husband was killed. As for the cimeter and pistols, they were stolen from me that night: but what can you expect P—our army.is brave, but a little demoralized. The next day we arrived before Constantine, and we had to defile before the enemy's guns, At one portion of the road, men and horses were tumbled over by their fire; the cazsson that I was riding upon was upset by a ball, and thrown down the ravine, dragging the horses after it. I lay among the horses’ legs—they kicking furiously; it was a miracle that my life was preserved : as it was i ‘ “You broke your nose,’ interrupted I. “*"No, sir, indeed I did not. I only re- ceived a kick on the arm, which obliged me to carry it in a sling for some days. The weather became very bad; we had few tents, and they were not able to resist the storms of rain and vind. We wrapped ourselves up how we could, and sat in deep pools of water, and the Arabs attacked us before we could open the fire of our batteries ; we were in such a pickle that, had the bad weather lasted, we must have retreated ; and happy would those have bsen who could have once more found them. selves safe in the camp of Mzez Ammar. I don't think that I ever suffered so much as I did at that time—the weather had even over- a ISi 140 | 4A RENCONTRE. come the natural gallantry of our nation; and so far from receiving any attention, the general remark to me was, ‘ Whai the devil do you do here? ‘This to be said to a pretty woman ! ‘«Tt was not till the roth that we could manage to open the fire of our batteries. It was mud, mud, and mud again; the men and horses were covered with mud up to their necks—the feathers of the staff were covered -with mud—every ball which was fired by the enemy sent up showers of mud} even the face of the Duc de Nemours was disfigured with it. I must say that our batteries were well situated, all except the great mortar battery. This I pointed out to Damremont when he passed me, and he was very savage. Great men~ don't like to be told of their faults ; however, he lost his life three days afterwards from not taking my advice. He was going down the hill with Rhullieres when I said to him, ‘Mon Général, you expose yourself too much ; that which is duty in a subaltern is a fault in a general.’ He very politely told me to go to where he may chance to be himself now ;. for a cannon-ball struck him a few seconds afterwards, and he was killed on the spot. General Perregaix was severely wounded almost at the same time. For four days the fighting was awful ; battery answered to battery night and day: while from every quarter of the compass we were exposed to the fierce attacks of the Arab cavalry. The commander of our army sent a flag of truce to their town, commanding them to surrender: and, what do you think was the reply >—‘ If you want powder, we'll supply you ; if you aré without bread, we will send it to you: but as long as there is one good Mus- sulman left alive, you do not enter the town.’ —Was not that grand? The very reply, when made known to the troops, filled them with admiration of their enemy, and they swore by their colours that if ever they over- powered them they would give them no quarter. ‘In. two days, General Vallée, to whom the command fell upon the death of Damre- mont, considered the breach sufficiently wide for the assault, and we every hour expected that the order would be given. It came at last. My poor husband was in the second column which mounted. Strange to say, he was very melancholy on that morning, and appeared to have a presentimeut of what was to take place. ‘ Coralie,’ said he to me, ashe was scraping the mud off his trowsers with his pocket-knife, ‘if I fall, you will do well. I leave you as a legacy to General Vallée—he will appreciate you. Do not forget to let him know my testamentary dispositions.’ ‘*T promised I would not. The drums beat. He kissed me on both cheeks. ‘Go, my Philippe,’ said I; ‘gotoglory.’ He did; for a mine was sprung, and he with many others was blown to atoms. I had watched the advance of the column, and was able to distinguish the form of my dear Philippe when the explosion with the vast column of smoke took place. When it cleared away, I could see the wounded in every direction hastening back; but my husband was not among them. In the meantime the other columns entered the breach—the firing was awful, and the carnage dreadful. It was more than an hour after the assault commenced be- fore the French tricolor waved upon the min arets of Constantine. ‘«Tt was not until the next day that I could make up my mind to search for my husband’s body; but it was my duty. I climbed up the breach, strewed with the corpses of our brave soldiers, intermingled with those of the Arabs ; but I could not find my husband. At last a head which had been blown off attracted my attention. I examined it—it was my Philippe’s, blackened and burnt, and terribly dishgured : but who can disguise the fragment of a husband from the keen eyes of the wife of his bosom? I leaned over it. ‘My poor Philippe!’ exclaimed I: and the tears were bedewing my cheeks when I per- ceived the Duc de Nemours close to me, with all his staff attending him. ‘What have we here ?’ said he, with surprise, to those about him. ‘A wife, looking for her husband's body, mon prince,’ replied I. ‘I cannot find it; but hereis his head.’ He said something very complimentary and kind, and then walked on. I continued my search without success, and determined to take up my quar- ters in the town. As I clambered along, I gained a battered wall; and, putting my foot on it, it gave way with me, and I fell down several feet. Stunned with the blow, I remained for some time insensible; when I came to, I found 7 * «That you had broken your nose.” ‘** No, indeed ; I had sprained my ancle and hurt the cap of my knee, but my nose was quite perfect. You must have a little patience yet. ‘“ What fragments of my husband were found, were buried in a large grave, which held the bodies and the mutilated portions of the killed: and having obtained possession of an apartment in Constantine, I remained there several days, lamenting his fate. At last, it occurred to me that his testamentary dispositions should be attended to, and I wrote to General Vallée, informing him of the last wishes of my husband. His reply was very short; it was, that he was excessively flattered, but press of business would not per-mit him to administer to the will. It was not polite. ***QOn the 26th I quitted Constantine with a convoy of wounded men. ‘The dysentery and the cholera made fearful ravages, and I very soon had a cazsson all to myself. The rain again came on in torrents, and it was a dreadful funeral procession. Every minute wretches, jolted to death, were thrown down into pits by the road-side, and the cries of those who survived were dreadful. Many died of cold and hunger : and after three days we arrived at the camp of Mzez Ammar, with the loss of more than one-half of our sufferers. ‘«* T took possession of one of the huts built of the boughs of the trees which I formerly described, and had leisure to think over my future plans and prospects. I was young and pretty, and hope did not desert me. I had recovered my baggage, which I had left at the camp, and was now able to attend to my toilet. The young officers who were in the camp paid me great attention, and were con- stantly passing and re-passing to have a peep at the handsome widow, as they were pleased to call me: and now comes the history of my misfortune. «** The cabin built of boughs which I occu- pied was double ; one portion was fenced off from the other with a wattling of branches, which ran up about seven feet, but not so high as the roof. In one apartment I was located, the other was occupied by a young officer who paid me attention, but who was not to my liking. I had been walking out in the cool of the evening, and had re- turned, when I heard voices in the other apartment ; I entered softly and they did not perceive my approach; they were talking about me, and I must say that the expressions were very complimentary. At last one of the party observed, ‘Well, she is a splendid woman, and a good soldier's wife. I hope to be a general by-and-by, and she would not disgrace a marshal's baton. I think I shall propose to her before we leave the camp.’ A RENCONTRE. ‘ « Now, sir, I did not recognize the speaker by his voice, and, flattered by the remark, I was anxious to know who it could be who was prepossessed in my favour. I thought that if I could climb up on the back of the only chair which was in my apartment, I should be able to see over the partition and satisfy my curi- osity. I did so, and without noise; and I was just putting my head over to take a survey of the tenants of the other apartment when the chair tilted, and down I came on the floor, and on my face. Unfortunately, I hit my nose upon the edge of the fryingpan, with which my poor Philippe and I used to cook our meat: and now, sir, you know how it was that I broke my nose.” ‘«* What a pity !” observed I. ‘«*Ves; a great pitx I had gone through the whole campaign without any serious acci- dent, and——~, But, after all it was very natural: the two besetting evils of women are Vanity and Curiosity, and if you were to as- certain the truth, you would find that it is upon these two stumbling-blocks that most women are upset and break their noses.” ‘« Very true, madam,” replied I. ‘‘I thank you for your narrative, and shall be most happy to be of any use toyou. But I will de- tain you from your rest no longer, so wish you a very good-night.”’ ’ ‘Well, colonel,’ said I, as he made a sudden stop, ‘ what occurred after that ?’ ‘I took great care of her until we arrived in London, saw her safe to the hotel in Leicester Square, and then took my leave. Whether Liston replaced her nose, and she is now flanée- ing about Paris, as beautiful as before her accident ; or, whether his skill was useless to her, and she is among the Seurs de Charité, or in aconvent, I cannot say: I have never seen or heard of her since.’ ‘Well, I know Liston, and I'll not forget to ask him about her the very first time that I meet him. Will you have another cigar ?’ ‘No, I thank you. I’ve finished my cigar, my bottle, and my story, and so now good night !’ THE END. 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CoopER, J. FENIMORE—continued, tee 1/ 1/6 Miles Wallingford; or, Lucy Hardinge oe ie a Sf 2/6 1/ 1/6 Ned Myers; or, Life before the Nast: si. cn sek oo = 1/ 1/6 Oak Openings; or, The Beehunter — — 1/ 1/6 Pathfinder; or, The Inland Sea = 2/ 2/6 1/ LO. et soe. Tale of the Sea B/2 18/6 1/ 1/6 Pioneers ; or, The Sources of the Susquehanna oy a2), 2/6 1/ 1/6 Prarie *.., se = ah 2/6 1/ 1/6 Precaution << is — — 1/ 1/6 Red Rover oF. xe e/a aio I 1/6 Satanstoe; or, The Littlepage / Manuscripts : a =— 1/ 1/6 Sea Lions ; or; The Lost ‘Sealers -— — 1/ 1/6 Spy: a Tale of the. Neutral / Ground . 6 ae ees 2/6 I 1/6 Two Admirals... =x = 1/ 1/6 Waterwitch ; or, The Skimmer of the Seas.. : 2/ 2/6 1/ 1/6 Wyandotte ; : or, “The Hutted Knoll oc. Ee 2/ 2/6 Cooper’s Novels. —The Set of 18 vols., green Heloth Le 55.5 boards, £1 16s. The SHILLING EDITION, 26 vols. in 13, cloth, £1 19s. Also 26 vols., cloth gilt, LI 198.3 paper covers, £1 65. See also page 20. ae | COOPER, Thomas— Hf, Roan, 1/ 1/6 The Family Feud fe Gola — fe COSTELLO, Dudley— _— — Faint Heart ne’er Won Fair Lady 2/ — — _— The Millionaire of Mincing Lane 2/ — CROLY, Rev. Dr.— —_—- — Salathiel ... a sas fo ey 2/6 CROWE, Catherine— — ee Lilly Dawson ... aS a | 2/6 — — Linny Lockwood... a cose cop 2/6 3 Se Night Side of Nature... eu cae, 2/ — — Susan Flopley > a ww 3e/ 2/6 The Set, 4 vols., cloth, Tos, eer a = — Ute b : al — gee = |+ ee RAILWAY CATALOGUE. | | Oo i .A AO OO ON bet eet het ~ Yery tay ~~ we bet ete el ‘Ce en, = | - An ove Capt iy - bat ett bt Pet et tet DADAADHRAADADAARAAH CROWOQUILL, Alfred— A Bundle of Crowquills ... CUMMINS, M. 8.— The Lamplighter... coe Mabel Vaughan ... CUPPLES, Captain— The Green pe ind . 1 The Two F rigates as * DE VIGNY, A.— Cing Mars iss ni DUMAS, Alexandre— Ascanio Beau Tancrede Black Tulip ibe Captain Paul Catherine Blum hesiienr de Maison Rouge Chicot the Jester Conspirators Countess de Ch rany Dr. Basilius Forty-five Guz ardsmen Half Brothers Ingenue sus Isabel of Bay ariat:.. Marguerite de Valois Memoirs of a Physician, vol: Do. do, vol. Monte Cristo re vol, Do. tes vol. Nanon ‘ Page of the ‘Duke of Sav oy Pauline Queen’s Necklace Regent’s Daughter if Russian Gipsy... Gi Taking the Bastile, vol. Do. vol. Three Musketeers “ae Twenty Years After re ar CR Be a , Ge ty Sa a a pss oo ig NRRL gs pasan Nitec coe | 8 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS’ | Cee he oe ; Boards Hf. Roan, ( Dumas, ALEXANDRE—continued. i 1/ 1/6 Twin Captains — — 1/ 1/6 Two Dianas iS os — a ao Vicomte de Bragelonne, vol. 1... 21a 3] SS Do. do. Vole 2 iss 276.5 33/ 1/ I 1/6 6 Watchmaker — — Dumas’ Novels, 18 vols., half 1 roan, La 135. EDGEWORTH, Maria— TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE: = The Absentee ... _— oo 1/ — Ennui — — if — Manceuvring _- = 1/ _— Vivian a: ae — — The Set, in cloth gilt, 4 vols., in a box, 8s. EDWARDS, Amelia B.— ~— a Half a Million of Money... see ees 2/6 ~ — Ladder of Life... ia eT 2/6 —_ — My Brother’s Wife z 2/ 2/6 The Set, 3 vols., half roan, 7s. 6a; FERRIER, Miss— = ~- Destiny... sea oe i. ah 2/6 i Inheritance as a way 2 aTO —_- — Marriage ... ay 2/6 The Set, 3 vols., half roan, 75. 6¢.; in boards, 65, FIELDING, Thomas— ee Amelia... es ee eo oe. 2/6 —_- — Joseph Andrews ... ove er eae By 1/ — Tom Jones a i ea ay. 2/6 Fielding’s Novels, 3 vols., half roan, 7s. 6¢.; boards, 6s, See also page 21. FITTIS, Robert S.— GilderoyRAILWAY CATALOGUE. 9 Paper* Limp CL Covers. Gill, The Man of Fortune... so RSTAECKER, Fred.— Each for Himself... aia The Feathered Arrow ... one Sailor’s Adventures a ‘The Haunted House : Pirates of the Mississippi ats Two Convicts ae ee sat Wife to Order The Set, 6 vols., half roan, ss, GRANT, James— Aide de Camp ... me aa Arthur Blane; or, The Hundred Cuirassiers Bothwell: the Days of Mary Queen of Scots... Captain of the Guard : the Times of James II. ‘ Cavaliers of Fortune ; + OF, “British Heroes in Foreign Wars Constable sf France Dick Reduey : Adventures of an Kton Boy First Love and Last Love : a. Tale of the Indian ea oes Frank Hilton ; The Queen’: S Own a The Girl he Married : Scenes in the Life of a Scotch Laird Harry Ogilvie; or, The, Black Dragoons = ane ce Jack Manly Jane Berane: 2 Ol, The King’ s Ad- vocate ... King’s Own Borderers ; or, 2sth Re; giment Lady Wedderburn’s Wish: “a Stony of the Crimean War .. Laura Everingham; or, The High- landers of Glen Ora .. ee oes of the Black Watch ; x On The 42nd Regiment ... es Picture Boards. Hf. Roan. FONBLANQUE, Albany, Jun.— 2/ i by NN bb to 2/6 2/6 2 /6 =z /6 2/ 6 2/6 2/6 Hf. Roan. 2/610 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS’ Paper Limp Cl. Picture Hi: lf Covers. Gilt. Boards, Roan. GRANT, JAMES—coztinued, — — Lucy Arden ; or, Hollywood Hall 2/ 2/6 = _— Letty Hyde's Lovers: a Tale of the Household Brigade sane 2/6 - — Mary of Lorraine. ee oy: 2/6 — _— Oliver Ellis: the Tw enty- -first Fusiliers ey e ae ey 2/6 — _— Only an Ensign ... stn ee) 2/6 — _— Phantom Regiment: Stories of ‘Onree.; re te ae eh 2/6 — — Philip Rollo; or, The Scottish Musketeers ae Cee 2/6 — — Rob Roy, Adventures of 2/ 2/6 — — Romance of War; or, The High- landers in Spain 2/ 2/6 _— — Scottish Cavalier : a Tale of the Revolution of 1688... Sh SOP ae -—- —_ Second to None; or, The Scots Geyer, a oe ey 2/6 — — Under the Red Dragon ‘27 2/6 ~~ — White Cockade; or, Faith and Fortitude ase ae ask 82] 2/6 — — Yellow Frigate 2/ 2/6 ames Grant’s Novels, 31 vols., bale roan; £2 175.°6d.3 Jo 3 wo 3 boards, L3 2 GLHIG, G. R.— — -— The Country Curate ---.:. ate). -- — The Hussar a he bre ad —- — Light Dragoon ... isi aaa ey, -— -~ The Only Daughter a8 2/ —- --- The Veterans of Chelsea Hospital 2/ — —_ Waltham ... : eee] The Set in 6 vols., nate roan, 15s. GOLDSMITH, Oliver— if — The Vicar of Wakefield .., oo GRIFFIN, Gerald— 1/ 1/6 Colleen Bawn .:, me we 1/ 1/6 Munster Festivals... <. oo 1/ 1/6 The Rivals be — Griffin’s Novels, 3 vols., cloth, 4s 6 @.3 paper, G2 Bes Hf. Roan. 2/6 2/6 2/6 2/6 2/6 2/6r' aa RAILWAY CATALOGUE. Paper ee Cl. Covers Gilt GORE, Mrs.— — Cecil ive Fe = Debutante .. — The Dowager — Heir of Selwood . “= Money Lender ape — Mothers and Daughters ... ao Pin Money ao Self o The Soldier of Lyo: ons The Set, 9 vols., halfsroan, £1 2s. be GREY, Mrs.— 6 The Duke... 6 The Little Wife 6 Old Country House 6 Young Prima Donna The Set, in 4 vols., 6s., cloth gilt. HALIBURTON, Judge— -—- The Attaché oe re — The Letter- Bag “of the Great Western. os — Sam Slick, t ‘the Cl lockmaker Picture Boards, Lif, Roan. NS Nb op a bd No NN YN bh 2/ 2/ 2/6 Haliburton’s Novels, 3 vols., half roan, 8s.; paper covers, or boards, 6s. 6d. HANNAY, James— Singleton Fontenoy ove en HARLAND, Marion— —_ Hidden Path eo oy vas HARTE, Bret— See page 23. HAWTHORNE, Nathanicl— 1/6 The House of the Seven Gables .. 1/6 Mosses from an Old Manse 1/6 The Scarlet Letter HEYSE, Paul (Translated by G, H. Kingsley)— _ Love Tales van Py eos SS12 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS? Paper Limp Cl. Picture Covers. Gilt. Boards. Hf. Roan. HOOD, Thomas— ae ee Tylney Hall io ove 2/ 2/6 HOOK, Theodore— —- — All in the Wrong... 2h BiG, om — Cousin Geoffry 2/ 2/6 — ~— Cousin William 2/ 2/6 _ _ Fathers and Sons... 2/ 2/6 — one Gervase Skinner .., 2/ 2/6 — — Gilbert Gurney 2/ 2/6 — -- Gurney Married ... 2/ 2/6 — —_ Jack Brag ... oe e 2/ 2/6 — — The Man of Many Friends 2/ 2/6 a — Maxwell a ee 2/ 2/6 — — Merton: +... _ 2} 2/6 — _ Parson’s Daughter 2/ 2/6 —-_ — Passion and Principle 2/ 2/6 oe oe Peregrine Bunce ... ce ten ee 2/6 -- —_ The Widow and the Marquess... 2 2/6 Hook’s Novels, 15 vols., half roan, £2 ; Sayings and Doings, 5 vols., half roan, 125, 6d, JAMES, G. P. R.— Agincourt ... Arabella Stuart or Black Eagle “fe ss The Brigand ‘ Castle of Ehrenstein The Convict Darnley Forgery... me a e The Gentleman of the Old School The Gipsy... Gowrie... Heidelberg Jacquerie ... ae Morley Ernstein ... Philip Augustus Richelieu ... The Robber Russell + ,.. The Smuggler Woodman ... The remainder of the Works of Mr. James will be Monthly Volumes at 25. each. Pleo et | Taree Pele] Pte dele kell alee le belode 2/ N Nw NH ND NN bd Ss gd id oes iy ed published in2 RAILWAY CATALOGUE, Paper Limp Cl HOOTON, Charles— Colin Clink KINGSLEY, Henry— Stretton KINGSTON, W.H. G.— Albatross The Pirate of the Mediterranean... LANG, John— Ex- Wife. .:. es Will He Marry Her? LEVER, Charles— Arthur O’Leary Con Cregan LE FANU, Sheridan— Torlogh O’Brien ... LONG, Lady Catherine— First Lieutenant ... Sir Roland Ashton LOVER, Samuel— Handy Andy Rory, O’More LYTTON, Right Hon. Lord— Alice: Sequel to Ernest . Mal- TLAVers— «3: on Caxtons Devereux ... Disowned ... 203 Emest Maltravers Eugene Aram Godolphin... Harold ie ao The Last of the Barons .. Leila a (a ee The Pilgrims of the Rhine Lueretia ’ .:; wa My Novel, vol. 1... Do; *=voe. 2... Night and Morning . Hf. Roan, bob ann Cloth. 2/6 2/6 Hf. Roan. 2/6 2/6 Cloth.a 14 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS” Paper Limp Cl. Picture Cloth Govers.. ~ Gut. Boards. Gilt. LYTTON, LoRD—continued. —~ _ Paul Clifford are ee 2/6 — — Pelham 2/ 2/6 -— a Pompeii, The Last t Days of 2/ 2/6 -- -— Rienzi 2/ 2/6 — —~ Strange Story 2/ 2/6 — — What will He Do with It? vol. 1 2/ 2/6 -—— — Do. do. vol. 2 2/ 2/6 —— _— Zanoni 2/ 2/6 Sets of Lord Lytton’s Novels, 22 oO : ah Be Both, L2 155.5 boards, £2 45. (Sce also page 19.) MAILLARD, Mrs,— / — Bdyen <= Res ao —- 1/ _ Compulsory Marriage ee ss — / — Zingra the Gipsy .. so ea. a MAXWELL, W. H.— Hf. Roan. = — The Bivouac aus ng aceeee 2/6 — — Brian O’Linn ; or; Luck... 2/ 2/6 — — Captain Blake 2/ 2/6 -- — Captain O’Sullivan 2/ 2/6 = ~~ Flood and Field . 2/ 2/6 — — Hector O’Halloran 2/ 2/6 —- _ Stories of the Peninsular War 2/ 2/6 1/ 1/6 Stories of Waterloo fe 2 By 2/6 — Wild Sports in the Highlands ee) 2/6 — — Wild Sports in the West eee 2/6 The Set, in ro vols., half roan, £1 55. MARK TWAIN— (See ‘‘ AMERICAN LIBRARY,” fage 23). MARRYAT , Captain— CL Gilt. The New Edition, with 6 Original Illustrations. (See page 19.) 1/ 1/6 Dog Fiend 2/ 2/6 1/ 1/6 Frank Mildmay 2/ 2/6 1/ 1/6 Jacob Faithful Bs af 2 -eIGs 4 1/ 1/6 Japhet in Search of a Father 2/ 2/6 : 1/ 1/6 King’s Own 2/ 2/6 1/ 1/6 Midshipman Easy 2/ 2/6 1/ 1/6 Monsieur Violet ... oe & 1/ 1/6 Newton Forster 2/ 2/6 ! | |RAILWAY CATALOGUE. | Paper Limp Cl. Covers, Gilt MARRYAT, CAPTAIN—continued, 1/ 1/6 Olla Podrida vid AS ee 1/ 1/6 Percival Keene ... se ye 1/ 1/6 Phantom Ship... “ abi 1/ 1/6 Poacher. =..: ee si r/ 1/6 Pacha of Many Tales 1/ 1/6 Peter Simple 5 1/ 1/6 Rattlin the Reefer 1/ 1/6 Valerie... Mage a, its The Set of Captain Marryat’s Novels, 16 vols. cloth, £1 5s.; 16 vols. cloth, AT 45. ;- paper, (steel plates), cloth, 41 12s. 6d. Picture Cloth Boards, Gilt. | | 2 iS) bb NYHNN DAANAGN NNN NN —SS bound in 8, 165.3 13 vols. | MARTINEAU, Harriet— art _- — The Hour and the Man... or ep 2 MAYHEW, Brothers— = The Greatest Plague of Life 2/ 2/6 ~ — Whom to Marry and How to Get Married ... fos A 2/ 2/6 These two Works have Steel Plates by George Cruikshank. MILLER, Thomas— — — Gideon Giles, the Roper... ae MORIER, Captain— — —_— Hajji Baba in Ispahan ... ase — —_ Zohrab the Hostage en wee NEALE, Capt. W. J.— — — Captain's Witer <, aa ave — — Cavendish ... er ‘ — — Flying Dutchman ivi a — = Gentleman Jack .., — — The Lost Ship... ~- = Pert Admiral 1/ --- Pride of the Mess NORTON, The Hon. Kirs.— | — — Stuart of Dunleath a | OLD SAILOR— ; — — Land and Sea Tales = —- a Top-Sail Sheet-Blocks -- — Tough Yarns = te fee 8 Phew are LOCR sec bee re LE OOD —oeseEnen cer A TLD a = 2/ — 2/ ~ 2/ — 2/ — 2/ — 2/ — 2/ — N NHN SsYee 15 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS’ Paper Limp Cl. Covers. 1/ Gilt. POOLE, John— Phineas Quiddy ... vee PORTER, Jane— The Pastor’s Fireside ... The Scottish Chiefs Thaddeus of Warsaw 3 vols., half roan, 7s. 6d. RICHARDSON, Samuel— Clarissa Harlowe ... Pamela a Sir Charles Grandison The Set, 3 vols., 10s. 6d., cloth, ROSS, Charles H.— A Week with Mossoo SAUNDERS, Captain Patten— Black and Gold: A Tale of Cir- cassia SCOTT, Lady— Marriage in High Life Henpecked Husband The Pride of Life... Trevelyan ... SKETCHLEY, Arthur— Mrs. Brown on the Shah’s Visit Mrs. Brown on the Liquor Law Mrs. Brown on the Alabama Case Mrs. Brown on the Tichborne Case Mrs. Brown on the Tichborne Defence ... Mrs. Brown’s ’Oliday Houtings.. Mrs. Brown at the Play ... Mrs. Brown on the Gtand Tour.. Mrs. Brown in the Highlands Mrs. Brown in London . Mrs. Brown in Paris Mrs. Brown at the Sea-side Mrs. Brown in America ... The Brown Papers, st Series ... The Brown Papers, 2nd Series ... Picture Boards. 2/ 2/ Hf. Roan. | Cloth. 7) { J/ Hf.Roan. 2 /6RAILWAY CATALOGUE. 17 Paper Limp Cl. Picture Covers, Gilt. : Boards. Cloth, SKETCHLEY, ARTHUR—continued. —_-_ — Miss Tompkins’ Intended pos Efe ee — -- Out for a Holiday a. oie. Af es — — Mrs. Brown on Woman’s Rights _1/ — Mrs. Brown on the Battle of Dorking, paper covers, 6d. SMEDLEY, Frank B.— a The Colville Family _.., ent} 3/ -- Frank Fairleigh ... ees saa 2/0. - 3/6 — — Harry Coverdale ... es mes 2 (Or 310 — Lewis Arundel ... < as) SF 4/ The Set, in 4 vols., 14s, SMITH, Albert— Hf. Roan, — — Christopher Tadpole _.., eh 2/6 — — Marchioness of Brinvilliers ne 2/6 aos ae Mr. Ledbury’s Adventures eee 2 2/6 — — The Pottleton Legacy ... ee 2/6 — — The Scattergood Family... toe 2/6 The Set of Albert Smith’s Novels, in 5 vols., half roan, 125. 6d.; 5 vols., boards, Ios. SMOLLETT, Tobias— Humphrey Clinker no ae aL Peregrine Pickle ... aie tance Roderick Random i 2/ The Set of 3 vols., half roan, 7s. 6d, STERNE, Laurence— Tristram Shandy, and PGs Sentimental Journey... j STRETTON, Hesba— The Clives of Burcot ... to Lie SUE, Eugene— The Mysteries of Paris The Wandering Jew THOMAS, Annie— NN ke False Colours ee - és eee Sir Victor’s Choice os ase VIDOCOQ— The French Police Spy 2/6 2/6 2/6 2/6 2/6 2/6Pace i ae GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS’ 18 Paper Limp Cl Covers. Gilt. a 1/6 —_— WETHERELL, Elizabeth— Picture Boards. Cloth, Ellen Montgomery’s Book Case Melbourne House ait My Brother’s Keeper ... The Old Helmet ... sos Queechy The Two Schoolgirls, and cther ales <<. The Wide, Wide Wo rld.. ‘¢ Whitefriars,’ Author of— Cesar Borgia ~... ins Gold Worshippers as Madeline Graham ve Maid of Orleans ... Pye Owen Tudor sa ae Westminster Abbey ide Whitefriars ate Whitehall .. The Set of 8 wale , half bot ese 205. TROLLOPE, Mrs.— The Barnabys in America One Fault ... Petticoat Government The Ward... es i Widow Barnaby ... Ss The Widow Married ... YATES, Edmund— Kissing the Rod ... Running the Gauntlet Anonymous— Bashful Irishman... ke Dr. Goethe’s Courtship Guy Livingstone... Lewell Pastures Manceuvring Mother The Old Commodore Outward Bound ... oa Violet the Danseuse ss Who is to Have It? ves The Young Curate ie a) 2/6 2/ 2/6 2} 2/6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 Hf. Roan. No & Loe) RR ag te eg ay es ss Oo NN 2/ 2/6 2/ 2| 6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 2/ 2/6 No NN tS So | 2 a5 2/ 2/6 o/ gee | yy, 2/ aea RAILWAY CATALOGUE. 19 LORD LYTTON’S NOVELS, Uniformly printed in crown 8vo, with gilt backs, Price 45. each Volume. Night and Morning. | My Novel. 2 vols.) What will He Do with Harold, Lucretia, It? 2 vols. The Caxtons., Price 3s. 6d. each Volume. Last Days of Pompeii. | Eugene Aram. A Strange Story. Ernest Maltravers, Alice. Rienzi. Devereux. The Disowned. Pelham, Paul Clifford, Zanoni. ALSO, The Last of the Barons, 5/. Leila; or, The Siege of Gra. Godolphin, 3/. nada, 2/, The Pilgrims of the Rhine, 2/6. Sets of Lord Lytton’s Novels, 22 vols., crown 8vo, cloth gilt, £4 10s.; 11 vols., half roan, £4 3s. Messrs. GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS beg to announce that they have purchased the Copyright of all the Published and Unpublished Works of the late Lorp LyTrTon, and that they are issuing an entirely New Edition of them, in Monthly Volumes, price 3s. 6¢. each. This New Edition is printed from new type, crown 8vo size, and bound in green cloth, each volume averaging about 400 pages, and is entitled THE KNEBWORTH EDITION, And will contain all the Novels, Poems, Dramas, and Miscel- laneous Prose Writings of Lord Lytton, forming the Only Com- plete Edition ever issued of the works of this famous Author. Volumes tssued— Eugene Aram | Night and Morning | Pelham. With Por- To be followed by— trait of the Author, Ernest Maltravers. | Alice. | Last-Days of Pompeii. WORKS OF CAPTAIN MARRYAT. An entirely New Edition of the Works of Captain Marryat, in Monthly Volumes, crown $vo, bound in blue cloth, price 3s. 6d. each; printed from entirely new type, with Six original Illustrations by the best Artists. Volumes issued— Peter Simple. Frank Mildmay. The Dog Fiend. The King’s Own. Midshipman Easy. | Rattlin the Reefer. Jacob Faithful. i eR RES FeES _ 20 GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS? ROUTLEDGE’S OIXPENNY WORLD-WIDE LIBRARY, (Postage 1d.) et eee J. FENIMORE COOPER. | Afloat and Ashore. | Mark’s Reef. Prairie. | Borderers, Mercedes. Precaution. Bravo. Miles Wallingford. | Red Rover, Deerslayer. Mohicans (Last of | Satanstoe. Eve Effingham, the). Sea Lions, Headsman. Ned Myers. Spy. Heidenmauer. Oak Openings, Two Admirals, \ Homeward Bound. | Pathfinder. Waterwitch, | Jack Tier. Pilot. Wyandotte, | Lionel Lincoln, | Pioneers. for Second Titles see page 5. 6. oe ee The Set of the above 28 Volumes, paper covers... O14 ‘oO The 28 Volumes bound in 7, cloth, gilt edges “ss. ITk- © 0. do. cloth : 017-6 The Volumes are sold separately, 3 2s. 6d. cloth. Contents of the Volumes :— - Spy—Pilot—Homeward Bound—Eve Effingham. : Pioneers—Mohicans—Prairie—Path finder, I 2 3. Red Rover— Two Admirals — Miles Wallingford— Afloat and Ashore. x» 4. Borderers—Wyandotte—Mark’s Reef— 5 6 Z s. each, gilt edges, or Vol. 99 99 Satanstoe. - Lionel Lincoln — Oak Openings— Ned Myers — Pre- caution: . Deerslayer—Headsman—Waterw » Bravo—Sea Lions—Jack Tier—} 99 itch—Heidenmauer, Tercedes, ee SIR WALTER scortT. 6d. each. Abbot. Legend of Montrose, and Antiquary. The Black Dwarf. Bride of Lammermoor, Old Mortality. Fortunes of Nigel. Peveril of the Peak, Guy Mannering, Pirate, Heart of Midlothian, Quentin Durward, Ivanhoe. Rob Roy. Kenilworth. St. Ronan’s Well. Monastery. Waverley. steweer menALDERMAN LIBRARY The return of this book is due on the date indicated below DUE DUE pach pee Usually books are lent out there are exceptions and note carefully the date ent are charged for over-du five cents a day; for res. special rates and regulatio,. | | presented at the desk if rene