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Title: Tales & Novels, Vol. 2

Author: Maria Edgeworth

Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8720]
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[This file was first posted on August 4, 2003]

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TALES & NOVELS, VOL. 2 ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Widger,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team




TALES AND NOVELS

MARIA EDGEWORTH.


VOL. II. POPULAR TALES.

1857.



PREFACE.


Some author says, that a good book needs no apology; and, as a preface
is usually an apology, a book enters into the world with a better grace
without one. I, however, appeal to those readers who are not gluttons,
but epicures, in literature, whether they do not wish to see the bill of
fare? I appeal to monthly critics, whether a preface that gives a view
of the pretensions of the writer is not a good thing? The author may
overvalue his subject, and very naturally may overrate the manner in
which it is treated; but still he will explain his views, and facilitate
the useful and necessary art which the French call _reading with the
thumb_. We call this _hunting a book_, a term certainly invented by a
sportsman. I leave the reader to choose which he pleases, whilst I lay
before him the contents and design of these volumes.

Burke supposes that there are eighty thousand readers in Great Britain,
nearly one hundredth part of its inhabitants! Out of these we may
calculate that ten thousand are nobility, clergy, or gentlemen of the
learned professions. Of seventy thousand readers which remain, there
are many who might be amused and instructed by books which were not
professedly adapted to the classes that have been enumerated. With this
view the following volumes[1] have been composed. The title of POPULAR
TALES has been chosen, not as a presumptuous and premature claim to
popularity, but from the wish that they may be current beyond circles
which are sometimes exclusively considered as polite.

The art of printing has opened to all classes of people various new
channels of entertainment and information.--Amongst the ancients, wisdom
required austere manners and a length of beard to command attention; but
in our days, instruction, in the dress of innocent amusement, is
not denied admittance amongst the wise and good of all ranks. It is
therefore hoped that a succession of stories, adapted to different ages,
sexes, and situations in life, will not be rejected by the public,
unless they offend against morality, tire by their sameness, or disgust
by their imitation of other writers.

RICHARD LOVELL EDGEWORTH.

[Footnote 1: This Work was originally published in three volumes.]
CONTENTS

  LAME JERVAS                       1
  THE WILL                          55
  THE LIMERICK GLOVES               101
  OUT OF DEBT OUT OF DANGER         129
  THE LOTTERY                       161
  ROSANNA                           195
  MURAD THE UNLUCKY                 245
  THE MANUFACTURERS                 281
  THE CONTRAST                      317
  THE GRATEFUL NEGRO                399
  TO-MORROW                         421




LAME JERVAS

CHAPTER I.


Some years ago, a lad of the name of William Jervas, or, as he was
called from his lameness, Lame Jervas, whose business it was to tend the
horses in one of the Cornwall tin-mines, was missing. He was left one
night in a little hut, at one end of the mine, where he always slept;
but in the morning, he could no where be found; and this his sudden
disappearance gave rise to a number of strange and ridiculous stories
among the miners. The most rational, however, concluded that the lad,
tired of his situation, had made his escape during the night. It was
certainly rather surprising that he could no where be traced; but after
the neighbours had wondered and talked for some time about it, the
circumstance was by degrees forgotten. The name of William Jervas was
scarcely remembered by any, except two or three of the oldest miners,
when, twenty years afterward, there came a party of gentlemen and ladies
to see the mines! and, as the guide was showing the curiosities of the
place, one among the company, a gentleman of about six-and-thirty years
of age, pointed to some letters that were carved on the rock, and asked,
"Whose name was written there?" "Only the name of one William Jervas,"
answered the guide; "a poor lad, who ran away from the mines a great
long while ago." "Are you sure that he ran away?" said the gentleman.
"Yes," answered the guide, "sure and certain I am of that." "Not at all
sure and certain of any such thing," cried one of the oldest of the
miners, who interrupted the guide, and then related all that he knew,
all that he had heard, and all that he imagined and believed concerning
the sudden disappearance of Jervas; concluding by positively assuring
the stranger that the ghost of the said Jervas was often seen to walk,
slowly, in the long west gallery of the mine, with a blue taper in his
hand.--"I will take my Bible oath," added the man, "that about a month
after he was missing, I saw the ghost just as the clock struck twelve,
walking slowly, with the light in one hand, and a chain dragging after
him in t'other; and he was coming straight towards me, and I ran away
into the stables to the horses; and from that time forth I've taken
special good care never to go late in the evening to that there gallery,
or near it: for I never was so frightened, above or under ground, in all
my born days."

The stranger, upon hearing this story, burst into a loud fit of
laughter; and, on recovering himself, he desired the ghost-seer to look
stedfastly in his face, and to tell whether he bore any resemblance to
the ghost that walked with the blue taper in the west gallery. The miner
stared for some minutes, and answered, "No; he that walks in the gallery
is clear another guess sort of a person; in a white jacket, a leather
apron, and ragged cap, like what Jervas used to wear in his lifetime;
and, moreover, he limps in his gait, as Lame Jervas always did, I
remember well." The gentleman walked on, and the miners observed, what
had before escaped their notice, that he limped a little; and, when
he came again to the light, the guide, after considering him very
attentively, said, "If I was not afraid of affronting the like of a
gentleman such as your honour, I should make bold for to say that you be
very much--only a deal darker complexioned--you be very much of the same
sort of person as our Lame Jervas used for to be." "Not at all like our
Lame Jervas," cried the old miner, who professed to have seen the ghost;
"no more like to him than _Black Jack to Blue John._" The by-standers
laughed at this comparison; and the guide, provoked at being laughed at,
sturdily maintained that not a man that wore a head in Cornwall should
laugh him out of his senses. Each party now growing violent in support
of his opinion, from words they were just coming to blows, when the
stranger at once put an end to the dispute, by declaring that he was the
very man. "Jervas!" exclaimed they all at once, "Jervas alive!--our
Lame Jervas turned gentleman!"

The miners could scarcely believe their eyes, or their ears, especially
when, upon following him out of the mine, they saw him get into a
handsome coach, and drive toward the mansion of one of the principal
gentlemen of the neighbourhood, who was a proprietor of the mine.

The next day, all the head miners were invited to dine in tents, pitched
in a field near this gentleman's house. It was fine weather, and harvest
time; the guests assembled, and in the tents found abundance of good
cheer provided for them.

After dinner, Mr. R----, the master of the house, appeared, accompanied
by Lame Jervas, dressed in his miner's old jacket and cap. Even the
ghost-seer acknowledged that he now looked wonderful like himself. Mr.
R----, the master of the house, filled a glass, and drank--"Welcome home
to our friend, Mr. Jervas; and may good faith always meet with good
fortune." The toast went round, each drank, and repeated, "Welcome home
to our friend Mr. Jervas; and may good faith always meet good fortune."
Indeed, what was meant by the good faith, or the good fortune, none
could guess; and many in whispers, and some aloud, made bold to ask for
an explanation of the toast.

Mr. Jervas, on whom all eyes were fixed, after thanking the company for
their _welcome home_, took his seat at the table; and in compliance with
Mr. R----'s request, and the wishes of all present, related to them his
story nearly in the following manner:

"Where I was born, or who were my parents, I do not well know myself;
nor can I recollect who was my nurse, or whether I was ever nursed at
all: but, luckily, these circumstances are not of much importance to the
world. The first thing which I can distinctly remember is the being set,
along with a number of children of my own age, to pick and wash loose
ore of tin mixed with the earth, which in those days we used to call
_shoad_, or _squad_--I don't know what you call it now."

"We call it _squad_ to this day, master," interrupted one of the miners.

"I might be at this time, I suppose," continued the gentleman, "about
five or six years old; and from that time till I was thirteen I worked
in the mine where we were yesterday. From the bottom of my heart I
rejoice that the times are bettered for youngsters since then; for I
know I had a hard life of it.

"My good master, here, never knew any thing of the matter but I was
cruelly used by those under him. First, the oldwoman--Betty Morgan, I
think, was her name--who set us our tasks of picking and washing the
_squad_, was as cross as the rheumatism could make her. She never picked
an ounce herself, but made us do her heap for her among us; and I being
the youngest, it was shoved down to me. Often and often my day's wages
were kept back, not having done this woman's task; and I did not dare
to tell my master the truth, lest she should beat me. But, God rest
her soul! she was an angel of light in comparison with the _trap-door
keeper_, who was my next tyrant.

"It was our business to open and shut certain doors, that were placed
in the mine for letting in air to the different galleries: but my young
tyrant left them every one to me to take care of; and I was made to run
to and fro, till I had scarcely breath in my body, while every miner in
turn was swearing at me for the idlest little fellow upon the surface of
the earth; though the surface of the earth, alas! was a place on which I
had never yet, to my knowledge, set my foot.

"In my own defence, I made all the excuses I could think of; and, from
excuses, I went on to all kinds of deceit: for tyranny and injustice
always produce cunning and falsehood.

"One day, having shut all the doors on my side of the mine, I left three
open on my companion's side. The men, I thought, would not go to work on
that side of the mine for a day or two: but in this I was mistaken; and
about noon I was alarmed by the report of a man having been killed in
one of the galleries for want of fresh air.

"The door-keepers were summoned before the overseer; or, as you call
him, the viewer. I was the youngest, and the blame was all laid upon
me. The man, who had only swooned, recovered; but I was thrashed and
thrashed for the neglect of another person, till the viewer was tired.

"A weary life I led afterwards with my friend the door-keeper, who was
enraged against me for having told the truth.

"In process of time, as I grew stronger and bigger, I was set to other
work. First, I was employed at the barrow; and then a pick-axe and a
_gad_[Footnote: A gad is a tool used in mines; it resembles a smith's
punch.] were put into my hands; and I thought myself a great man.--It
was my fate to fall among the idlest set in the mine. I observed that
those men who worked by task, and who had the _luck_ to hit upon easy
beds of the rock, were not obliged to work more than three or four hours
a day: they got high wages with little labour; and they spent their
money jollily above-ground in the ale-houses, as I heard. I did not know
that these jolly fellows often left their wives and families starving
while they were getting drunk.

"I longed for the time when I should be a man, and do as I saw others
do. I longed for the days when I should be able to drink and be idle;
and, in the mean time, I set all my wits to work to baffle and overreach
the viewer.

"I was now about fourteen, and, had I grown up with these notions and
habits, I must have spent my life in wretchedness, and I should probably
have ended my days in a workhouse; but fortunately for me, an accident
happened, which made as great a change in my mind as in my body.

"One of my companions bribed me, with a strong dram, to go down into
a hole in the mine to search for his _gad_; which he, being half
intoxicated, had dropped. My head could not stand the strength of the
dram which he made me swallow to give me courage: and being quite
insensible to the danger, I took a leap down a precipice which I should
have shuddered to look at, if I had not lost my recollection.

"I soon came to my senses, for I broke my leg; and it is wonderful I did
not break my neck by my fall. I was drawn up by cords, and was carried
to a hut in the mine, near the stables, where I lay in great pain.

"My master was in the mine at the time the accident happened; and,
hearing where I was, he had the goodness to come directly to me himself,
to let me know that he had sent for a surgeon.

"The surgeon, who lived in the neighbourhood, was not at home; but there
was then upon a visit at my master's a Mr. Y----, an old gentleman who
had been a surgeon; and, though he had for many years left off practice,
he no sooner heard of the accident that had happened to me than he had
the goodness to come down into the mine, to set my leg.

"After the operation was over, my master returned to tell me that I
should want for nothing. Never shall I forget the humanity with which
he treated me. I do not remember that I had ever heard him speak to
me before this time; but now his voice and manner were so full of
compassion and kindness, that I looked up to him as to a new sort of
being.

"His goodness wakened and warmed me to a sense of gratitude--the first
virtuous emotion I was conscious of having ever felt.

"I was attended with the greatest care, during my illness, by the
benevolent surgeon, Mr. Y----. The circumstance of my having been
intoxicated, when I took the leap, had been concealed by the man who
gave me the dram; who declared that I had fallen by accident, as I was
looking down the hole for a _gad_ that I had dropped. I did not join
in this falsehood: for, the moment my master spoke to me with so much
goodness about my mishap, my heart opened to him, and I told him just
how the thing happened.

"Mr. Y---- also heard the truth from me, and I had no reason to repent
having told it, for this gave him, as he said, hopes that I might turn
out well, and was the cause of his taking some pains to instruct me. He
observed to me, that it was a pity a lad like me should so early in
my days take to dram-drinking; and he explained the consequences of
intemperance, of which I had never before heard or thought.

"While I was confined to my bed, I had leisure for many reflections. The
drunken and brutal among the miners, with whom I formerly associated,
never came near me in my illness; but the better sort used to come and
see me often, and I began to take a liking to their ways, and to wish to
imitate them.

"As they stood talking over their own affairs in my hut, I learned how
they laid out their time and their money; and I now began to desire to
have, as they had, a little garden, and property of my own, for which I
knew I must work hard. So I rose from my bed with very different views
from those which I had when I was laid down upon it; and from this time
forward I kept company with the sober and industrious as much as I
could. I saw things with different eyes: formerly I used, like my
companions, to be ready enough to take any advantage that lay in my way
of my employer; but my gratitude to him who had befriended me in my
helpless state wrought such a change in me, that I now took part with
my master on all occasions, and could not bear to see him wronged--so
gratitude first made me honest.

"My master would not let the viewer turn me out of the work, as
he wanted to do, because I was lame and weak, and not able to do
much.--'Let him have the care of my horses in the stable,' said my
master: 'he can do something. I don't want to make money of poor _Lame
Jervas_. So, as long as he is willing to work, he shall not be turned
out to starve.'--These were his very words; and when I heard them I said
in my heart, 'God bless him!' And, from that time forth, I could, as I
thought, have fought with the stoutest man in the mine that said a word
to his disparagement.

"Perhaps my feeling of attachment to him was the stronger, because he
was, I may say, the first person then in the world who had ever shown me
any tenderness, and the only one from whom I felt sure of meeting with
justice.

"About this time, as I was busied in the stable, unperceived by them, I
saw through a window a party of the miners, amongst whom were several of
my old associates, at work opposite to me. Suddenly, one of them gave
a shout--then all was hushed--they threw down their tools, huddled
together, and I judged by the keenness of their looks that they knew
they had made some valuable discovery. I further observed, that, instead
of beginning to work the vein, they covered it up immediately with
rubbish, and defaced the _country_ with their pick-axes; so that, to
look at, no one could have suspected there was any _load_ to be found
near. I also saw them secrete a lump of spar, in which they had reason
to guess there were Cornish diamonds, as they call them, and they
carefully hid the bits of _kellus_[Footnote: 2 _Kellus_ is the miner's
name for a substance like a white soft stone, which lies above the floor
or spar, near to a vein.], which they had picked out, lest the viewer
should notice them and suspect the truth.

"From all this, the whispering that went on, and the pains they took to
chase or entice the overseer away from this spot, I conjectured they
meant to keep their discovery a secret, that they might turn it to their
own advantage.

"There was a passage out of the mine, known only to themselves, as they
thought, through which they intended to convey all the newly-found ore.
This passage, I should observe, led through an old gallery in the mine,
along the side of the mountain, immediately up to the surface of the
earth; so that you could by this way come in and out of the mine without
the assistance of the _gin_, by which people and ore are usually let
down or drawn up.

"I made myself sure of my facts by searching this passage, in which I
found plenty of their purloined treasure. I then went up to one of
the party, whose name was Clarke, and, drawing him aside, ventured to
expostulate with him. Clarke cursed me for a spy, and then knocked me
down, and returned to tell his associates what I had been saying, and
how he had served me. They one and all swore that they would be revenged
upon me, if I gave the least hint of what I had seen to our master.

"From this time they watched me, whenever he came down amongst us, lest
I should have an opportunity of speaking to him; and they never, on any
account, would suffer me to go out of the mine. Under pretence that the
horses must be looked after, and that no one tended them so well as I
did, they contrived to keep me prisoner night and day; hinting to me
pretty plainly, that if I ever again complained of being thus _shut up_,
I should not long be buried _alive_.

"Whether they would have gone the lengths they threatened I know not:
perhaps they threw out these hints only with a design to intimidate me,
and so to preserve their secret. I confess I was alarmed; but there
was something in the thought of showing my good master how much I was
attached to his interests, that continually prevailed over my fears; and
my spirits rose with the reflection that I, a poor insignificant lad; I,
that was often the scoff and laughing-stock of the miners; I, that went
by the name of _Lame Jervas_; I, who they thought could be bullied
to any thing by their threats, might do a nobler action than any man
amongst them would have the courage to do in my place. Then the kindness
of my master, and the words he said about me to the viewer, came into my
memory; and I was so worked up, that I resolved, let the consequence be
what it might, I would, living or dying, be faithful to my benefactor.

"I now waited anxiously for an opportunity to speak to him; and if I did
but hear the sound of his voice at a distance, my heart beat violently.
'You little know,' thought I, 'that there is one here whom perhaps you
quite forget, who is ready to hazard his life to do you a service.'

"One day, as he was coming near the place where I was at work, rubbing
down a horse, he took notice that I fixed my eyes very earnestly upon
him; and he came closer to me, saying, 'I am glad to see you better,
Jervas:--do you want any thing?' 'I want for nothing, thank you,
sir,--but,'--and as I said _but_, I looked round, to see who was near.
Instantly Clarke, one of the gang, who had his eyes upon us, called me,
and despatched me, on some errand, to a distant part of the mine. As I
was coming back, however, it was my good fortune to meet my master by
himself in one of the galleries. I told him my secret and my fears.
He answered me only with a nod, and these words, 'Thank you--trust to
me--make haste back to those that sent you.'

"I did so; but I fancy there was something unusual in my manner or
countenance which gave alarm; for, at the close of the day, I saw Clarke
and the gang whispering together; and I observed that they refrained
from going to their secret treasure the whole of the day. I was in great
fear that they suspected me, and that they would take immediate and
perhaps bloody revenge.

"These fears increased when I found myself left alone in my hut at
night; and, as I lay quite still, but broad awake in my bed, I listened
to every sound, and once or twice started up on hearing some noise near
me; but it was only the horses moving in the stable, which was close to
my hut. I lay down again, laughing at my own fears, and endeavoured to
compose myself to sleep, reflecting that I had never, in my life, more
reason to sleep with a safe conscience.

"I then turned round, and fell into a sweet sound sleep; but from this
I was suddenly roused by a noise at the door of my hut. 'It is only the
horses again,' thought I; but, opening my eyes, I saw a light under
the door. I rubbed my eyes, hoping I had been in a dream: the light
disappeared, and I thought it was my fancy. As I kept my eyes, however,
turned towards the door, I saw the light again through the key-hole, and
the latch was pulled up; the door was then softly pushed inwards, and I
saw on the wall the large shadow of a man with a pistol in his hand. My
heart sunk within me, and I gave myself up for lost. The man came in: he
was muffled up in a thick coat, his hat was slouched, and a lantern in
his hand. Which of the gang it was I did not know, but I took it for
granted that it was one of them come with intent to murder me. Terror at
this instant left me; and starting upright in my bed, I exclaimed--'I'm
ready to die! I die in a good cause! Give me five minutes to say my
prayers!' and I fell upon my knees. The man standing silent beside the
bed, with one hand upon me, as if afraid I should escape from him.

"When I had finished my short prayer, I looked up towards my murderer,
expecting the stroke: but, what was my surprise and joy, when, as he
held the lantern up to his face, I beheld--the countenance of my master,
smiling upon me with the most encouraging benevolence. 'Awake, Jervas,'
said he, 'and try if you can find out the difference between a friend
and an enemy. Put on your clothes as fast as you can, and show me the
way to this new vein.'

"No one ever was sooner dressed than I was. I led the way to the spot,
which was covered up with rubbish, so that I was some time clearing out
an opening, my master assisting me all the while: for, as he said, he
was impatient to get me out of the mine safe, as he did not think my
apprehensions wholly without foundation. The light of our lantern was
scarcely sufficient for our purpose; but, when we came to the vein, my
master saw enough to be certain that I was in the right. We covered up
the place as before, and he noted the situation, so that he could be
sure to find it again. Then I showed him the way to the secret passage;
but this passage he knew already, for by it he had descended into the
mine this night.

"As we passed along, I pointed out the heaps of ore which lay ready to
be carried off. 'It is enough, Jervas,' said he, clapping his hand upon
my shoulder; 'you have given me proof sufficient of your fidelity. Since
you were so ready to die in a good cause, and that cause mine, it is my
business to take care you shall live by it: so follow me out of this
place directly; and I will take good care of you, my honest lad.'

"I followed him with quick steps, and a joyful heart: he took me home
with him to his own house, where he said I might sleep for the rest of
the night secure from all fear of murderers: and so, showing me into
a small closet within his own bedchamber, he wished me a good night;
desiring me, if I waked early, not to open the window-shutters of my
room, nor go to the window, lest some of his people should see me.

"I lay down, for the first time in my life, upon a feather-bed; but,
whether it was from the unusual feeling of the soft bed, or from the
hurry of mind in which I had been kept, and the sudden change of my
circumstances, I could not sleep a wink all the remainder of the night.

"Before daybreak, my master came into my room, and bid me rise, put
on the clothes which he brought me, and follow him without making any
noise. I followed him out of the house before any body else was awake;
and he took me across the fields towards the high road. At this place
we waited till we heard the tinkling of the bells of a team of horses.
'Here comes the waggon,' said he, 'in which you are to go. I have taken
every possible precaution to prevent any of the miners or people in the
neighbourhood from tracing you; and you will be in safety at Exeter,
with my friend Mr. Y----; to whom I am going to send you. Take this,'
continued he, putting a letter directed to Mr. Y---- into my hand; 'and
here are five guineas for you. I shall desire Mr. Y---- to pay you an
annuity of ten guineas out of the profits of the new vein, provided it
turns out well, and you do not turn out ill. So fare you well, Jervas.
I shall hear how you go on; and I only hope you will serve your next
master, whoever he may be, as faithfully as you have served me.'

"'I shall never find so good a master,' was all I could say for the soul
of me; for I was quite overcome by his goodness and by sorrow at parting
with him, as I then thought, for ever."




CHAPTER II.


"The morning clouds began to clear away; I could see my master at some
distance, and I kept looking after him, as the waggon went on slowly,
and as he walked fast away over the fields; but, when I had lost sight
of him, my thoughts were forcibly turned to other things. I seemed to
awake to quite a new scene, and new feelings. Buried underground in a
mine, as I had been from my infancy, the face of nature was totally
unknown to me.

"'We shall have a brave fine day of it, I hope and trust,' said the
waggoner, pointing with his long whip to the rising sun.

"He went on whistling, whilst I, to whom the rising sun was a spectacle
wholly surprising, started up in astonishment! I know not what
exclamations I uttered, as I gazed upon it; but I remember the waggoner
burst out into a loud laugh. '_Lud a marcy_,' said he, holding his
sides, 'to hear _un_, and look at _un_, a body would think the oaf had
never seen the sun rise afore in all his born days!'

"Upon this hint, which was nearer the truth than he imagined,
recollecting that we were still in Cornwall, and not out of the reach of
my enemies, I drew myself back into the waggon, lest any of the miners,
passing the road to their morning's work, might chance to spy me out.

"It was well for me that I took this precaution; for we had not gone
much farther when we met a party of the miners; and, as I sat wedged up
in a corner behind a heap of parcels, I heard the voice of Clarke, who
asked the waggoner as he passed us, 'What o'clock it might be?' I kept
myself quite snug till he was out of sight; nay, long afterwards, I was
content to sit within the waggon, rather than venture out; and I
amused myself with listening to the bells of the team, which jingled
continually.

"On our second day's journey, however, I ventured out of my
hiding-place; I walked with the waggoner up and down the hills, enjoying
the fresh air, the singing of the birds, and the delightful smell of the
honey-suckles and the dog-roses in the hedges. All these wild flowers,
and even the weeds on the banks by the way-side, were to me matters
of wonder and admiration. At every step, almost, I paused to observe
something that was new to me; and I could not help feeling surprised
at the insensibility of my fellow-traveller, who plodded on, seldom
interrupting his whistling, except to cry, 'Gee, Blackbird, aw, woa;'
or, 'How now, Smiler;' and certain other words or sounds of menace
and encouragement, addressed to his horses in a language which seemed
intelligible to them and to him, though utterly incomprehensible to me.

"Once, as I was in admiration of a plant, whose stem was about two feet
high, and which had a round, shining, pale purple, beautiful flower, the
waggoner, with a look of extreme scorn, exclaimed, 'Help thee, lad, does
not thee know 'tis a common thistle? Didst thee not know that a thistle
would prick thee?' continued he, laughing at the face I made when I
touched the prickly leaves; 'why my horse Dobbin has more sense by half!
he is not like an ass hunting for thistles.'

"After this, the waggoner seemed to look upon me as very nearly an
idiot. Just as we were going into the town of Plymouth, he eyed me from
head to foot, and muttered, 'The lad's beside himself, sure enough.'
In truth, I believe I was a droll figure; for my hat was stuck full of
weeds, and of all sorts of wild flowers; and both my coat and waistcoat
pockets were stuffed out with pebbles and funguses.

"Such an effect, however, had the waggoner's contemptuous look upon me,
that I pulled the weeds out of my hat, and threw down all my treasure of
pebbles before we entered the town. Nay, so much was I overawed, and in
such dread was I of passing for an idiot, that when we came within view
of the sea, in the fine harbour of Plymouth, I did not utter a single
exclamation; although I was struck prodigiously at this, my first sight
of the ocean, as much almost as I had been at the spectacle of the
rising sun. I just ventured, however, to ask my companion some questions
about the vessels which I beheld sailing on the sea, and the shipping
with which the bay was filled. But he answered coldly, 'They be nothing
in life but the boats and ships, man: them that see them for the first
time are often struck all on a heap, as I've noticed, in passing by
here: but I've seen it all a many and a many times.' So he turned
away, went on chewing a straw, and seemed not a whit more moved with
admiration than he had been at the sight of my thistle.

"I conceived a high opinion of a man who had seen so much that he could
admire nothing; and he preserved and increased my respect for him by the
profound silence which he maintained, during the five succeeding days of
our journey: he seldom or never opened his lips except to inform me of
the names of the towns through which we passed. I have since
reflected that it was fortunate for me that I had such a supercilious
fellow-traveller on my first journey; for he made me at once thoroughly
sensible of my own ignorance, and extremely anxious to supply my
deficiencies, and to find one who would give some other answer to my
questions than a smile of contempt, or, '_I do na knaw, I say_.'

"We arrived at Exeter at last; and, with much ado, I found my way to Mr.
Y----'s house. It was evening when I got there; and the servant to whom
I gave the letter said he supposed Mr. Y---- would not see me that
night, as he liked to have his evenings to himself; but he took the
letter, and in a few minutes returned, desiring me to follow him up
stairs.

"I found the good old gentleman and some of his friends in his study,
with his grand-children about him; one little chap on his knee, another
climbing on the arm of his chair; and two bigger lads were busy looking
at a glass tube which he was showing them when I came in. It does not
become me to repeat the handsome things he said to me, upon reading over
my good master's letter; but he was very gracious to me, and told me
that he would look out for some place or employment that would suit me;
and in the mean time, that I should be welcome to stay in his house,
where I should meet with the good treatment (which he was pleased to
say) I deserved. Then, observing that I was overcome with bashfulness,
at being looked at by so many strangers, he kindly dismissed me.

"The next day he sent for me again to his study, when he was alone;
and asked me several questions, seeming pleased with the openness and
simplicity of my answers. He saw that I gazed with vast curiosity at
several objects in the room, which were new to me: and pointing to the
glass tube, which he had been showing the boys when I first came in, he
asked me if they had such things as that in our mines; and if I knew the
use of it? I told him I had seen something like it in our overseer's
hands; but that I had never known its use. It was a thermometer. Mr.
Y---- took great pains to show me how, and on what occasions, this
instrument might be useful.

"I saw I had now to do with a person who was somewhat different from my
friend the waggoner; and I cannot express the surprise and gratitude I
felt, when I found that he did not think me quite a fool. Instead of
looking at me with scorn, as one _very nearly an idiot_, he answered
my questions with condescension; and sometimes was so good as to add,
'That's a sensible question, my lad.'

"While we were looking at the thermometer, he found out that I could
not read the words _temperate, freezing point, boiling water heat, &c._
which were written upon the ivory scale, in small characters. He took
that occasion to point out to me the use and advantages of knowing how
to read and write; and he told me that, as I wished to learn, he would
desire the writing-master, who came to attend his young grandson, to
teach me.

"I shall not detain you with a journal of my progress through my
spelling-book and copy-books: it is enough to say that I applied with
diligence, and soon could write my name in rather more intelligible
characters than those in which the name of Jervas is cut on the rock
that we were looking at yesterday.

"My eagerness to read the books which he put into my hands, and the
attention which I paid to his lessons, pleased my writing-master so
much, that he took a pride, as he said, '_in bringing me forward as fast
as possible_.'

"And here, I must confess, he was rather imprudent in the warmth of his
commendations; my head could not stand them; as much as I was humbled
and mortified by the waggoner's calling me _an idiot_, so much was I
elated by my writing-master's calling me _a genius_. I wrote some very
bad lines in praise of a thistle, which I thought prodigiously fine,
because my writing-master looked surprised, when I showed them to
him; and because he told me that, having given a copy of them to some
gentlemen in Exeter, they agreed that the rhymes were _wonderful for
me_.

"I was at this period very nearly spoiled for life: but fortunately my
friend Mr. Y---- saw my danger, and cured me of my conceit, without
damping my ardour to acquire knowledge. He took me to the books in his
study, and showed me many volumes of fine poems; pointing out some
passages to me that greatly diminished my admiration of my own lines on
the thistle The vast distance which I perceived between myself and these
writers threw me into despair. Mr. Y---- seeing me thoroughly abashed,
observed that he was glad to find I saw the difference between bad and
good poetry; and pointed out to me, it was not likely, if I turned my
industry to writing verses, that I should ever either earn my bread, or
equal those who had enjoyed greater advantages of leisure and education.
'But, Jervas,' continued he, 'I commend you for your application and
quickness in learning to write and read, in so short a time: you will
find both these qualifications of great advantage to you. Now, I advise
you, turn your thoughts to something that may make you useful to other
people. You have your bread to earn, and this you can only do by making
yourself useful in some way or other. Look about you, and you will see
that I tell you truth. You may perceive that the servants in my house
are all useful to me, and that I pay them for their services. The cook
who can dress my dinner, the baker who bakes bread for me, the smith who
knows how to shoe my horses, the writing-master who undertakes to teach
my children to write, can all earn money for themselves, and make
themselves independent.--And you may remark that, of all those I have
mentioned, the writing-master is the most respected, and the best paid.
There are some kinds of knowledge, and some kinds of labour, that are
more highly paid for than others. But I have said enough to you, Jervas,
for the present: I do not want to lecture you, but to serve you.--You
are a young lad, and have had no experience; I am an old man, and have
had a great deal: so perhaps my advice may be of some use to you.'

"His advice was indeed of the greatest use to me: every word he said
sunk into my mind. I wish those who give advice to young people,
especially to those in a lower station than themselves, would
follow this gentleman's example; and, instead of haranguing with the
haughtiness of superior knowledge, would speak with such kindness as to
persuade at the same time that they convince.

"The very day that Mr. Y---- spoke to me in this manner, he called me
in, that I might tell his eldest grandson the names which we miners give
to certain fossils that had been sent him from Cornwall; and, after
observing to the boy that this knowledge would be useful to him,
he begged me to tell him exactly how the mine, in which I had been
employed, was worked. This I did, as well as I was able; and imperfect
as my description was, it entertained the boys so much that I determined
to try to make a sort of model of the tin-mine for their amusement.

"But this I found no easy task; my remembrance, even of the place in
which I had lived all my life, was not sufficiently exact to serve me,
as to the length, height, breadth, &c. of the different parts; and
though Mr. Y---- had a good collection of fossils, I was at a loss, for
want of materials, to represent properly the different strata and veins;
or, as we call it, _the country_.

"My temper, naturally enthusiastic, was not on this occasion to be
daunted by any difficulties. I was roused by the notion that I should
be able to complete something that would be _really useful_ to my kind
benefactor's family; and I anticipated with rapture, the moment when I
should produce my model complete, and justify Mr. Y----'s opinion of my
diligence and capacity. I thought of nothing else from the moment these
ideas came into my head. The measures, plans, and specimens of earths
and ore which were wanting, I knew could only be obtained from the
mine; and such was my ardour to accomplish my little project, that I
determined at all hazards to return into Cornwall, and to ask my good
master's permission to revisit the mine in the night time.

"Accordingly, without a moment's delay, I set out upon this expedition.
Part of the journey I performed on foot; but wherever I could, I got
a set down, because I was impatient to get near the _Land's End_.
I concluded that the wonder excited by my sudden disappearance had
subsided by this time; that I was too insignificant to make it worth
while to continue a search after me for more than a few days; and that,
in all likelihood, my master had dismissed from his work the gang who
had been concerned in the plot, and who were the only persons whose
revenge I had reason to fear.

"However, as I drew near the mine, I had the prudence not to expose
myself unnecessarily; and I watched my opportunity so well, that I
contrived to meet my master, in his walk homeward, when no one was with
him. I hastily gave him a letter from Mr. Y----, as a certificate of
my good conduct since my leaving him; then explained the reason of my
return, and asked permission to examine the mines that night.

"He expressed a good deal of surprise, but no displeasure, at my
boldness in returning: he willingly granted my request; but, at the same
time, warned me that some of my enemies were still in the neighbourhood;
and that, though he had dismissed them from his works, and though
several had left the country in search of employment elsewhere, yet he
was informed that two or three of the gang, and Clarke among the number,
were seen lurking about the country: that they had sworn vengeance
against me for _betraying_ them, as they called it; and had been
indefatigably active in their search after me.

"My master consequently advised me to stay only the ensuing night, and
to depart before daybreak: he also cautioned me not to wake the man who
now slept in my hut in the mine.

"I did not like to spoil the only good suit of clothes of which I was
possessed; so, before I went down into the mine, I got from my master my
old jacket, apron, and cap, in which being equipped, and furnished with
a lantern, and rod for measuring, I descended into the mine.

"I went to work as quietly as possible, surveyed the place exactly, and
remembered what I had heard Mr. Y---- observe, 'that people can never
make their knowledge useful, if they have not been at the pains to
make it exact.' I was determined to give him a proof of my exactness:
accordingly I measured and minuted down every thing with the most
cautious accuracy; and, so intent was my mind upon my work, the thoughts
of Clarke and his associates never came across me for a moment. Nay,
I absolutely forgot the man in the hut, and am astonished he was not
sooner waked.

"What roused him at last was, I believe, the noise I made in loosening
some earth and stones for specimens. A great stone came tumbling down,
and immediately afterwards I heard one of the horses neigh, which showed
me I had waked them at least; and I betook myself to a hiding-place, in
the western gallery, where I kept quiet, for I believe a quarter of an
hour, in order to give the horses and the man, if he were awake, time to
go to sleep again.

"I ventured out of my hiding-place too soon; for, just as I left my
nook, I saw the man at the end of the gallery. Instantly, upon the sight
of me, he put both his hands before his face, gave a loud shriek, turned
his back, and took to his heels with the greatest precipitation. I
guessed that, as he said yesterday, he took me for the ghost of myself;
and that his terror made him mistake my lantern for a blue taper. I had
no chain; but that I had a rod in my hand is most certain: and it is
also true that I took advantage of his fears, to drive him out of my
way; for the moment he began to run, I shook my rod as fast and as loud
as I could against the tin top of my lantern; and I trampled with my
feet as if I was pursuing him.

"As soon as the coast was clear, I hastened back for my specimens; which
I packed up in my basket, and then decamped as fast as I could. This is
the only time I ever walked in the western gallery with a _blue taper_
in my hand, dragging a _chain_ after me, whatever the ghost-seer may
report to the contrary.

"I was heartily glad to get away, and to have thus happily accomplished
the object of my journey. I carried my basket on my back for some miles,
till I got to the place where a waggon put up; and in this I travelled
safely back to Exeter.

"I determined not to show my model to Mr. Y----, or the boys, till
it should be as complete as I could make it. I got a good ingenious
carpenter, who had been in the habit of working for the toy-shops, to
help me; and laid out the best part of my worldly treasure upon this my
grand first project. I had new models made of the sieves for _lueing_,
the _box_ and _trough_, the _buddle, wreck, and tool_ [Footnote: The
names of vessels and machines used in the Cornish tin-mines.], beside
some dozen of wooden workmen, wheelbarrows, &c,; with which the
carpenter, by my directions, furnished my mine. I paid a smith and
tinman, moreover, for models of our _stamps_, and _blowing-house_, and
an iron grate for my box: besides, I had a _lion rampant_ [Footnote: A
lion rampant is stamped on the block tin which is brought thence.], and
other small matters, from the pewterer; also a pair of bellows, finished
by the glover; for all which articles, as they were out of the common
way, I was charged high.

"It was some time, even when all this was ready, before we could
contrive to make our puppets do their business properly: but patience
accomplishes every thing. At last we got our wooden miners to obey us,
and to perform their several tasks at the word of command; that is to
say, at the pulling of certain strings and wires, which we fastened to
their legs, arms, heads, and shoulders: which wires, being slender and
black, were at a little distance invisible to the spectators. When the
skeletons were perfect, we fell to work to dress and paint them; and
I never shall forget the delight with which I contemplated our whole
company of puppets: men, women, and children, fresh painted and dizened
out, all in their proper colours. The carpenter could scarcely prevent
me from spoiling them: I was so impatient to set them at work that I
could not wait till their clothes were dry; and I was every half hour
rubbing my fingers upon their cheeks, to try whether the red paint was
yet hard enough.

"With some pride, I announced my intended exhibition to Mr. Y----; and
he appointed that evening for seeing it, saying that none but his own
boys should be present at the first representation. It was for them
alone it was originally designed; but I was so charmed with my
newly-finished work, that I would gladly have had all Exeter present at
the exhibition. However, before night, I was convinced of my friend Mr.
Y----'s superior prudence: the whole thing, as the carpenter said,
_went off_ pretty well; but several disasters happened which I had not
foreseen. There was one stiff old fellow, whose arms, twitch them which
way I would, I could never get to bend: and an obstinate old woman, who
would never do any thing else but curtsy, when I wanted her to kneel
down and to do her work. My children sorted their heaps of rubbish and
ore very dexterously; excepting one unlucky little chap, who, from the
beginning, had his head, somehow or other, turned the wrong way upon
his shoulders; and I could never manage, all the night, to set it right
again: it was in vain I flattered myself that his wry neck would escape
observation; for, as he was one of the wheelbarrow boys, he was a
conspicuous figure in the piece; and, whenever he appeared, wheeling
or emptying his barrow, I to my mortification heard repeated peals of
laughter from the spectators, in which even my patron, notwithstanding
his good-natured struggles against it for some time, was at last
compelled to join.

"I, all the while, was wiping my forehead behind my show-box; for I
never was in such a bath of heat in my life: not the hardest day's work
I ever wrought in the mine made me one half so hot as setting these
puppets to work.

"When my exhibition was over, good Mr. Y---- came to me, and consoled
me for all disasters, by the praises he bestowed upon my patience and
ingenuity: he showed me that he knew the difficulties with which I had
to contend: and he mentioned the defects to me in the kindest manner,
and how they might be remedied. 'I see,' said he, smiling, 'that you
have endeavoured to make something useful for the entertainment of my
boys; and I will take pains to make it turn out advantageously to you.'

"The next morning I went to look at my show-box, which Mr. Y---- had
desired me to leave in his study; and I was surprised to see the front
of the box, which I had left open for the spectators, filled up with
boards, and having a circular glass in the middle. The eldest boy, who
stood by enjoying my surprise, bid me look in, and tell him what I saw.
What was my astonishment, when I first looked through this glass--'As
large as the life!--As large as the life!' cried I, in admiration--'I
see the puppets, the _wheelbarrows_, every thing as large as life!'

"Mr. Y---- then told me, that it was by his grandson's directions that
this glass, which he said was called a magnifying-glass, or convex-lens,
was added to my show-box. 'He makes you a present of it; and now,' added
he, smiling, 'get all your little performers into order, and prepare for
a second representation: I will send for a clock-maker in this town, who
is an _ingenious_ man, and will show you how to manage properly the
motions of your puppets; and then we will get a good painter to paint
them for you."

"There was at this time, in Exeter, a society of literary gentlemen, who
met once a week at each other's houses. Mr. Y---- was one of these; and
several of the principal families in Exeter, especially those who had
children, came on the appointed evening to see the model of the Cornwall
tin-mine, which, with the assistance of the clock-maker and painter, was
now become really a show worth looking at. I made but few blunders this
time, and the company were indulgent enough to pardon these, and to
express themselves well pleased with my little exhibition. They gave me,
indeed, solid marks of their satisfaction, which were quite unexpected:
after the exhibition, Mr. Y----'s youngest grandchild, in the name of
the rest of the company, presented me with a purse, containing the
contributions which had been made for me.

"After repaying all my expenses for my journey and machinery, I found I
had six guineas and a crown to spare. So I thought myself a rich man;
and, having never seen so much money together in my life before, as six
golden guineas and a crown, I should, most probably, like the generality
of people who come into the possession of unexpected wealth, have become
extravagant, had it not been for the timely advice of my kind monitor,
Mr. Y----. When I showed him a pair of Chinese tumblers, which I had
bought from a pedlar for twice as much as they were worth, merely
because they pleased my fancy, he shook his head, and observed that I
might, before my death, want this very money to buy a loaf of bread. 'If
you spend your money as fast as you get it, Jervas,' said he, 'no matter
how ingenious or industrious you are, you will always be poor. Remember
the good proverb that says, _Industry is Fortune's right hand, and
Frugality her left_;' a proverb which has been worth ten times more to
me than all my little purse contained: so true it is, that those do not
always give most who give money."




CHAPTER III.


"I had soon reason to rejoice at having thrown away no more money on
baubles, as I had occasion for my whole stock to fit myself out for a
new way of life. 'Jervas,' said Mr. Y---- to me, 'I have at last found
an occupation, which I hope will suit you.'--Unknown to me, he had been,
ever since he first saw my little model, intent upon turning it to my
lasting advantage. Among the gentlemen of the society which I have
before mentioned, there was one who had formed a design of sending
some well-informed lecturer through England, to exhibit models of
the machines used in manufactories: Mr. Y---- purposely invited this
gentleman the evening that I exhibited my tin-mine, and proposed to him
that I should be permitted to accompany his lecturer. To this he agreed.
Mr. Y---- told me that although the person who was fixed upon as
lecturer was not exactly the sort of man he should have chosen, yet as
he was a relation of the gentleman who set the business on foot, no
objection could well be made to him.

"I was rather daunted by the cold and haughty look with which my new
master, the lecturer, received me when I was presented to him. Mr.
Y----, observing this, whispered to me at parting. 'Make yourself
useful, and you will soon be agreeable to him. We must not expect to
find friends ready made wherever we go in the world: we often have to
make friends for ourselves with great pains and care.' It cost me both
pains and care, I know, to make this lecturer my friend. He was what is
called _born a gentleman;_ and he began by treating me as a low-born
upstart, who, being perfectly ignorant, wanted to pass for a self-taught
_genius._ That I was low-born, I did not attempt to conceal; nor did I
perceive that I had any reason to be ashamed of my birth, or of having
raised myself by honest means to a station above that in which I was
born. I was proud of this circumstance, and therefore it was no torment
to me to hear the continual hints which my well-born master threw out
upon this subject. I moreover never pretended to any knowledge which I
had not; so that, by degrees, notwithstanding his prejudices, he began
to feel that I had neither the presumption of an upstart, nor of a
self-taught genius. I kept in mind the counsel given to me by Mr. Y----,
to endeavour to make myself useful to my employer; but it was no
easy matter to do this at first, because he had such a dread of my
awkwardness that he would never let me touch any of his apparatus. I was
always left to stand like a cipher beside him whilst he lectured; and
I had regularly the mortification of hearing him conclude his lecture
with, '_Now, gentlemen and ladies, I will not detain you any longer from
what, I am sensible, is much better worth your attention than any thing
I can offer--Mr. Jervas's puppet-show_.'

"It happened one day that he sent me with a shilling, as he thought,
to pay a hostler for the feeding of his horse; as I rubbed the money
between my finger and thumb, I perceived that the white surface came
off, and the piece looked yellow: I recollected that my master had the
day before been showing some experiments with quicksilver and gold, and
that he had covered a guinea with quicksilver: so I immediately took the
money back, and my master, for the first time in his life, thanked me
very cordially; for this was in reality a guinea, and not a shilling.
He was also surprised at my directly mentioning the experiment he had
shown.

"The next day that he lectured, he omitted the offensive conclusion
about Mr. Jervas's puppet-show. I observed, farther, to my infinite
satisfaction, that after this affair of the guinea, he was not so
suspicious of my honesty as he used to appear to be: he now yielded more
to his natural indolence, and suffered me to pack up his things for him,
and to do a hundred little services which formerly he used roughly to
refuse at my hands; saying, 'I had rather do it myself, _sir_,' or, 'I
don't like to have _any_ body meddle with my things, Mr. Jervas.' But
his tone changed, and it was now, 'Jervas, I'll leave you to put up
these things, whilst I go and read;'--or, 'Jervas, will you see that I
leave none of my goods behind me, there's a good lad?'--In truth, he was
rather apt to leave his goods behind him: he was the most absent and
forgetful man alive. During the first half year we travelled together,
whilst he attempted to take care of his own things, I counted that he
lost two pair and a half of slippers, one boot, three night-caps, one
shirt, and fifteen pocket-handkerchiefs. Many of these losses, I make no
doubt, were set down in his imagination to my account whilst he had
no opinion of my honesty; but I am satisfied that he was afterwards
thoroughly convinced of the injustice of his suspicions, as, from the
time that I had the charge of his _goods_, as he called them, to the day
we parted, including a space of above four years and a half, he never
lost any thing but one red nightcap, which, to the best of my belief, he
sent in his wig one Sunday morning to the barber's, but which never came
back again, and an old ragged blue pocket-handkerchief, which he said he
put under his pillow, or into his boot, when he went to bed at night. He
had an odd way of sticking his pocket-handkerchief into his boot, 'that
he might be sure to find it in the morning.' I suspect the handkerchief
was carried down in the boot when it was taken to be cleaned. He was,
however, perfectly certain that these two losses were not to be imputed
to any carelessness of mine. He often said he was obliged to me for the
attention I paid to his interests; he treated me now very civilly, and
would sometimes condescend to explain to me in private what I did not
understand in his public lectures.

"I was presently advanced to the dignity of his secretary. He wrote
a miserably bad hand: and his manuscripts were so scratched and
interlined, that it was with the utmost difficulty he could decipher
his own writing, when he was obliged to have recourse to his notes
in lecturing. He was, moreover, extremely near-sighted; and he had a
strange trick of wrinkling up the skin on the bridge of his nose when he
was perplexed: altogether, his look was so comical when he began to pore
over these papers of his, that few of the younger part of our audiences
could resist their inclination to laugh. This disconcerted him beyond
measure; and he was truly glad to accept my offer of copying out his
scrawls fairly in a good bold round hand. I could now write, if I
may say it without vanity, an excellent hand, and could go over
his calculations as far as the first four rules of arithmetic were
concerned; so that I became quite his _factotum_: and I thought myself
rewarded for all my pains, by having opportunities of gaining every day
some fresh piece of knowledge from the perusal of the notes which I
transcribed.

"It was now that I felt most thoroughly the advantage of having learned
to read and write: stores of useful information were opened to me, and
my curiosity and desire to inform myself were insatiable. I often sat
up half the night reading and writing: I had free access now to all my
fellow-traveller's books, and I thought I could never study them enough.

"At the commencement of my studies, my master often praised my
diligence, and would show me where to look for what I wanted in his
books, or explain difficulties: I looked up to him as a miracle of
science and learning; nay, I was actually growing fond of him, but this
did not last long. In process of time, he grew shy of explaining things
to me; he scolded me for thumbing his books, though, God knows, my
thumbs were always cleaner than his own, and he thwarted me continually
upon some pretence or other. I could not for some time conceive the
cause of this change in my master's behaviour: indeed it was hard for
me to guess or believe that he was become jealous of the talents and
knowledge of a poor lad, whose ignorance he, but a few years before, had
so much despised and derided. I was the more surprised at this new turn
of his mind, because I was conscious that, instead of becoming more
conceited, I had of late become more humble; but this humility was, by
my suspicious master, attributed to artifice, and tended more than any
thing to confirm him in his notion that I had formed a plan to supplant
him in his office of lecturer, a scheme which had never entered into
my head. I was thunderstruck when he one day said to me, 'You need not
study so hard, Mr. Jervas; for I promise you that, even with Mr. Y----'s
assistance, and all your _art_, you will not be able to supplant me,
clever as, with all affected humility, you think yourself.'

"The truth lightened upon me at once. Had he been a judge of the human
countenance, he must have seen my innocence in my looks: but he was so
fixed in his opinion, that I knew any protestations I could make of my
never having thought of the scheme he imputed to me, would serve only to
confirm him in his idea of my dissimulation. I contented myself with
returning to him his books and his manuscripts, and thenceforward
withdrew my attention from his lectures, to which I had always till now
been one of the most eager auditors; by these proceedings I hoped to
quiet his suspicions. I no longer applied myself to any studies in which
he was engaged, to show him that all competition with him was far from
my thoughts; and I have since reflected that this fit of jealousy of
his, which I at the time looked upon as a misfortune, because it stopped
me short in pursuits which were highly agreeable to my taste, was in
fact of essential service to me. My reading had been too general; and I
had endeavoured to master so many things, that I was not likely to make
myself thoroughly skilled in any. As a blacksmith said once to me, when
he was asked why he was not both blacksmith and whitesmith, 'The smith
that will meddle with all things may go shoe the goslings;' an old
proverb, which, from its mixture of drollery and good sense, became ever
after a favourite of mine.

"Having returned my master's books, I had only such to read as I could
purchase or borrow for myself, and I became very careful in my choice:
I also took every opportunity of learning all I could from the
conversation of sensible people, wherever we went; and I found that one
piece of knowledge helped me to another often when I least expected it.
And this I may add, for the encouragement of others, that every thing
which I learned accurately was, at some time or other of my life, of use
to me.

"After having made a progress through England, my fellow-traveller
determined to try his fortune in the metropolis, and to give lectures
there to young people during the winter season. Accordingly, we
proceeded towards London, taking Woolwich in our way, where we exhibited
before the young gentlemen of the military academy. My master, who,
since he had withdrawn his notes from my hands, had no one to copy them
fairly, found himself, during his lecture, in some perplexity; and, as
he exhibited his usual odd contortions upon this occasion, the young
gentlemen could not restrain their laughter: he also prolonged his
lecture more than his audience liked, and several yawned terribly, and
made signs of an impatient desire to see what was in my box, as a
relief from their fatigue. This my master quickly perceived, and, being
extremely provoked, he spoke to me with a degree of harshness and
insolence which, as I bore it with temper, prepossessed the young
company in my favour. He concluded his lecture with the old sentence:
'Gentlemen, I shall no longer detain you from what I am sure is much
better worthy of your attention than any thing I can offer, viz. Mr.
Jervas's puppet-show.' This was an unlucky speech on the present
occasion, for it happened that every body, after having seen what he
called my puppet-show, was precisely of this opinion. My master grew
more and more impatient, and wanted to hurry me away, but one spirited
young man most warmly took me and my tin-mine under his protection: I
stood my ground, insisting upon my right to finish my exhibition, as my
master had been allowed full time to finish his. The young gentleman who
supported me was as well pleased by my present firmness as he had been
by my former patience. At parting he made a handsome collection for me,
which I refused to accept, taking only the regular price. 'Well,' said
he, 'you shall be no loser by this. You are going to town; my father is
in London; here is his direction. I'll mention you to him the next time
I write home, and you'll not be the worse for that.'

"As soon as we got to London, I went according to my direction. The
young gentleman had been more punctual in writing home than young
gentlemen sometimes are. I was appointed to come with my models the
next evening, when a number of young people were collected, beside the
children of the family. The young spectators gathered round me at
one end of a large saloon, asking me innumerable questions after the
exhibition was over; whilst the master of the house, who was an East
India director, was walking up and down the room, conversing with
a gentleman in an officer's uniform. They were, as I afterwards
understood, talking about the casting of some guns at Woolwich for the
East India Company. 'Charles,' said the director, coming to the place
where we were standing, and tapping one of his sons on the shoulder,
'do you recollect what your brother told us about the proportion of tin
which is used in casting brass cannon at Woolwich?' The young gentleman
answered that he could not recollect, but referred his father to me;
adding, that his brother told him I was the person from whom he had the
information. My memory served me exactly; and I had reason to rejoice
that I had not neglected the opportunity of gaining this knowledge,
during our short stay at Woolwich. The East India director, pleased with
my answering his first question accurately, condescended, in compliance
with his children's entreaties, to examine my models, and questioned me
upon a variety of subjects: at length he observed to the gentleman with
whom he had been conversing, that I explained myself well, that I knew
all I did know accurately, and that I had the art of captivating the
attention of young people. 'I do think,' concluded he, 'that he would
answer Dr. Bell's description better than any person I have seen.' He
then inquired particularly into my history and connexions, all of which
I told him exactly. He took down the direction to Mr. Y----, and my
good master (as I shall always call Mr. R----), and to several other
gentlemen, at whose houses I had been during the last three or four
years, telling me that he would write to them about me; and that if he
found my accounts of myself were as exact as my knowledge upon other
subjects, he thought he could place me in a very eligible situation. The
answers to these letters were all perfectly satisfactory: he gave me the
letter from Mr. R----, saying 'you had better keep this letter, and take
care of it; for it will be a recommendation to you in any part of the
world where courage and fidelity are held in esteem.' Upon looking into
this letter, I found that my good master had related, in the handsomest
manner, the whole of my conduct about the discovery of the vein in his
mine.

"The director now informed me that, if I had no objection to go to
India, I should be appointed to go out to Madras as an assistant to Dr.
Bell, one of the directors of the asylum for the instruction of orphans;
an establishment which is immediately under the auspices of the East
India Company, and which does them honour [Footnote: _Vide_ a small
pamphlet, printed for Cadell and Davies, entitled, "An Experiment
in Education, made at the Male Asylum of Madras, by the Rev. Dr. A.
Bell."].

"The salary which was offered me was munificent beyond my utmost
expectations; and the account of the institution, which was put into my
hands, charmed me. I speedily settled all my concerns with the lecturer,
who was in great astonishment that this appointment had not fallen upon
him. To console him for the last time, I showed him a passage in Dr.
Bell's pamphlet, in which it is said that the doctor prefers to all
others, for teaching at his school, youths who have no fixed habits as
tutors, and who will implicitly follow his directions. I was at this
time but nineteen: my master was somewhat appeased by this view of the
affair, and we parted, as I wished, upon civil terms; though I could not
feel much regret at leaving him. I had no pleasure in living with one
who would not let me become attached to him; for, having early met with
two excellent friends and masters, the agreeable feelings of gratitude
and affection were in a manner necessary to my happiness.

"Before I left England, I received new proofs of Mr. R----'s goodness:
he wrote to me to say that, as I was going to a distant country,
to which a small annuity of ten guineas a year could not easily be
remitted, he had determined to lay out a sum equal to the value of
the annuity he had promised me, in a manner which he hoped would be
advantageous: he further said, that as the vein of the mine with which I
had made him acquainted turned out better than he expected, he had added
the value of fifty guineas more than my annuity; and that if I would go
to Mr. Ramsden's, mathematical instrument maker, in Piccadilly, I should
receive all he had ordered to be ready for me. At Mr. Ramsden's I found
ready to be packed up for me two small globes, siphons, prisms, an
air-gun and an air-pump, a speaking trumpet, a small apparatus for
showing the gases, and an apparatus for freezing water. Mr. Ramsden
informed me that these were not all the things Mr. R---- had bespoken;
that he had ordered a small balloon, and a portable telegraph, in form
of an umbrella, which would be sent home, as he expected, in the course
of the next week. Mr. Ramsden also had directions to furnish me with a
set of mathematical instruments of his own making. 'But,' added he
with a smile, 'you will be lucky if you get them soon enough out of my
hands.' In fact, I believe I called a hundred times in the course of a
fortnight upon Ramsden, and it was only the day before the fleet sailed
that they were finished and delivered to me.

"I cannot here omit to mention an incident that happened in one of my
walks to Ramsden's: I was rather late, and was pushing my way hastily
through a crowd that was gathered at the turning of a street, when a
hawker by accident flapped a bundle of wet hand-bills in my eyes, and
at the same instant screamed in my ears, '_The last dying speech and
confession of Jonathan Clarke, who was executed on Monday, the 11th
instant._'--Jonathan Clarke! The name struck my ears suddenly, and the
words I shocked me so much that I stood fixed to the spot; and it was I
not till the hawker had passed by me some yards, and was beginning with
'_The last dying speech and confession of Jonathan Clarke, the Cornwall
miner_,' that I recollected myself enough to speak: I called after the
hawker in vain: he was bawling too loud to hear me, and I was forced to
run the whole length of the street before I could overtake him, and get
one of the hand-bills. On reading it, I could have no doubt that it
was really the last dying speech of my old enemy Clarke. His birth,
parentage, and every circumstance, convinced me of the truth. Amongst
other things in his confession, I came to a plan he had laid to murder a
poor lad in the tin-mine, where he formerly worked; 'and he thanked God
that this plan was never executed, as the boy providentially disappeared
the very night on which the murder was to have been perpetrated. He
further set forth that, after being turned away by his master, and
obliged to fly from Cornwall, he came up to London, and worked as
a coal-heaver for a little while, but soon became what is called a
_mud-lark_; that is, a plunderer of the ships' cargoes that unload in
the Thames. He plied this abominable trade for some time, drinking every
day to the value of what he stole, till, in a quarrel at an ale-house
about the division of some articles to be sold to a receiver of stolen
goods, he struck the woman of the house a blow, of which she died; and,
as it was proved that he had long-borne her malice for some old dispute,
Clarke was on his trial brought in guilty of wilful murder, and
sentenced to be hanged.

"I shuddered whilst I read all this.--To such an end, after the utmost
his cunning could do, was this villain brought at last! How thankful
I was that I did not continue his associate I in my boyish days! My
gratitude to my good master increased upon the reflection that it was
his humanity which had raised me from vice and misery, to virtue and
happiness. We sailed from the Downs the 20th of March, one thousand
seven hundred and.... But why I tell you this I do not know; except it
be in compliance with the custom of all voyagers, who think that it is
important to the world to know on what day they sailed from this or that
port. I shall not, however, imitate them in giving you a journal of
the wind, or a copy of the ship's log-book. Suffice it to say, that we
arrived safely at Madras, after a voyage of about the usual number of
months and days, during all which I am sorry that I have not for your
entertainment any escape or imminent danger of shipwreck to relate; nor
even any description of a storm or a water-spout.

"You will, I am afraid, be much disappointed to find that, upon my
arrival in India, where doubtless you expected that I should like others
have wonderful adventures, I began to live at Dr. Bell's asylum in
Madras a quiet regular life; in which for years I may safely say, that
every day in the week was extremely like that which preceded it. This
regularity was nowise irksome to me, notwithstanding that I had for some
years, in England, been so much used to a roving way of life. I had
never any taste for rambling; and under Dr. Bell, who treated me with
strict justice, as far as the business of the asylum was concerned, and
with distinguished kindness in all other circumstances, I enjoyed as
much freedom as I desired. I never had those absurd vague notions of
liberty, which render men uneasy under the necessary restraints of all
civilized society, and which do not make them the more fit to live
with savages. The young people who were under my care gradually became
attached to me, and I to them. I obeyed Dr. Bell's directions exactly
in all things; and he was pleased to say, after I had been with him for
some time, that he never had any assistant who was so entirely agreeable
to him. When the business of the day was over, I often amused myself,
and the elder boys, with my apparatus for preparing the gases, my
speaking-trumpet, air-gun, &c.

"One day, I think it was in the fourth year of my residence at Madras,
Dr. Bell sent for me into his closet, and asked me if I had ever heard
of a scholar of his, of the name of William Smith, a youth of seventeen
years of age; who, in the year 1794, attended the embassy to Tippoo
Sultan, when the hostage princes were restored; and who went through a
course of experiments in natural philosophy, in the presence of the
sultan. I answered Dr. Bell that, before I left England, I had read, in
his account of the asylum, extracts from this William Smith's letters,
whilst he was at the sultan's court; and that I remembered all the
experiments he had exhibited perfectly well; and also that he was
detained, by the sultan's order, nineteen days after the embassy had
taken leave, for the purpose of instructing two aruzbegs, or lords, in
the use of an extensive and elegant mathematical apparatus, presented to
Tippoo by the government at Madras. [Footnote: _Extracts from William
Smith's Letters to Dr. Bell, (vide the Pamphlet before mentioned.)_

'Devanelli Fort, April 8, 1792.

'REVEREND SIR,

'I take the liberty of informing you that we arrived here the 28th uit.
without any particular occurrence in the way. The day after our arrival
we made our first visit to the sultan; and he entertained us at his
court for upwards of three hours.

'On the 1st instant Captain Dovetoun sent me an order to open the boxes,
and lay out the machines, to show them to the sultan. Accordingly, on
the third, I was sent for, and I exhibited the following experiments;
viz. head and wig; dancing images; electric stool; cotton fired; small
receiver and stand; hemispheres; Archimedes' screw; siphon; Tantalus's
cup; water-pump; condensing engine, &c. Captain Dovetoun was present,
and explained, as I went on, to the sultan, who has given us an instance
of his being acquainted with some of these experiments. He has shown us
a condensing engine made by himself, which spouted water higher than
ours. He desired me to teach two men, his aruzbegs.

       *       *       *       *       *

'I can assure you that Tippoo Sultan was mightily pleased with the
electric machine. He was prepared for every experiment I exhibited,
except the firing of the inflammable air.

       *       *       *       *       *

'It did cost me several minutes before the firing of the inflammable air
proved successful; during which time he was in a very impatient
emotion; and, when that was done, it did indeed surprise him. He desired
me to go over it three times.

'I take the liberty to write for your information the familiar discourse
Tippoo Sultan was pleased to enter into with me, that took place at the
close of the experiments.

'There were some silver trumpets, newly made, brought in to him for his
inspection, and which he desired the trumpeters to sound _hauw_ and
_jauw_; i.e. come and go; after which, he asked me if they were like
those I saw at Madras. I answered, Yes; but those at Madras are
made of copper. He asked me again whether the tune was any thing like
what I had ever heard. I answered, No. How then? says he; and presently
ordering the instrument to be put into my hands, desired me to blow. I
told him, very civilly, that I could not blow. No! says he: you could;
what are you afraid of? I told him again that I spoke truth; and that I
was brought up in a school where my master informed me what lying was,
and always punished those boys that spoke untruths.

       *       *       *       *       *

'June 11th. After this the sultan arose (five hours being elapsed) to
quit the court, and desired the present (of a hundred rupees) to be
delivered into my hands, with these words: "This is given you as a
present for the trouble you took in performing those experiments, which
verily pleased me;" and a command that I am to stay in the fort ten
days; "after which," he continued, "I will send you to Kistnagherry,
with two hircarrahs, in order to conduct you safely through my country."
I returned the compliment with a salam, in the manner I was instructed;
saying that I thankfully accepted his present, and am willing to obey
his commands. The language which the sultan used was the Carnatic
Malabar. Mine very little differed from his. Poornbia was the
interpreter of such terms as the sultan did not understand.']

"Well,' said Dr. Bell, 'since that time Tippoo Sultan has been at war,
and has had no leisure, I suppose, for the study of philosophy, or
mathematics; but now that he has just made peace, and wants something to
amuse him, he has sent to the government at Madras, to request that I
will permit some of my scholars to pay a second visit at his court to
refresh the memory of the aruzbegs, and, I presume, to exhibit some new
wonders for Tippoo's entertainment.'

"Dr. B. proposed to me to go on this embassy: accordingly, I prepared
all my apparatus, and, having carefully remarked what experiments Tippoo
had already seen, I selected such as would be new to him. I packed up
my speaking-trumpet, my apparatus for freezing water, and that for
exhibiting the gases, my balloon and telegraph, and with these and my
model of the tin-mine, which I took by Dr. Bell's advice, I set out
with two of his eldest scholars upon our expedition. We were met on the
entrance of Tippoo's dominions by four hircarrahs or soldiers, whom the
sultan sent as a guard to conduct us safely through his dominions. He
received us at court the day after our arrival. Unaccustomed as I was to
Asiatic magnificence, I confess that my eyes were at first so dazzled by
the display of oriental pomp that, as I prostrated myself at the foot
of the sultan's throne, I considered him as a personage high as human
veneration could look upon. After having made my salam, or salutation,
according to the custom of his court, as I was instructed to do, the
sultan commanded me, by his interpreter, to display my knowledge of the
arts and sciences, for the instruction and amusement of his court.

"My boxes and machines had all been previously opened, and laid out: I
was prepared to show my apparatus for freezing, but Tippoo's eye was
fixed upon the painted silk balloon; and with prodigious eagerness he
interrupted me several times with questions about that great empty
bag. I endeavoured to make him understand as well as I could, by my
interpreter and his own, that this great empty bag was to be filled with
a species of air lighter than the common air; and that, when filled,
the bag which I informed him was in our country called a balloon, would
mount far above his palace. No sooner was this repeated to him, by
the interpreter, than the sultan commanded me _instantly_ to fill the
balloon; and when I replied that it could not be done instantly, and
that I was not prepared to exhibit it on this day, Tippoo gave signs of
the most childish impatience. He signified to me, that since I could not
show him what he wanted to see, the sultan would not see what I wanted
to show. I replied, through his interpreter, in the most respectful but
firm manner, that no one would be so presumptuous as to show to Tippoo
Sultan, in his own court, any thing which he did not desire to see: that
it was in compliance with his wishes that I came to his court, from
which, in obedience to his commands, I should at any time be ready to
withdraw. A youth, who stood at the right hand of Tippoo's throne,
seemed much to approve of this answer, and the sultan, assuming a more
composed and dignified aspect, signified to me that he was satisfied to
await for the sight of the filling of the great bag till the next day;
and that he should, in the mean time, be well pleased to see what I was
now prepared to show.

"The apparatus for freezing, which we then exhibited, seemed to please
him; but I observed that he was, during a great part of the time whilst
I was explaining it, intent upon something else; and no sooner had I
done speaking than he caused to be produced the condensing engines, made
by himself, which he formerly showed to William Smith, and which he said
spouted water higher than any of ours. The sultan, I perceived, was much
more intent upon displaying his small stock of mechanical knowledge than
upon increasing it; and the mixture of vanity and ignorance, which he
displayed upon this and many subsequent occasions, considerably lessened
the awe which his external magnificence at first excited in my mind.
Sometimes he would put himself in competition with me, to show his
courtiers his superiority; but failing in these attempts, he would then
treat me as a species of mechanic juggler, who was fit only to exhibit
for the amusement of his court. When he saw my speaking-trumpet, which
was made of copper, he at first looked at it with great scorn, and
ordered his trumpeters to show me theirs, which were made of silver. As
he had formerly done when my predecessor was at his court, he desired
his trumpeters to sound through these trumpets the words _hauw_ and
_jauw_, i.e. come and go: but, upon trial, mine was found to be far
superior to the sultan's: and I received intimation, through one of his
courtiers, that it would be prudent to offer it immediately to Tippoo.
This I accordingly did, and he accepted it with the eagerness of a child
who has begged and obtained a new play-thing."




CHAPTER IV.


"The next day, Tippoo and his whole court assembled to see my balloon.
Tippoo was seated in a splendid pavilion, and his principal courtiers
stood in a semicircle on each side of him: the youth, whom I formerly
observed, was again on his right hand, and his eyes were immovably
fixed upon my balloon, which had been previously filled and fastened
down by cords. I had the curiosity to ask who this youth was: I was
informed he was the sultan's eldest son, Prince Abdul Calie. I had not
time to make any farther inquiries, for Tippoo now ordered a signal to
be given, as had been previously agreed upon. I instantly cut the cords
which held the balloon, and it ascended with a rapid but graceful
motion, to the unspeakable astonishment and delight of all the
spectators. Some clapped their hands and shouted, others looked up in
speechless ecstasy, and in the general emotion all ranks for an instant
were confounded: even Tippoo Sultan seemed at this interval to be
forgotten, and to forget himself, in the admiration of this new wonder.

"As soon as the balloon was out of sight, the court returned to their
usual places, the noise subsided, and the sultan, as if desirous to
fix the public attention upon himself, and to show his own superior
magnificence, issued orders immediately to his treasurer to present me,
as a token of his royal approbation, with two hundred star pagodas.
When I approached to make my salam and compliment of thanks, as I was
instructed, the sultan, who observed that some of the courtiers already
began to regard me with envy, as if my reward had been too great,
determined to divert himself with their spleen, and to astonish me
with his generosity: he took from his finger a diamond ring, which he
presented to me by one of his officers. The young prince, Abdul Calie,
whispered to his father whilst I was withdrawing, and I soon afterwards
received a message from the sultan, requesting, or, in other words,
ordering me to remain some time at his court, to instruct the young
prince, his son, in the use of my European machines, for which they had
in their language no names.

"This command proved a source of real pleasure to me; for I found Prince
Abdul Calie not only a youth of quick apprehension, but of a most
amiable disposition, unlike the imperious and capricious temper which
I had remarked in his father. Prince Abdul Calie had been, when he
was about twelve years old, one of the hostage princes left with Lord
Cornwallis at Seringapatam. With that politeness which is seldom to
be found in the sons of eastern despots, this prince, after my first
introduction, ordered the magnificent palanquin, given to him by Lord
Cornwallis, to be shown to me; then pointing to the enamelled snakes
which support the panels, and on which the sun at that instant happened
to shine, Prince Abdul Calie was pleased to say, 'The remembrance of
your noble countryman's kindness to me is as fresh and lively in my soul
as those colours now appear to my eye.'

"Another thing gave me a good opinion of this young prince; he did not
seem to value presents merely by their costliness; whether he gave or
received, he considered the feelings of others; and I know that he often
excited in my mind more gratitude by the gift of a mere trifle, by a
word or a look, than his ostentatious father could by the most valuable
donations. Tippoo, though he ordered his treasurer to pay me fifty
rupees per day, whilst I was in his service, yet treated me with a
species of insolence; which, having some of the feelings of a free-born
Briton about me, I found it difficult to endure with patience. His
son, on the contrary, showed that he felt obliged to me for the little
instruction I was able to give him; and never appeared to think that, as
a prince, he could pay for all the kindness, as well as the service
of his inferiors, by pagodas or rupees: so true it is that attachment
cannot be bought; and those who wish to have friends, as well as
servants, should keep this truth constantly in mind. My English spirit
of independence induced me to make these and many more such reflections
whilst I was at Tippoo's court.

"Every day afforded me fresh occasion to form comparisons between the
sultan and his son; and my attachment to my pupil every day increased.
My pupil! It was with astonishment I sometimes reflected that a young
prince was actually my pupil. Thus an obscure individual, in a country
like England, where arts, sciences, and literature are open to all
ranks, may obtain a degree of knowledge which an eastern despot, in all
his pride, would gladly purchase with ingots of his purest gold.

"One evening, after the business of the day was over, Tippoo Sultan came
into his son's apartment, whilst I was explaining to the young prince
the use of some of the mathematical instruments in my pocket-case. 'We
are well acquainted with these things,' said the sultan in a haughty
tone: 'the government of Madras sent us such things as those, with
others, which are now in the possession of some of my aruzbegs, who have
doubtless explained them sufficiently to the prince my son.' Prince
Abdul Calie modestly replied, 'that he had never before been made to
understand them; for that the aruzbeg, who had formerly attempted to
explain them, had not the art of making things so clear to him as I had
done.'

"I felt a glow of pleasure at this compliment, and at the consciousness
that I deserved it. How little did I imagine, when I used to sit up at
nights studying my old master's books, that one of them would be the
means of procuring me such honour. [Footnote: Jervas here alludes to a
book entitled, "A Description of Pocket and Magazine Cases of Drawing
Instruments: in which is explained the use of each instrument, and
particularly of the sector and plain scale, Gunter's scale, &c. By J.
Barrow, private teacher of mathematics."]

"'What is contained in that box?' said the sultan, pointing to the box
which held the model of the tin-mine. 'I do not remember to have seen it
opened in my presence.'

"I replied that it had not been opened, because I feared that it was not
worthy to be shown to him. But he commanded that it should instantly
be exhibited; and, to my great surprise, it seemed to delight him
excessively: he examined every part, moved the wires of the puppets, and
asked innumerable questions concerning our tin-mines. I was the more
astonished at this, because I had imagined he would have considered
every object of commerce as beneath the notice of a sultan. Nor could
I guess why he should be peculiarly interested in this subject: but he
soon explained this to me, by saying that he had, in his dominions,
certain mines of tin, which he had a notion would, if properly managed,
bring a considerable revenue to the royal treasury; but that at present,
through negligence or fraud, these mines were rather burdensome than
profitable.

"He inquired from me how my model came into my possession; and, when his
interpreter told him that I made it myself, he caused the question and
answer to be repeated twice, before he would believe that he understood
me rightly. He next inquired whether I was acquainted with the art of
mining; and how I came by my information: in short, he commanded me to
relate my history. I replied that it was a long story, concerning only
an obscure individual, and unworthy the attention of a great monarch:
but he seemed this evening to have nothing to do but to gratify his
curiosity, which my apology only served to increase. He again commanded
me to relate my adventures, and I then told him the history of my early
life. I was much flattered by the interest which the young prince
took in my escape from the mine, and by the praises he bestowed on my
fidelity to my master.

"The sultan, on the contrary, heard me at first with curiosity, but
afterwards with an air of incredulity. Upon observing this, I produced
the letter from my good master to the East India director, which gave a
full account of the whole affair. I put this letter into the hands of
the interpreter, and with some difficulty he translated it into the
Carnatic Malabar, which was the language the sultan used in speaking to
me.

"The letter, which had the counter-signatures of some of the East India
Company's servants resident at Madras, whose names were well known to
Tippoo, failed not to make a great impression in favour of my integrity:
of my knowledge he had before a high opinion. He stood musing for some
time, with his eyes fixed upon the model of the tin-mine; and, after
consulting with the young prince, as I guessed by their tones and looks,
he bade his interpreter tell me that, if I would undertake to visit the
tin-mines in his dominions, to instruct his miners how to work them, and
to manage the ore according to the English fashion, I should receive
from the royal treasury a reward more than proportioned to my services,
and suitable to the generosity of a sultan.

"Some days were given me to consider of this proposal. Though tempted by
the idea that I might realize, in a short time, a sum that would make me
independent for the rest of my life, yet my suspicions of the capricious
and tyrannical temper of Tippoo made me dread to have him for a master;
and, above all, I resolved to do nothing without the express permission
of Dr. Bell, to whom I immediately wrote. He seemed, by his answer,
to think that such an opportunity of making my fortune was not to be
neglected: my hopes, therefore, prevailed over my fears, and I accepted
the proposal.

"The presents which he had made me, and the salary allowed me during six
weeks that I had attended the young prince, amounted to a considerable
sum; 500 star pagodas and 500 rupees: all which I left, together with my
ring, in the care of a great Gentoo merchant of the name of Omychund,
who had shown me many civilities. With proper guides, and full powers
from the sultan, I proceeded on my journey, and devoted myself with
the greatest ardour to my undertaking. A very laborious and difficult
undertaking it proved: for in no country are prejudices in favour of
their own customs more inveterate, amongst workmen of every description,
than in India; and although I was empowered to inflict what punishment
I thought proper on those who disobeyed, or even hesitated to fulfil my
orders, yet, thank God! I could never bring myself to have a poor slave
tortured, or put to death, because he roasted ore in a manner which I
did not think so good as my own method; nor even because he was not
so well convinced as I was of the advantages of our Cornwall
smelting-furnace.

"My moderation was of more service to me, in the minds of the people,
than the utmost violence I could have employed to enforce obedience. As
I got by degrees some little knowledge of their language, I grew more
and more acceptable to them; and some few, who tried methods of my
proposing, and found that they succeeded, were, by my directions,
rewarded with the entire possession of the difference of profit between
the old and new modes. This bounty enticed others; and in time that
change was accomplished by gentle means, which I had at first almost
despaired of ever effecting.

"When the works were in proper train, I despatched a messenger to the
sultan's court, to request that he would be pleased to appoint some
confidential person to visit the mines, in order to be an eye-witness of
what had been done; and I further begged, as I had now accomplished the
object of the sultan's wishes, that I might be recalled, after deputing
whomsoever he should think proper to superintend and manage the mines in
my stead. I moreover offered, before I withdrew, to instruct the person
who should be appointed. My messenger, after a long delay, returned to
me, with a command from Tippoo Sultan to remain where I was till his
further orders. For these I waited three months, and then, concluding
that I was forgotten, I determined to set out to refresh Tippoo's
memory.

"I found him at Devanelli Fort, thinking of nothing less than of me or
my tin-mines: he was busily engaged in making preparations for a war
with some Soubha or other, whose name I forget, and all his ideas were
bent on conquests and vengeance. He scarcely deigned to see, much less
to listen to me: his treasurer gave me to understand that too much had
already been lavished upon me, a stranger as I was; and that Tippoo's
resources, at all events, would be now employed in carrying on schemes
of war, not petty projects of commerce. Thus insulted, and denied all my
promised reward, I could not but reflect upon the hard fate of those who
attempt to serve capricious despots.

"I prepared as fast as possible to depart from Tippoo's court. The
Hindoo merchant with whom I had lodged the pagodas and rupees promised
to transmit them to me at Madras; and he delivered to me the diamond
ring which Tippoo had given to me during his fit of generosity, or of
ostentation. The sultan, who cared no more what became of me, made no
opposition to my departure: but I was obliged to wait a day or two for
a guard, as the hircarrahs who formerly conducted me were now out upon
some expedition.

"Whilst I waited impatiently for their return, Prince Abdul Calie, who
had not been during all this time at Devanelli Fort, arrived; and when
I went to take leave of him, he inquired into the reason of my sudden
departure. In language as respectful as I could use, and with as much
delicacy as I thought myself bound to observe, in speaking to a son of
his father, I related the truth. The prince's countenance showed what he
felt. He paused, and seemed to be lost in thought, for a few minutes: he
then said to me, 'The sultan, my father, is at this time so intent upon
preparations for war, that even I should despair of being listened to on
any other subject. But you have in your possession, as I recollect, what
might be useful to him either in war or peace; and, if you desire it, I
will speak of this machine to the sultan.'

"I did not immediately know to what machine of mine the prince alluded;
but he explained to me that he meant my portable telegraph, which would
be of infinite use to Tippoo in conveying orders of intelligence across
the deserts. I left the matter entirely to the prince, after returning
him my very sincere thanks for being thus interested in my concerns.

"A few hours after this conversation, I was summoned into the sultan's
presence. His impatience to make trial of the telegraphs was excessive;
and I, who but the day before had been almost trampled upon by the
officers and lords of his court, instantly became a person of the
greatest importance. The trial of the telegraphs succeeded beyond even
my expectations; and the sultan was in a species of ecstasy on the
occasion.

"I cannot omit to notice an instance of the violence of his temper, and
its sudden changes from joy to rage. One of his blacks, a gentle Hindoo
lad, of the name of Saheb, was set to manage a telegraph at one of
the stations, a few yards distant from the sultan. I had previously
instructed Saheb in what he was to do; but, from want of practice, he
made some mistake, which threw Tippoo into such a transport of passion,
that he instantly ordered the slave's head to be cut off! a sentence
which would infallibly have been executed, if I had not represented that
it would be expedient to suffer his head to remain on his shoulders till
the message was delivered by his telegraph; because there was no one
present who could immediately supply his place. Saheb then read off his
message without making any new blunder; and the moment the exhibition
was over, I threw myself at the feet of the sultan, and implored him
to pardon Saheb. I was not likely at this moment to be refused such a
_trifle_! Saheb was pardoned.

"An order upon the treasurer for five hundred star pagodas, to reward my
services at the royal tin-mines, was given to me; and upon my presenting
to Tippoo Sultan the portable telegraphs, on which his ardent wishes
were fixed, he exclaimed: 'Ask any favour in the wide-extended power of
Tippoo Sultan to confer, and it shall be granted."

"I concluded that this was merely an oriental figure of speech; but I
resolved to run the hazard of a refusal. I did not ask for a province,
though this was in the wide-extended power of Tippoo Sultan to confer;
but as I had a great curiosity to see the diamond mines of Golconda, of
which both in Europe and in India I had heard so much, I requested the
sultan's permission to visit those which belonged to him. He hesitated;
but after saying some words to an officer near him, he bade his
interpreter tell me that he granted my request.

"Accordingly, after lodging my pagodas and rupees along with the rest
in the hands of Omychund, the Gentoo merchant, who was a man of great
wealth and credit, I set out in company with some diamond merchants who
were going to Golconda. My curiosity was amply gratified by the sight
of these celebrated mines; and I determined that, when I returned to
Europe, I would write a description of them. This description, however,
I shall spare you for the present, and proceed with my story.

"The diamond merchants with whom I travelled had a great deal of
business to transact at various places; and this was the cause of much
delay to me, which I could scarcely bear with patience; for now that I
had gratified my curiosity, I was extremely desirous to return to Madras
with my little treasure. The five years' salary due to me by the East
India Company, which I had never used, I had put out at interest at
Madras, where sometimes the rate was as high as twelve per cent.; and
if you knew (said Mr. Jervas, addressing himself to the miners at Mr.
R----'s table) any thing of the nature of compound interest, you would
perceive that I was in a fair way to get rich: for, in the course of
fourteen or fifteen years, any sum that is put out at compound interest,
even in England, where the rate of legal interest is five per cent.,
becomes double; that is, one hundred pounds put out at compound
interest, in fourteen years, becomes two hundred. But few people have
the patience, or the prudence, to make this use of their money. I was,
however, determined to employ all my capital in this manner; and I
calculated that, in seven years, I should have accumulated a sum fully
sufficient to support me all the rest of my life in ease and affluence.

"Full of these hopes and calculations, I pursued my journey along with
the merchants. Arrived at Devanelli Fort, I learned that the Soubha,
with whom the sultan had been going to war, had given up the territory
in dispute, and had pacified Tippoo by submissions and presents. Whether
he chose peace or war was indifferent to me: I was intent on my private
affairs, and I went immediately to Omychund, my banker, to settle them.
I had taken my diamond ring with me to the mines, that I might compare
it with others, and learn its value; and I found that it was worth
nearly treble what I had been offered for it. Omychund congratulated me
upon this discovery, and we were just going to settle our accounts,
when an officer came in, and, after asking whether I was not the young
Englishman who had lately visited the mines of Golconda, summoned me
immediately to appear before the sultan. I was terrified, for I imagined
I was perhaps suspected of having purloined some of the diamonds; but I
followed the officer without hesitation, conscious of my innocence.

"Tippoo Sultan, contrary to my expectations, received me with a smiling
countenance; and, pointing to the officer who accompanied me, asked me
whether I recollected to have ever seen his face before? I replied, No:
but the sultan then informed me that this officer, who was one of his
own guards, had attended me in disguise during my whole visit to the
diamond mines; and that he was perfectly satisfied of my honourable
conduct. Then, after making a signal to the officer and all present to
withdraw, he bade me approach nearer to him; paid some compliments to my
abilities, and proceeded to explain to me that he stood in farther need
of my services; and that, if I served him with fidelity, I should have
no reason to complain, on my return to my own country, of his want of
generosity.

"All thoughts of war being now, as he told me, out of his mind, he had
leisure for other projects to enrich himself; and he was determined to
begin by reforming certain abuses, which had long tended to impoverish
the royal treasury. I was at a loss to know whither this preamble
would lead: at length, having exhausted his oriental pomp of words, he
concluded by informing me that he had reason to believe he was terribly
cheated in the management of his mines at Golconda; that they were
rented from him by a Feulinga Brahmin, as he called him, whose agreement
with the adventurers in the mines was, that all the stones they found
under a pago in weight were to be their own; and all above this weight
were to be his, for the sultan's use. Now it seems that this agreement
was never honestly fulfilled by any of the parties: the slaves cheating
the merchants, the merchants cheating the Feulinga Brahmin, and he, in
his turn, defrauding the sultan; so that, Tippoo assured me, he had
often purchased, from diamond merchants, stones of a larger spread and
finer water than any he could get directly from his own mines; and that
he had been frequently obliged to reward these merchants with rich
vests, or fine horses, in order to encourage others to offer their
diamonds [Footnote: Philosophical Transactions, vol. ii. p.472.] for
sale.

"I could not but observe, whilst Tippoo related all this, the great
agitation of his looks and voice, which showed me the strong hold the
passion for diamonds had upon his soul; on which I should perhaps have
made some wise reflections, but that people have seldom leisure or
inclination to make wise reflections when standing in the presence of a
prince as powerful and as despotic as Tippoo Sultan.

"The service that he required from me was a very dangerous one; no
less than to visit the mines secretly by night, to search those small
cisterns in which the workmen leave the diamonds mixed with the sand,
gravelly stuff, and red earth, to sink and drain off during their
absence. I by no means relished this undertaking: besides that it would
expose me to imminent danger, it was odious to my feelings to become a
spy and an informer. This I stated to the sultan, but he gave no credit
to this motive; and, attributing my reluctance wholly to fear, he
promised that he would take effectual measures to secure my safety; and
that, after I had executed this commission, he would immediately send a
guard with me to Madras. I saw that a dark frown lowered on his brow,
when I persisted in declining this office; but I fortunately bethought
myself at this moment of a method of escaping the effects of his anger,
without giving up my own principles.

"I represented to him that the seizure of the diamonds in the cisterns,
which he proposed, even should it afford him any convincing proofs of
the dishonesty of the slaves and diamond merchants, and even if he
could in future take effectual precautions to secure himself from their
frauds, would not be a source of wealth to him equal to one which I
could propose. His avarice fixed his attention, and he eagerly commanded
me to proceed. I then explained to him that one of his richest
diamond-mines had been for some time abandoned; because the workmen,
having dug till they came to water, were then forced to stop for want of
engines such as are known in Europe. Now, having observed that there was
a rapid current at the foot of the mountain, on which I could erect a
water-mill, I offered to clear this valuable mine."




CHAPTER V.


"The sultan was pleased with the proposal; but, recollecting how apt he
was to change his humour, and how ill he received me when I returned
from his tin-mines, I had the precaution to represent that, as this
undertaking would be attended with considerable expense, it would be
necessary that a year's salary should be advanced to me before my
departure for Golconda; and that, if the payments were not in future
regularly made, I should be at liberty to resign my employment, and
return to Madras. Prince Abdul Calie was present when the sultan pledged
his word to this, and gave me full powers to employ certain of his
artificers and workmen.

"I shall not trouble you with a history of all my difficulties, delays,
and disappointments, in the execution of my undertaking; however
interesting they were to me, the relation would be tiresome to those who
have no diamond-mines to drain. It is enough for you to know that at
length my engines were set a-going properly, and did their business so
effectually, that the place was by degrees cleared of water, and the
workmen were able to open fresh and valuable veins. During all this
time, including a period of three years, my salary was regularly paid to
the Gentoo merchant, Omychund, in whose hands I left all my money, upon
his promising to pay me as high interest as what I could obtain at
Madras. I drew upon him only for such small sums as were absolutely
necessary; as I was resolved to live with the utmost economy, that I
might the sooner be enabled to return in affluence to my native country.

"And here I must pause to praise myself, or rather to rejoice from the
bottom of my soul, that I did not, when power was in my hands, make use
of it for the purposes of extortion. The condition of the poor slaves,
who were employed by me, was envied by all the others: and I have reason
to know that, even in the most debased and miserable state of existence,
the human heart can be wakened by kind treatment to feelings of
affection and gratitude. These slaves became so much attached to me
that, although the governor of the mines, and certain diamond merchants,
were lying in wait continually to get rid of me some way or other, they
never could effect their purposes. I was always apprised of my danger in
time by some of these trusty slaves; who, with astonishing sagacity and
fidelity, guarded me while I lived amongst them.

"A life of daily suspicion and danger was, however, terrible; and my
influence extended but a little way in making others happy. I might, for
a short season, lessen the suffering of these slaves; but still they
were slaves, and most of them were treated scarcely as if they were
human beings, by the rapacious adventurers for whom they laboured.

"These poor wretches generally work almost naked; they dare not wear a
coat, lest the governor should say they have thriven much, are rich, and
so increase his demands upon them. The wisest, when they find a great
stone, conceal it till they have an opportunity; and then, with wife and
children, run all away into the Visiapore country, where they are secure
and well used. [Footnote: Philosophical Transactions.]

"My heart sickened at the daily sight of so much misery; and nothing but
my hopes of finally prevailing on the sultan to better their condition,
by showing him how much he would be the gainer by it, could have induced
me to remain so long in this situation. Repeatedly Tippoo promised me
that the first diamond of twenty pagos weight which I should bring to
him, he would grant me all I asked in favour of the slaves under my
care. I imparted to them this promise, which excited them to great
exertions. At last we were fortunate enough to find a diamond above
the weight required. It was a well-spread stone, of a beautiful pale
rose-colour, and of an adamantine hardness. I am sure that the sight of
that famous stone, which is known by the name of the Pitt diamond, never
gave its possessor such heartfelt joy as I experienced when I beheld
this. I looked upon it as the pledge of future happiness, not only to
myself, but to hundreds of my fellow-creatures.

"I set out immediately for Tippoo Sultan's court. It was too late in
the evening, when I arrived, to see the sultan that night; so I went
to Omychund, the Hindoo merchant, to settle my affairs with him. He
received me with open arms, saying that he had thriven much upon my
pagodas and rupees, and that he was ready to account with me for my
salary; also for the interest which he owed me; for all which he gave
me an order upon an English merchant at Madras, with whom I was well
acquainted.

"This being settled to my satisfaction, I told him the business which
now brought me to Tippoo's court, and showed him my rose-coloured
diamond. His eyes opened at the sight with a prodigious expression of
avaricious eagerness. 'Trust me,' said he, 'keep this diamond. I know
Tippoo better than you do; he will not grant those privileges to the
slaves that you talk about; and, after all, what concern are they of
yours? They are used to the life they lead. They are not Europeans. What
concern are they of yours? Once in your native country, you will dream
of them no more. You will think only of enjoying the wealth you shall
have brought from India. Trust me, keep the diamond. Fly this night
towards Madras. I have a slave who perfectly knows the road across
the country: you will be in no danger of pursuit, for the sultan will
suppose you to be still at Golconda. No one could inform him of the
truth but myself; and you must see, by the advice I now give you, that I
am your firm friend.'

"As he finished these words, he clapped his hands, to summon one of his
slaves, as he said, to give instant orders for my flight. He looked upon
me with incredulous surprise, when I coolly told him that the flight
which he proposed was far from my thoughts; and that it was my
determination to give the sultan the diamond that belonged to him.

"Seeing that I was in earnest, Omychund suddenly changed his
countenance; and in a tone of raillery, asked me whether I could believe
that his proposal was serious. Indeed I was left in doubt whether he had
been in earnest or not; and, at all events, I gave him to understand
that I was incapable of betraying him to the sultan.

"The next morning, as early as I could, I presented myself before the
sultan, who singled me from the crowd, and took me with him into the
apartment of Prince Abdul Calie.

"I proceeded cautiously: Tippoo was all impatience to hear news of his
diamond mine, and repeatedly interrupted me in my account of what had
been done there, by asking whether we had yet come to any diamonds? I
produced first one of a violet colour, which I had reserved as a present
for Prince Abdul Calie; it was a fine stone, but nothing equal to our
rose-coloured diamond. Tippoo admired this, however, so much, that I was
certain he would be in raptures with that which I had in store for him.
Before I showed it to him, in speaking of the weight of that which I had
designed to present to the prince, I reminded him of his royal promise
with respect to the slaves. 'True,' cried the sultan: 'but is this
diamond twenty pagos weight? when you bring me one of that value,
you may depend upon having all you ask.' I instantly produced the
rose-coloured diamond, weighed it in his presence, and, as the scale in
which it was put descended, Tippoo burst forth into an exclamation of
joy. I seized the favourable moment; he nodded as I knelt before him,
and bade me rise, saying my request was granted; though why I should ask
favours for a parcel of mean slaves, he observed, was incomprehensible.

"Prince Abdul Calie did not appear to be of this opinion; he at this
instant cast upon me a look full of benevolence; and whilst his father
was absorbed in the contemplation of his rose-coloured diamond, which he
weighed, I believe, a hundred times, the generous young prince presented
to me that violet-coloured diamond which I brought for him. A princely
gift made in a princely manner.

"Tippoo's secretary made out for me the necessary order to the governor
of the mines, by which a certain share of the profits of his labour was,
by the sultan's command, to belong to each slave; and all those who had
been employed in my service were, as a reward for their good conduct,
to be emancipated. A number of petty exactions were by this order
abolished; and the property acquired in land, dress, &c. by the slaves,
was secured to them. Most gladly did I see the sultan's signet affixed
to this paper; and when it was delivered into my hands, my heart bounded
with joy. I resolved to be the bearer of these good tidings myself.
Although my passport was made out for Madras, and two hircarrahs, by the
sultan's orders, were actually ready to attend me thither, yet I could
not refuse myself the pleasure of beholding the joy of the slaves, at
this change in their condition; and, to the latest hour of my life, I
shall rejoice that I returned to Golconda the messenger of happiness.
Never shall I forget the scene to which I was there a witness; never
will the expressions of joy and gratitude be effaced from my memory,
which lighted up the dark faces of these poor creatures! who, say what
we will, have as much sensibility, perhaps more, than we have ourselves.

"No sooner was I awake, the morning after my arrival, than I heard them
singing songs under my window, in which my own name was frequently
repeated. They received me with a shout of joy when I went out amongst
them; and, crowding round me, they pressed me to accept of some little
tokens of their gratitude and good-will, which I had not the heart to
refuse. The very children, by their caresses, seemed to beg me not to
reject these little offerings. I determined, if ever I reached Europe,
to give all of them to you, sir, my good master, as the best present I
could make to one of your way of thinking.

"The day after my arrival was spent in rejoicings. All the slaves, who
had worked under my inspection, had saved some little matters, with
which they had purchased for their wives and for themselves coloured
cottons, and handkerchiefs for their heads. Now that they were not in
dread of being robbed or persecuted by the governor of the mines, they
ventured to produce them in open day. These cottons of Malabar are dyed
of remarkably bright and gaudy colours; and, when the slaves appeared
decked in them, it was to me one of the gayest spectacles I ever beheld.
They were dancing with a degree of animation of which, till then, I
never had an idea.

"I stood under the shade of a large banyan tree, enjoying the sight;
when suddenly I felt from behind a blow on my head which stunned me. I
fell to the ground; and when I came to my senses, found myself in the
hands of four armed soldiers, and a Hindoo, who was pulling my diamond
ring from my finger. They were carrying me away amid the cries and
lamentations of the slaves, who followed us. 'Stand off'! it is in vain
you shriek,' said one of the soldiers to the surrounding crowd; 'what we
do is by order of the sultan. Thus he punishes traitors.'

"Without further explanation, I was thrown into a dungeon belonging to
the governor of the mines, who stood by with insulting joy to see me
chained to a large stone in my horrid prison. I knew him to be my enemy:
but what was my astonishment when I recollected in the countenance of
the Hindoo, who was fastening my chains and loading me with curses, that
very Saheb, whose life I had formerly saved! To all my questions no
answer was given, but, 'It is the will of the sultan;' or, 'Thus the
sultan avenges himself upon traitors.'

"The door of my dungeon was then locked and barred, and I was left alone
in perfect darkness. Is this, thought I, the reward of all my faithful
services? Bitterly did I regret that I was not in my native country,
where no man, at the will of a sultan, can be thrown into a dungeon,
without knowing his crime or his accusers. I cannot attempt to describe
to you what I felt, during this most miserable day of my existence.
Feeble at last, for want of food, I stretched myself out, as well as my
chains would allow me, and tried to compose myself to sleep. I sunk into
a state of insensibility, in which I must have remained for several
hours, for it was midnight when I was roused by the unbarring of my
prison door. It was Saheb who entered, carrying in one hand a torch, and
in the other some food, which he set before me in silence. I cast upon
him a look of scorn, and was about to reproach him with his ingratitude,
when he threw himself at my feet, and burst into tears. 'Is it
possible,' said he to me, 'that you are not sure of the heart of Saheb?
You saved my life; I am come to save yours. But eat, master,' continued
he; 'eat whilst I speak, for we have no time to lose. To-morrow's sun
must see us far from hence. You cannot support the fatigues you have to
undergo without taking food.'

"I yielded to his entreaties, and, whilst I ate, Saheb informed me that
my imprisonment was owing to the treacherous Hindoo merchant, Omychund;
who, in hopes, I suppose, of possessing himself in quiet of all the
wealth which I had intrusted to his care, went to the sultan, and
accused me of having secreted certain diamonds of great value, which he
pretended I had shown to him in confidence. Tippoo, enraged at this,
despatched immediate orders to four of his soldiers to go in search of
me, seize, imprison, and torture me, till I should confess where these
diamonds were concealed. Saheb was in the sultan's apartment when this
order was given, and immediately hastened to Prince Abdul Calie, whom he
knew to be my friend, and informed him of what had happened. The prince
sent for Omychund, and, after carefully questioning him, was convinced,
by his contradictory answers, and by his confusion, that the charge
against me was wholly unfounded: he dismissed Omychund, however, without
letting him know his opinion, and then sent Saheb for the four soldiers
who were setting out in search of me. In their presence he gave Saheb
orders aloud to take charge of me the moment I should be found, and
secretly commissioned him to favour my escape. The soldiers thought that
in obeying the prince they obeyed the sultan; and, consequently, when
I was taken and lodged in my dungeon, the keys of it were delivered to
Saheb.

"When he had finished telling me all this, he restored to me my ring,
which he said he snatched from my finger, as soon as I was seized, that
I might not be robbed of it by the governor, or some of the soldiers.

"The grateful Saheb now struck off my chains; and my own anxiety for my
escape was scarcely equal to his. He had swift horses belonging to the
soldiers in readiness; and we pursued our course all night without
interruption. He was well acquainted with the country, having
accompanied the sultan on several expeditions. When we thought ourselves
beyond the reach of all pursuers, Saheb permitted me to rest; but I
never rested at my ease till I was out of Tippoo Sultan's dominions, and
once more in safety at Madras. Dr. Bell received me with great kindness,
heard my story, and congratulated me on my escape from Tippoo's power.

"I was now rich beyond my hopes; for I had Omychund's order upon the
Madras merchant safe in my pocket, and the whole sum was punctually paid
to me. My ring I sold to the governor of Madras for more even than I
expected.

"I had the satisfaction to learn, before I left Madras, that Omychund's
treachery was made known to the sultan, by means of Prince Abdul Calie,
whose memory will ever be dear to me. Tippoo, as I have been informed,
in speaking of me, was heard to regret that he could not recall to his
service such an honest Englishman.

"I was eager to reward the faithful Saheb, but he absolutely refused the
money which I offered him, saying, 'that he would not be paid for saving
the life of one who had saved his.' He expressed a great desire to
accompany me to my native country, from the moment that I told him we
had no slaves there; and that as soon as any slave touched the English
shore, by our laws, he obtained his freedom. He pressed me so earnestly
to take him along with me as my servant, that I could not refuse; so he
sailed with me for Europe. As the wind filled the sails of our vessel,
much did I rejoice that the gales which blew me from the shores of India
were not tainted with the curses of any of my fellow-creatures. Here
I am, thank Heaven! once more in free and happy England, with a good
fortune, clean hands, and a pure conscience, not unworthy to present
myself to my first good master, to him whose humanity and generosity
were the cause of--"

Here Mr. R---- interrupted his own praises, by saying to those of the
miners who had not fallen fast asleep, "My good friends, you now know
the meaning of the toast which you all drank after dinner; let us drink
it again before we part 'Welcome home to our friend, Mr. Jervas, and may
good faith always meet with good fortune!'"

_October_, 1799.



THE WILL




CHAPTER I.


Mr. Pearson, a wealthy Lincolnshire farmer, who had always been esteemed
a prudent sensible man, though something of a _humourist_, made the
following will:

"I, John Pearson, of _The Wold_ in Lincolnshire, farmer, being of sound
mind and body, do make this my last will and testament, &c.

"I give and bequeath my farm of West Woldland to my eldest nephew,
Grimes Goodenough; my farm of Holland Fen to my dear nephew, John
Wright, and my farm of Clover-hill to my youngest nephew, Pierce Marvel.

"I farther will and desire that the sum of ten thousand pounds, which is
now in the hands of William Constantine, gentleman, my executor, may by
him, immediately after my decease, be put out to interest for ten years:
and I will and desire that, at the end of the said ten years, the said
sum of ten thousand pounds, and the interest so accumulated thereon, be
given to whichsoever of my aforesaid nephews shall at that time be the
richest.

"And I trust that the said William Constantine, gentleman, my executor
and very good friend, being a clear-headed honest man, will understand
and execute this my last will and testament, according to the plain
meaning of my words; though it should happen that this my will should
not be drawn up in due legal form, of which I know little or nothing."

Mr. Constantine, the executor, being, as described, a clear-headed
honest man, found no difficulty either in understanding or executing
this trust: the ten thousand pounds were, immediately upon Pearson's
decease, placed out upon interest; and the three nephews were put
into possession of their farms. These were of very different value.
Goodenough's wanted improvement, but would pay richly for any that
should be judiciously made; Wright's farm was by far the worst of the
three; and Marvel's the best.

The Lincolnshire world was much divided in opinion concerning these
young men; and many bets were laid relating to the legacy. People judged
according to their own characters; the enterprising declared for Marvel,
the prudent for Wright, the timid for Goodenough.

The nephews had scarcely been in possession of their farms a week when,
one evening, as they were all supping together at Wright's house, Marvel
suddenly turned to Goodenough, and exclaimed, "When do you begin your
improvements, cousin Goodenough?"

"Never, cousin Marvel."

"Then you'll never touch the ten thousand, my boy. What! will you
do nothing to your marsh? Nothing to your common? Nothing to your
plantations? Do not you mean ever to make any improvements?"

"I mean not to make any improvements."

"Well, you'll let me make some for you."

"Not I."

"No! Won't you let me cut down some of those trees for you, that are
spoiling one another in your wood?"

"Not a tree shall be cut down. Not a stick shall be stirred. Not a
change shall be made, I say."

"Not a change for the better, cousin Goodenough?" said Wright.

"Not a change can be for the better, to my mind; I shall plough, and
sow, and reap, as our forefathers did, and that's enough for me."

"What! will you not even try the new plough?" said Marvel.

"Not I; no new ploughs for me. No plough can be so good as the old one."

"How do you know, as you never tried it, or would see it tried?" said
Wright: "I find it better than the old one."

"No matter; the old one will do well enough for me, as it did for my
father before me." After having repeated these words in precisely the
same tone several times, he went on slowly eating his supper, whilst
Marvel, in detestation of his obstinate stupidity, turned his back
upon him, and began to enumerate to Wright sundry of his own ingenious
projects.

"My dear Wright," said he, "you are worth talking to, and you shall hear
all my schemes."

"Willingly; but I do not promise to approve of them all."

"Oh! you will, you will, the moment you hear them; and I will let you
have a share in some of them. In the first place, there's that fine
rabbit-warren near Clover-hill. The true silver grey rabbits--_silver
sprigs_, they call them--do you know that the skins of those _silver
sprigs_ are worth any money?"

"Any money! what money?"

"Pooh! I don't know exactly: but I mean to buy that warren."

"Before you know what it is worth! Let us consider; each dozen of skins
is worth, say, from ten to fifteen shillings."

"You need not trouble yourself to calculate now," interrupted Marvel,
"for I have determined to have the warren. With the money that I shall
get for my silver sprigs, I will next year make a decoy, and supply the
London market with wild-fowl. Don't you remember the day that we met
Simon Stubbs, the carrier, loaded with game and wild-fowl, he said that
a decoy in Lincolnshire must be a fortune to any man. I'll have the best
decoy not only in Lincolnshire but in all England. By-the-bye, there's
another thing I must do, Wright; I'll exchange any part of Clover-hill
you please with you, for as much land in Holland Fen."

"Take him at his word, cousin Wright," said Goodenough.

"No, no," replied Wright; "I know the value of land, and the difference
between Clover-hill and Holland Fen, better than he does: I would not
take him at his word, for that would be taking him in."

"I would not take anybody in," said Goodenough; "but if another man is a
fool, that's no reason I should be one. Now, if a man offers me a good
bargain, why should not I close with him, and say--Done?" "Then say
done," cried Marvel, "and you shall have the bargain, Goodenough.
You have an undrained marsh of your own: I'll exchange with you, and
welcome, ten acres of the marsh for five of Clover-hill."

"Done," said Goodenough.

"Done. I shall stock it with geese, and you'll see what the quills and
feathers alone will bring me in. I've engaged with one already to sell
them for me. But, Wright, here's another scheme I have. Wildmore common,
you know, is covered with those huge thistles, which prick the noses of
the sheep so as to hinder them from feeding and fattening: I will take
that common into my own hands."

"Ay," said Goodenough; "exchange the rest of Clover-hill for it:--that's
like you!"

"And I will mow the thistles," pursued Marvel, without deigning to reply
to Goodenough. "I will mow the thistles; their down I can contrive to
work up into cotton, and the stalks into cordage: and, with the profit
I shall make of these thistles, and of my decoy, and of my goose-quills
and feathers, and of my silver sprig rabbits, I will buy jackets for my
sheep, for my sheep shall all have jackets after shearing. Why should
not Lincolnshire sheep, if they have jackets, become as valuable as the
Leicestershire breed? You'll see my sheep will be the finest in the
whole county; and, with the profit I shall make of them, I will set up a
fishery in Fen-lake; and with the profits of the fishery--now comes my
grand scheme--I shall be the richest of you all! with the profits of the
fishery, and the decoy, and the sheep, and the silver sprigs, and the
quills and feathers, geese and thistles, I will purchase that fine
heronry, near Spalding."

At these words, Goodenough laid down his knife and fork; and, sticking
his arms a-kimbo, laughed contemptuously, if not heartily.

"So, then, the end of all this turmoil is to purchase a heronry! Much
good may it do you, cousin Marvel. You understand your own affair best:
you will make great _improvements_, I grant, and no doubt will be the
richest of us all. The ten thousand pounds will be yours for certain:
for, as we all know, cousin Marvel, you are a genius!--But why a genius
should set his fancy upon a heronry, of all things in this mortal world,
is more than I can pretend to tell, being no genius myself."

"Look here, Wright," continued Marvel, still without vouchsafing
any direct reply to Goodenough: "here's a description, in this last
newspaper, of the fine present that the grand seignior has made to his
majesty. The plume of herons' feathers alone is estimated at a thousand
guineas! Think of what I shall make by my heronry! At the end of ten
years, I shall be so rich that it will hardly be worth my while," said
Marvel, laughing, "to accept of my uncle's legacy. I will give it to
you, Wright; for you are a generous fellow, and I am sure you will
deserve it."

In return for this liberal promise, Wright endeavoured to convince
Marvel, that if he attempted such a variety of schemes at once, they
would probably all fail; and that to ensure success, it would be
necessary to calculate, and to make himself master of the business,
before he should undertake to conduct it. Marvel, however, was of too
sanguine and presumptuous a temper to listen to this sage advice: he was
piqued by the sneers of his cousin Goodenough, and determined to prove
the superiority of his own spirit and intellect. He plunged at once
into the midst of a business which he did not understand. He took a
rabbit-warren of two hundred and fifty acres into his hands; stocked ten
acres of marsh land with geese; and exchanged some of the best part of
Clover-hill for a share in a common covered with thistles. He planted a
considerable tract of land, with a degree of expedition that astonished
all the neighbourhood: but it was remarked that the fences were not
quite sufficient; especially as the young trees were in a dangerous
situation, being surrounded by land stocked with sheep and horned
cattle. Wright warned him of the danger; but he had no time this year,
he said, to complete the fences: the men who tended his sheep might
easily keep them from the plantation for this season, and the next
spring he purposed to dig such a ditch round the whole as should secure
it for ever. He was now extremely busy, making jackets for his sheep,
providing willows for his decoy, and gorse and corn for his geese: the
geese, of which he had a prodigious flock, were not yet turned into
their fen, because a new scheme had occurred to Marvel, relative to some
reeds with which a part of this fen was covered; on these reeds myriads
of starlings were accustomed to roost, who broke them down with their
weight. Now Marvel knew that such reeds would be valuable for thatching,
and with this view he determined to drive away the starlings; but the
measures necessary for this purpose would frighten his friends, the
geese, and therefore he was obliged to protect and feed them in his
farm-yard, at a considerable expense, whilst he was carrying on the war
with the starlings. He fired guns at them morning and evening, he sent
up rockets and kites with fiery tails, and at last he banished them; but
half his geese, in the mean time, died for want of food; and the women
and children, who plucked them, stole one quarter of the feathers, and
one half of the quills, whilst Marvel was absent letting up rockets in
the fen.

The rabbit-warren was, however, to make up for all other losses: a
furrier had engaged to take as many silver sprigs from him as he
pleased, at sixteen shillings a dozen, provided he should send them
properly dressed, and in time to be shipped for China, where these
silver grey rabbit skins sold to the best advantage. As winter came on,
it was necessary to supply the warren with winter food: and Marvel was
much astonished at the multitude of unforeseen expenses into which
his rabbits led him. The banks of the warren wanted repair, and the
warrener's house was not habitable in bad weather: these appeared but
slight circumstances when Marvel made the purchase; but, alas! he had
reason to change his opinion in the course of a few months. The first
week in November, there was a heavy fall of snow; and the warren walls
should have been immediately cleared of snow, to have kept the rabbits
within their bounds: but Marvel happened this week to be on a visit in
Yorkshire, and he was _obliged_ to leave the care of the warren entirely
to the warrener, who was _obliged_ to quit his house during the snow,
and to take shelter with a neighbour: he neglected to clear the walls;
and Marvel upon his return home, found that his silver sprigs had
strayed into a neighbouring warren. The second week in November is the
time when the rabbits are usually killed, as the skins are then in full
prime: it was in vain that Marvel raised a hue and cry after his silver
sprigs; a fortnight passed away before one-third of them could be
recovered. The season was lost, and the furrier sued him for breach of
contract; and what was worse, Goodenough laughed at his misfortunes. The
next year he expected to retrieve his loss: he repaired the warrener's
house, new faced the banks, and capped them with furze; but the common
grey rabbit had been introduced into the warren, by the stragglers of
the preceding year; and as these grey rabbits are of a much more hardy
race than the silver sprigs, they soon obtained and kept possession
of the land. Marvel now pronounced rabbits to be the most useless and
vexatious animals upon earth; and, in one quarter of an hour, thoroughly
convinced himself that tillage was far more profitable than rabbits.
He ploughed up his warren, and sowed it with corn; but, unluckily, his
attention had been so much taken up by the fishery, the decoy, the
geese, the thistles, and the hopes of the heronry, that he totally
forgot his intention of making the best of all possible ditches round
his plantation. When he went to visit this plantation, he beheld a
miserable spectacle: the rabbits which had strayed beyond their bounds
during the great snow, and those which had been hunted from their
burrows, when the warren was ploughed up, had all taken shelter in this
spot; and these refugees supported themselves, for some months, upon the
bark and roots of the finest young trees.

Marvel's loss was great, but his mortification still greater; for his
cousin Goodenough laughed at him without mercy. Something must be done,
he saw, to retrieve his credit: ad the heronry was his resource.

"What will signify a few trees, more or less," thought he, "or the loss
of a few silver sprigs, or the death of a few geese, or the waste of a
few quills and feathers? My sheep will sell well, my thistles will bring
me up again; and as soon as I have sold my sheep at Partney fair, and
manufactured my thistles, I will set out with my money in my pocket
for Spalding, and make my bargain for the heronry. A plume of herons'
feathers is worth a thousand guineas! My fortune will be made when I get
possession of the Spalding heronry."

So intent was Marvel upon the thoughts of the Spalding heronry, that he
neglected every thing else. About a week before the fair of Partney,
he bethought himself of his sheep, which he had left to the care of a
shepherd boy: he now ordered the boy to drive them home, that he might
see them. Their jackets hung upon them like bags: the poor animals had
fallen away in the most deplorable manner. Marvel could scarcely believe
that these were his sheep; or that these were the sheep which he had
expected to be the pride of Lincolnshire, and which he had hoped would
set the fashion of jackets. Behold, they were dying of the rot!

"What an unfortunate man I am!" exclaimed Marvel, turning to his cousin
Wright, whom he had summoned along with Goodenough, in the pride of his
heart, to view, value, and admire his sheep. "All your sheep, Wright,
are fat and sound: mine were finer than yours when I bought them: how
comes it that I am so unlucky?"

"Jack of all trades, and master of none!" said Goodenough, with a sneer.

"You forgot, I am afraid, what I told you, when first you bought these
sheep," said Wright, "that you should always keep them in fold, every
morning, till the dew was off: if you had done so, they would now be as
well and thriving as mine. Do not you remember my telling you that?"

"Yes; and I charged this boy always to keep them in fold till the dew
was off," replied Marvel, turning with an angry countenance to the
shepherd boy.

"I never heard nothing of it till this minute, I am sure, master," said
the boy.

Marvel now recollected that, at the very moment when he was going to
give this order to the boy, his attention had been drawn away by the
sight of a new decoy in the fields adjoining to his sheep pasture. In
his haste to examine the decoy, he forgot to give that order to his
shepherd, on which the safety of his fine flock of sheep depended.
[Footnote: A General View of the Agriculture of the County of Lincoln,
p. 330. "It well deserves noting that a shepherd, who, when young, was
shepherd's boy to an old man, who lived at Netlam, near Lincoln, a place
famous for the rot, told Mr. Neve that he was persuaded sheep took the
rot only of a morning, before the dew was well off. At that time they
folded, being open field: his master's shepherd kept his flock in fold
always till the dew was gone; and, with no other attention, his sheep
were kept sound, when all the neighbours lost their flocks."] Such are
the negligences and blunders of those who endeavour to do half a dozen
things at once.

The failure of one undertaking never discouraged Marvel from beginning
another; and it is a pity, that, with so much spirit and activity, he
had so little steadiness and prudence. His sheep died, and he set out
for Spalding full of the thoughts of the heronry. Now this heronry
belonged to Sir Plantagenet Mowbray, an elderly gentleman, who was
almost distracted with family pride: he valued himself upon never having
parted with one inch of the landed property that had descended to him,
through a long line of ancestors, from the Plantagenets. He looked down
upon the whole race of farmers and traders as beings of a different
species from himself; and the indignation with which he heard, from a
Lincolnshire farmer, a proposal to purchase his heronry, may perhaps be
imagined, but cannot be described. It was in vain that Marvel rose in
his offers; it was in vain that he declared he was ready to give any
price that Sir Plantagenet would set upon the heronry. Sir Plantagenet
sent word, by his steward, that not a feather of his birds should be
touched; that he was astonished at the insolence of such a proposal; and
that he advised Marvel to keep out of the way of _his people_, lest they
should revenge the insult that had been offered to their master.

This haughty answer, and the disappointment of all his hopes and schemes
respecting the heronry, threw Marvel into a degree of rage scarcely
inferior to what was felt by Sir Plantagenet. As he was galloping down
the avenue from Plantagenet-hall, he overtook a young man, of a shabby
appearance, who was mounted upon a very fine horse. At first Marvel took
it for granted that he was one of Sir Plantagenet's _people_, and he was
riding past him, when he heard the stranger say, in a friendly tone,
"Your horse gallops well, sir: but have a care; there's a carrion a
little way farther on that may startle him."

Marvel pulled in his horse; the stranger rode up beside him, and they
entered into conversation. "That carrion, sir," said he, pointing to the
dead horse, which had just been shot for the baronet's son's hounds,
"that carrion, sir, was in my opinion the best horse Sir Plantagenet,
or his son either, were possessed of. 'Tis a shame for any man, who
pretends to be a gentleman, and who talks this way and that so high of
his family, should be so stingy in the article of horseflesh."

Marvel was not unwilling at this instant to hear the haughty baronet
blamed and ridiculed; and his companion exactly fell in with his humour,
by telling a variety of anecdotes to prove Sir Plantagenet to be every
thing that was odious and contemptible. The history of his insolence
about the heronry was now related by Marvel; and the stranger seemed to
sympathize so much in his feelings, that, from a stranger, he began to
consider him as a friend. Insensibly the conversation returned to the
point at which it commenced; and his new friend observed that it was in
vain to expect any thing good from any gentleman, or indeed from any
man, who was stingy in the article of horseflesh.

A new sense of honour and of shame began to rise in our hero's mind; and
he sat uneasy in his saddle, whilst he reflected that the horse upon
which he was mounted, was perhaps as deservedly an object of contempt as
any of Sir Plantagenet's stud. His new friend, without seeming to notice
his embarrassment, continued his conversation, and drew a tempting
picture of the pleasures and glories of a horse-race: he said, "he was
just training a horse for the York races, and a finer animal never was
crossed. Sir Plantagenet's eldest son would have been the proudest and
happiest of men, if his father would but have bought the horse for him:
but he had refused, and the youth himself had not the price, or half the
price, at his command."

Our hero was no judge of horses, but he was ambitious to prove that his
spirit was superior to that of the haughty baronet; and that something
good might be expected from him, as he was not stingy in horseflesh.
Besides, he was worked up to a high degree of curiosity to see the York
races; and his companion assured him that he could not appear there
without being well mounted. In short, the hour was not at an end before
he had offered a hundred guineas for the finest horse that ever
was crossed. He was charmed with the idea that he should meet Sir
Plantagenet Mowbray's son and heir at the York races, and should show
him that he was able and willing to pay for the horse, which his
arrogant father could not afford to purchase.

From the anecdote of the heronry, his companion perceived that Marvel
was a man fond of projects; and he proposed to him a scheme, which
caught his fancy so much that it consoled him for his disappointment. It
was the fault of our enterprizing hero's character always to think the
last scheme for making a fortune the best. As soon as he reached home he
was in haste to abandon some of his old projects, which now appeared to
him flat, stale, and unprofitable. About a score of his flock, though
tainted with the rot, were not yet dead; he was eager to sell them, but
no one would buy sheep of such a wretched appearance. At last Wright
took them off his hands. "I will throw the threescore jackets into the
bargain," said Marvel; "for you are a generous fellow, to offer so
handsomely for my poor sheep, and you deserve to be treated as you treat
others. If I come in at the end of the ten years for the legacy, I shall
remember you, as I told you before: as to my cousin Goodenough here, he
thinks so much of himself, that there is no occasion for others to think
of him. I asked him to join me in a bond, yesterday, for a hundred
pounds, just to try him, and he refused me. When I come in for the
legacy, I will cut him off with a shilling,--I will give him fair
notice."

"Cut me off with what you will," said Goodenough, sullenly, "not a
farthing of my money shall ever be lent to one that has a project for
every day in the year. Get into what difficulties you may, I will never
join you in any bond, I promise you. It is enough for me to take care of
myself."

"Don't flatter yourself that I am getting into any difficulties,"
replied Marvel. "I wanted the hundred guineas only to pay for a horse;
and the friend who sold him to me will wait my convenience."

"The _friend_" said Wright; "do you mean that man who rode home with you
from Spalding?--I advise you not to make a friend of him, for he is a
notorious jockey." "He will not take _me_ in, though," said Marvel; "I
am as sharp as he is, and he sees that: so we understand one another
very well. To my certain knowledge, a hundred and twenty guineas could
be had to-morrow for the horse I bought from him; yet he let me have him
for a hundred."

"And how can a man of your sense, cousin Marvel," said Wright, "believe
that a person, who never saw you till within these three days, would be
so much your friend as to make you a present of twenty guineas?"

"A present!"

"Yes; if he lets you have a horse for a hundred, which you can sell for
a hundred and twenty, does not he make you a present of twenty guineas?"

"Well, but I can tell you the reason for all that: he wants me to enter
into a scheme with him, for breeding horses on the common here: and so
he would not, at first setting out, stand to higgle with me for the
price of a horse."

"And would you for twenty guineas, cousin Marvel, run the hazard of
joining in any scheme with a man of his character? Pray inquire in the
country and in York, where you are going, what sort of a character this
man bears. Take my advice, pay him for his horse, and have nothing more
to do with him."

"But I have not the ready cash to pay him for his horse, that's one
thing," said Marvel.

"Let that be no difficulty," replied Wright; "for I have a hundred
guineas here, just brought home from Partney fair, and they are heartily
at your service."

Goodenough twitched Wright's elbow three times as he uttered these
words: but Wright finished his sentence, and put the money into Marvel's
hands immediately upon his promising to pay for the horse, break off all
connexion with his friend the jockey, if he should find upon inquiry
that he was not a person of good character, and at all events to suspend
any treaty with him till after his return from York.

"Whilst you are gone," said Wright, "I will make inquiries about the
profit of breeding of horses on the commons. I have an acquaintance, a
sensible old man, who has kept accounts of what he has done in that way
himself; and he will show us his accounts, from which we shall be able
to judge."



CHAPTER II.


Wright heard nothing more of him for about a fortnight; he then received
the following letter:

"DEAR COUSIN WRIGHT,

"It is a very great pity that you could not be persuaded to come along
with me to York races, where I have seen more of life, and of the world,
in a week, than ever I did in all my life before.--York is a surprising
fine town; and has a handsome cathedral, and assembly-room: but I am not
in the humour, just now, to describe them: so I shall proceed to what is
much better worth thinking of.

"You must know, cousin Wright, that I am in love, and never was I so
happy or so miserable in my days. If I was not a farmer there would be
some hopes for me; but, to be sure, it is not to be expected that such
a lady as she is should think of a mere country booby; in which light,
indeed, she was pleased to say, as I heard from good authority, she did
not consider me; though my manners wanted polish. These were her own
words. I shall spare nothing to please her, if possible, and am not
wholly without hope, though I have a powerful rival; no less a person
than the eldest son and heir of Sir Plantagenet Mowbray, Bart. But
her virtue will never, I am persuaded, suffer her to listen to such
addresses as his. Now mine are honourable, and pure as her soul; the
purity of which no one could doubt, who had seen her last night, as I
did, in the character of the Fair Penitent. She was universally admired:
and another night sung and danced like an angel. But I can give you no
idea of her by pen and ink; so I beseech you to come and see her, and
give your advice to me candidly, for I have the highest opinion of your
judgment and good-nature.

"I find you were quite right about that scoundrel who rode with me from
Spalding! He has arrested me for a hundred guineas; and is, without
exception, the shabbiest dog I ever met with: but I am out of his
clutches, and have better friends. I will tell you the whole story when
we meet, and pay you your hundred with many thanks. Pray set out as
soon as you receive this, for every moment is an age to me: and I won't
declare myself, more than I have done, if possible, till you come; for
I have a great opinion of your judgment; yet hope you won't put on your
severe face, nor be prejudiced against her, because of her being on the
stage. Leave such illiberality to cousin Goodenough: it would be quite
beneath you! Pray bring with you that volume of old plays that is at the
top of my bed, under the bag of thistles; or in the basket of reeds that
I was making; or in the out-house, where I keep the goose-quills and
feathers. I don't find my memory so clear, since my head is so full of
this charming Alicia Barton. Pray make no delay, as you value the peace
of mind of your

"Affectionate cousin and friend,

"PIERCE MARVEL.

"P. S. Mr. Barton, her brother, is the most generous of men, and the
cleverest. He is not averse to the match. Sir Plantagenet Mowbray's son
and heir, who is as insolent as his father, may find that a Lincolnshire
farmer is not a person to be despised. I have thoughts of selling my
farm of Clover-hill, and of going into another way of life; for which,
as Mr. Barton said, and Alicia hinted, nay, as I am inclined to believe
too, I am much better suited than for farming. Of this more when we
meet. Pray set out as soon as you receive this. Alicia has dark eyes,
and yet a fair complexion. I am sure you will like her."

Far from feeling sure that he should like Miss Alicia Barton, Wright was
so much alarmed for his cousin, on the perusal of this letter, that he
resolved to set out immediately for York, lest the sale of Clover-hill
should be concluded before his arrival. A new project and a new love
were, indeed, powerful temptations to one of Marvel's character.

As Goodenough was plodding at his accustomed pace in his morning's work,
he met Wright on horseback, who asked him if he had any commissions that
he could execute in York, whither he was going.

"None, thank Heaven!" said Goodenough. "So I see it is as I always knew
it would be! Marvel is 'ticing you into his own ways, and will make you
just such another as _his_ self. Ay, you must go to York races! Well, so
much the better for me. Much pleasure to you at the races."

"I am not going to the races; I am going to do Marvel a service."

"Charity begins at home: that's my maxim," replied Goodenough.

"It is quite fitting that charity should _begin_ at home," said Wright;
"but then it should not _end_ at home; for those that help nobody will
find none to help them in time of need."

"Those that help nobody will not be so apt to come to need," replied
Goodenough. "But yonder's my men standing idle. If I but turn my head,
that's the way of them. Good morrow to you, cousin Wright; I can't stand
argufying here about charity, which won't plough my ground, nor bring me
a jot nearer to the ten thousand pounds' legacy: so good morrow to you.
My service to cousin Marvel."

Goodenough proceeded to his men, who were in truth standing idle, as it
was their custom to do when their master's eye was not, as they thought,
upon them; for he kept them so hard at work, when he was present, that
not a labouring man in the country would hire himself to Goodenough,
when he could get employment elsewhere. Goodenough's partizans, however,
observed that he got his money's worth out of every man he employed;
and that this was the way to grow rich. The question, said they, is not
which of the three nephews will be the best beloved, but which will
be the richest at the end of ten years; and, on this ground, who can
dispute that Goodenough's maxim is the best, "Charity begins at home?"
Wright's friends looked rather alarmed when they heard of this journey
to York; and Marvel's advocates, though they put a good face upon the
matter, heartily wished him safe home.

Upon Wright's arrival in York, he found it no easy matter to discover
his cousin Marvel; for he had forgotten to date his letter, and no
direction was given to inn or lodging: at last, after inquiring at all
the public-houses without success, Wright bethought himself of asking
where Miss Alicia Barton, the actress, lodged; for there he would
probably meet her lover. Mr. Harrison, an eminent dyer, to whom he
applied for information, very civilly offered to show him to the house.
Wright had gained this dyer's good opinion by the punctuality with
which he had, for three years past, supplied him, at the day and
hour appointed, with the quantity of woad for which he had agreed.
Punctuality never fails to gain the good opinion of men of business.

As the dyer walked with Wright to Miss Barton's lodgings, they entered
into conversation about her; and Wright asked what character she bore.
"I know nothing of her character for my own share," said Harrison, "not
being in that line of business; but I think I could put you into a way
of seeing her in her true colours, whatever they may be; for she is very
intimate with a milliner, whom my wife (though not with my good-will
entirely) visits. In return for which, I shall be glad that you will do
my business along with your own; and let me know if any thing is going
wrong."

The dyer introduced Wright to the milliner as a gentleman farmer, who
wanted to take home with him a fashionable cap and bonnet, or two,
for some ladies in Lincolnshire. The milliner ordered down some dusty
bandboxes, which she protested and vowed were just arrived from London
with the newest fashions; and, whilst she was displaying these, Wright
talked of the races, and the players, and Miss Alicia Barton.

"Is she as handsome as they say? I have a huge _cur'osity_ to see her,"
said Wright, feigning more rusticity of manner and more simplicity than
was natural to him. "I have, truly, a woundy _cur'osity_ to see her,
I've heard so much of her, even down in Lincolnshire."

"If you go to see the play, sir, you can't fail to have your curiosity
gratified, for Miss Barton plays to-night--(Jenny! reach me a
play-bill)--for her own benefit, and appears in her very best character,
the Romp."

"The Romp!--Odds! Is that her best character? Why, now, to my notion,
bad's the best, if that be the best of her characters. The Romp!--Odds
so! What would our grandmothers say to that?"

"Oh, sir, times are changed, as well as fashions, since our
grandmothers' days," said the milliner. "Put up this bonnet for the
gentleman, Jenny.--I am sure I don't pretend to say any thing in favour
of the times, whatever I may of the fashions. But, as to fashion, to be
sure no one can be more fashionable, here in York, than Miss Barton. All
our gentlemen are dying for her."

"Odds my life, I'll keep out of her way! And yet I've a huge cur'osity
to set my eyes upon her. Pray, now, could I any way get to the sight or
speech of her in a room, or so? for seeing a woman on the stage is one
thing, and seeing her off, as I take it, is another."

"I take it so too, sir. Jenny, put up the cap for the gentleman, and
make out a bill."

"No, no; the bonnet's all I want, which I'll pay for on the nail."

Wright took out a long purse full of guineas: then put it up again, and
opened a pocket-book full of bank-notes. The milliner's respect for him
obviously increased. "Jenny! Do run and see who's within there. Miss
Barton was trying on her dress, I think, half an hour ago: may be she'll
pass through this way, and the gentleman may have a sight of her, since
it weighs so much upon his mind. Let me put up the cap too, sir: it's
quite the fashion, you may assure the Lincolnshire ladies.--Oh! here's
Miss Barton."

Miss Barton made her appearance, with all her most bewitching smiles
and graces. Without seeming to notice Wright, she seated herself in a
charming attitude; and, leaning pensively on the counter, addressed
her conversation to her friend, the milliner: but, at every convenient
pause, she cast an inquiring glance at Wright, who stood with his long
purse of guineas in his hand, and his open pocket-book of bank-notes
before him, as if he had been so much astonished by the lady's
appearance, that he could not recover his recollection. Now, Wright was
a remarkably well-shaped handsome man, and Miss Barton was in reality as
much struck by his appearance as he feigned to be by hers. No forbidding
reserve condemned him to silence; and, as if inspired by the hope of
pleasing, he soon grew talkative.

"This is the most rare town, this, your town of York." said he: "I do
not well know how I shall ever he able to get myself out of it: so many
fine sights, my eyes be quite dazzled!" "And pray, sir, which of all the
fine sights do you like the best?" said the milliner.

"Oh! the ladies be the finest of all the fine sights: and I know who I
think the finest lady I ever beheld--but will never tell--never."

"Never, sir?" said the milliner, whilst Miss Barton modestly cast down
her eyes. "Never's a bold word, sir. I've a notion you'll live to break
that rash resolution."

Miss Barton sighed, and involuntarily looked at the glass.

"Why, where's the use," pursued Wright, "of being laughed at? Where's
the sense of being scoffed at, as a man might be, that would go for to
pay a compliment, not well knowing how, to a lady that is used to have
court made to her by the first gentlemen in all York?"

"Those that think they don't know how to pay a compliment often pay the
best to my fancy," said the milliner. "What says Miss Barton?"

Miss Barton sighed and blushed, or looked as if she meant to blush; and
then, raising her well-practised eyes, exclaimed, with theatrical tones
and gestures:

  "Ye sacred pow'rs, whose gracious providence
  Is watchful for our good, guard me from men,
  From their deceitful tongues, their vows and flatteries;
  Still let me pass neglected by their eyes:
  Let my bloom wither and my form decay,
  That none may think it worth their while to ruin me,
  And fatal love may never be my bane."

Scarcely had she concluded her speech, when Pierce Marvel came
breathless into the shop. Wright was standing so as to be completely
hidden by the door: and Marvel, not seeing his friend, addressed
himself, as soon as he had breath, to his mistress.--The lady's manner
changed, and Wright had an opportunity of seeing and admiring her powers
of acting. To Marvel, she was coy and disdainful.

"I expect my friend and relation in town every hour," said he to her in
a low voice; "and then I shall be able to settle with your brother about
the sale of Clover-hill. You half promised that you would walk with me
this morning." "Not without my brother: excuse me, sir," said the coy
lady, withdrawing with the dignity of a princess. "When your friend
arrives, for whose advice I presume you wait, you will be able to decide
_your_ heart. Mine cannot be influenced by base lucre, or mercenary
considerations--Unhand me, sir."

"I will run immediately to the inn, to see whether my friend is come,"
cried Marvel. "Believe me, I am as much above mercenary considerations
as yourself; but I have promised not to conclude upon the sale till he
comes, and he would take it ill to be sent for, and then to be made a
fool of.--I'll run to the Green Man again immediately, to see if he is
come."

Marvel darted out of the shop. Wright, during this parley, which lasted
but a few seconds, had kept himself snug in his hiding-place, and
appeared to the milliner to be wholly absorbed in casting up his bill,
in which there was a shilling wrong. He came from behind the door
as soon as Marvel departed; and, saying that he would call for his
purchases in an hour's time, left the milliner's, took a hackney coach,
and drove to the Green Man, where he was now sure of meeting his cousin.

"Thank Heaven! you are come at last," cried Marvel, the moment he saw
him. "Thank Heaven! you are come! do not let us lose a moment. If you
are not tired, if you are not hungry, come along with me, and I'll
introduce you to my charming Alicia Barton."

"I am both tired and hungry," replied Wright: "so let us have a hot
beef-steak, and let me sit down and rest myself."

It was the utmost stretch of Marvel's patience to wait for the
beef-steak; and he could scarcely conceive how any one could prefer
eating it to seeing his charming Alicia. He did not eat a morsel
himself, but walked up and down the room with quick steps.

"Oh! my dear Wright," cried he, "it is a sign you've never seen her, or
you would eat a little faster."

"Does every body eat fast, who has seen Miss Barton?" said Wright; "then
to be sure I should; for I have seen her within this half hour."

"Seen her! Seen Alicia! Seen her within this half hour! That's
impossible.--How could you see her? Where could you see her?" "I saw her
in your company," rejoined Wright, coolly.

"In my company! How could that be, without my seeing you?--You are
making a jest of me."

"Not at all; only take care that you do not make a jest of yourself. I
assure you that I say nothing but truth: I've seen you and your Miss
Barton this very morning: nay, I'll tell you what you said to her; you
told her that you could not sell Clover-hill till I came to town."

Marvel stared, and stood in silent astonishment.

"Ay," continued Wright, "you see by this how many things may pass before
a man's eyes and ears, when he is in love, without his seeing or hearing
them. Why, man, I was in the milliner's shop just now, standing in the
corner behind the door; but you could see nothing but your charming Miss
Barton."

"I beg your pardon for being so blind," said Marvel, laughing; "but you
are too good-natured to take offence; though you don't know what it is
to be in love."

"There you are mistaken; for I am as much in love as yourself at this
instant."

"Then I'm undone," cried Marvel, turning as pale as death.

"Why so?" said Wright; "will you allow nobody, man, to be in love but
yourself? I don't see why I have not as good a right to fall in love as
you have."

"To be sure you have," said Marvel, trying to recover himself; "and I
can't say but what you deal fairly by me, to tell me so honestly at
once. More fool I to send for you. I might have foreseen this, blockhead
as I am! but you deal fairly by me, Wright: so I cannot complain, and
will not, happen what may. Let him who can win her, wear her. We start
fair; for though I have had the advantage of a first acquaintance, you
are much the handsomer man of the two; and that goes for a great deal
with some ladies, though not perhaps with Alicia Barton."

"There, perhaps, you may find yourself mistaken," replied Wright, with a
significant look.

"You don't say so? You don't think so?" cried Marvel, with great
emotion. "I say what I think; and, if I may trust a woman's looks, I've
some reason for my thoughts."

Marvel took up the tankard which stood on the table, and swallowed down
a hasty draught; and then said, though with an altered voice, "Cousin
Wright, let him who can win her, wear her, as I said before. I sha'n't
quarrel with you if you deal fairly by me; so tell me honestly, did you
never see her before this morning?"

"Never, as I am an honest man," said Wright.

"Then, here's my hand for you," said Marvel. "All's fair and handsome on
your part. Happen what may, as I said before, I will not quarrel with
you. If she was decreed to fall in love with you at first sight, why
that's no fault of yours; and if she tells me so fairly, why no great
fault of hers. She has encouraged me a little; but still women will
change their minds, and I shall not call her a jilt if she speaks
handsomely to me. It will go a little to my heart at first, no doubt;
but I shall bear it like a man, I hope; and I shall not quarrel with
you, cousin Wright, whatever else I do."

Marvel shook Wright's hand heartily; but turned away directly
afterwards, to hide his agitation.

"Why now, cousin Marvel, you are a good fellow; that's the truth of it,"
said Wright. "Trust to me: and, if the girl is what you think her, you
shall have her: that I promise you."

"That's more than you _can_ promise, being as you say as much in love as
I am."

"I say I'm more in love than you are: but what then, I ask you?"

"What then! why, we cannot both have Alicia Barton."

"Very true. I would not have her if you would give her to me."

"Would not have her!" cried Marvel, with a look of joyous astonishment:
"but, did not you tell me you were in love with her?"

"Not I. You told it to yourself. I said I was in love; but cannot a man
be in love with any woman in this whole world but Miss Barton?"

Marvel capered about the room with the most lively expressions of
delight, shook hands with his cousin, as if he would have pulled his
arm off, and then suddenly stopping, said, "But what do you think of my
Alicia? Though you are not in love with her, I hope you think well of
her?"

"I must see more of her before I am qualified to speak."

"Nay, nay, no drawbacks: out with it. I must know what you think of her
at this time being."

"At this time being, then, I think, she is what they call a--coquette."

"Oh, there you are out, indeed, cousin Wright! she's more of what they
call a prude than a coquette."

"To you, perhaps; but not to me, cousin. Let every one speak of her as
they find," replied Wright.

Marvel grew warm in defence of Miss Barton's prudery; and at last ended
by saying, "that he'd stake his life upon it, she was no jilt. If she
had taken a fancy to you, Wright, she would honestly tell me so, I'm
convinced; and, when she finds you are thinking of another woman, her
pride would soon make her think no more of you. 'Tis but little she
could have thought in the few minutes you were in her company; and it is
my opinion she never thought of you at all--no offence."

"No offence, I promise you," said Wright; "but let us put her to the
trial: do you keep your own counsel; go on courting her your own way,
and let me go mine. Don't you say one word of my being here in York; but
put her off about the sale of Clover-hill, till such time as you are
sure of her heart."

To this proposal Marvel joyfully agreed; and, as to the time of trial,
Wright asked only one week. His cousin then told him the new scheme,
from which he expected to make so much: it had been suggested by
Alicia's brother. "I am to sell Clover-hill; and, with the money that I
get for it, Barton and I are to build and fit up a theatre in Lincoln,
and be the managers ourselves. I assure you, he says, and they all say,
I should make a figure on the stage: and Miss Barton whispered, in my
hearing, that I should make a capital Lothario," added Marvel, throwing
himself into a stage attitude, and reciting, in a voice that made Wright
  start,"'Earth, Heav'n, and fair Calista, judge the combat.'"
"Very fine, no doubt," said Wright; "but I am no judge of these matters;
only this I am sure of, that, with respect to selling Clover-hill, you
had best go slowly to work, and see what the sister is, before you trust
to the brother. It is not for my interest, I very well know, to advise
you against this scheme; because, if I wanted to make certain of your
not coming in for my uncle's legacy, I could not take a better way than
to urge you to follow your fancy. For, say that you lay out all you have
in the world on the building of this playhouse, and say that Barton's
as honest a man as yourself: observe, your playhouse cannot be built in
less than a couple of years, and the interest of your money must be dead
all that time; and pray how are you to bring yourself up, by the end of
the ten years? Consider, there are but seven years of the time to come."

Marvel gave his cousin hearty thanks for his disinterested advice, but
observed that actors and managers of playhouses were, of all men, they
who were most likely to grow rich in a trice; that they often cleared
many hundreds in one night for their benefits; that even, if he should
fail to hit the public taste himself, as an actor, he was sure at
least, if he married the charming Alicia, that she would be a source
of inexhaustible wealth. "Not," added he, "that I think of her in that
light; for my soul is as much superior to mercenary considerations as
her own."

"More, perhaps," said Wright; but seeing fire flash in his cousin's
eyes at this insinuation, he contented himself for the present with the
promise he had obtained, that nothing should be concluded till the end
of one week; that no mention should be made to Miss Barton, or her
brother, of his arrival in town; and that he should have free liberty to
make trial of the lady's truth and constancy, in any way he should think
proper. Back to his friend the milliner's he posted directly. Miss
Barton was gone out upon the race-ground in Captain Mowbray's curricle:
in her absence, Wright was received very graciously by the milliner, who
had lodgings to let, and who readily agreed to let them to him for a
week, as he offered half a guinea more than she could get from anybody
else. She fancied that he was deeply smitten with Miss Barton's
charms, and encouraged his passion, by pretty broad hints that it was
reciprocal. Miss Barton drank tea this evening with the milliner: Wright
was of the party, and he was made to understand that _others_ had been
excluded: "for Miss Barton," her friend observed, "was very _nice_ as to
her company."

Many dexterous efforts were made to induce Wright to lay open his heart;
for the dyer's lady had been cross-questioned as to his property in
Lincolnshire, and she being a lover of the marvellous, had indulged
herself in a little exaggeration; so that he was considered as a prize,
and Miss Barton's imagination settled the matter so rapidly, that she
had actually agreed to make the milliner a handsome present on the
wedding-day. Upon this hint, the milliner became anxious to push forward
the affair. Marvel, she observed, hung back about the sale of his
estate; and, as to Sir Plantagenet Mowbray's son, he was bound hand and
foot by his father, so could do nothing genteel: besides, honourable
matrimony was out of the question there.

All these things considered, the milliner's decision was, on perfectly
prudential and virtuous motives, in favour of Wright. Miss Barton's
_heart_, to use her own misapplied term, spoke warmly in his favour; for
he was, without any comparison, the _handsomest_ of her lovers; and
his simplicity and apparent ignorance of the world were rather
recommendations than objections.

Upon her second interview with him, she had, however, some reason to
suspect that his simplicity was not so great as she had imagined. She
was surprised to observe, that, notwithstanding all their artful hints,
Wright came to nothing like a positive proposal, nor even to any
declaration of his passion. The next day she was yet more astonished;
for Wright, though he _knew_ she was a full hour in the milliner's shop,
never made the slightest attempt to see her; nay, in the evening, he met
her on the public walk, and passed without more notice than a formal
bow, and without turning his head back to look after her, though she
was flirting with a party of gentlemen, expressly for the purpose of
exciting his jealousy.

Another consultation was held with her friend the milliner: "These men
are terrible creatures to deal with," said her confidant. "Do you know,
my dear creature, this man, simple as he looks, has been very near
taking us in. Would you believe it? he is absolutely courting a
Lincolnshire lady for a wife. He wrote a letter to her, my dear
Alicia, this morning, and begged me to let my boy run with it to the
post-office. I winded and winded, saying he was mighty anxious about
the letter, and so on, till, at the last, out comes the truth. Then
I touched him about you; but he said, 'an actress was not fit for a
farmer's wife, and that you had too many admirers already.' You see, my
dear creature, that he has none of the thoughts we built upon. Depend
upon it he is a shrewd man, and knows what he is about; so, as we cannot
do better than Marvel, my advice--"

"Your advice!" interrupted Miss Barton: "I shall follow no advice but my
own." She walked up and down the small parlour in great agitation.

"Do as you please, my dear; but remember I cannot afford to _lay_ out of
my money to all eternity. The account between us has run up to a great
sum; the dresses were such as never were made up before in York, and
must be paid for accordingly, as you must be sensible, Miss Barton. And
when you have an opportunity of establishing yourself so handsomely, and
getting all your debts paid; and when your brother, who was here an hour
ago, presses the match with Mr. Marvel so much; it is very strange and
unaccountable of you to say, 'you will take nobody's advice but your
own;' and to fall in love, ma'am, as you are doing, as fast as you can,
with a person who has no serious intentions, and is going to be married
to another woman. For shame, Miss Barton; is this behaving with proper
propriety? Besides, I've really great regard for that poor young man
that you have been making a fool of; I'm sure he is desperately in love
with you."

"Then let him show it, and sell Clover-hill," said Miss Barton.

Her mind balanced between avarice and what she called love. She had
taken a fancy to Wright, and his present coldness rather increased than
diminished her passion: he played his part so well, that she could not
tell how to decide. In the mean time, the milliner pressed for her
money; and Alicia's brother bullied loudly in favour of Marvel: he had
engaged the milliner, whom he was courting, to support his opinion.
Marvel, though with much difficulty, stood his ground, and refused to
sell Clover-hill, till he should be perfectly sure that Miss Barton
would marry him, and till his relation should arrive in town, and give
his consent.




CHAPTER III.


Mr. Barton and the milliner now agreed, that if fair means would not
bring the charming Alicia to reason, others must be used; and it was
settled that she should be arrested for her debt to the milliner, which
was upwards of fifty pounds. "She knows," said this considerate brother,
"that I have neither the power nor the will to pay the money. Sir
Plantagenet's son is as poor as Job; so she must have recourse to
Marvel; and, if she gives him proper encouragement, he'll pay the money
in a trice. As to this man, who lodges with you, let her apply to him if
she likes it; she will soon see how he will answer her. By your account
he is a shrewd fellow, and not like our friend Marvel."

On Friday morning the charming Alicia was arrested, at the suit of her
dear friend and confidant, the milliner. The arrest was made in the
milliner's shop. Alicia would doubtless have screamed and fainted, with
every becoming spirit and grace, if any spectators had been present:
but there was no one in the shop to admire or pity. She rushed with
dishevelled hair, and all the stage show of distraction, into Wright's
apartment; but, alas! he was not to be found. She then composed herself,
and wrote the following note to Marvel:

"TO ---- MARVEL, ESQ. &C.

"At the Green Man.

"Much as it hurts the delicacy and wounds the pride of Alicia, she is
compelled, by the perfidy of a bosom friend of her own sex, to apply for
assistance and protection to one who will feel for the indignity that
has been shown her. How will his generous nature shudder, when he hears
that she is on the point of being dragged to a loathsome dungeon, for
want of the paltry sum of fifty pounds! Retrospection may convince the
man of her heart, that her soul is superior to mercenary considerations;
else, she would not now be reduced so low in the power of her enemies:
she scarcely knows what she writes--her heart bleeds--her brain is on
fire!

  "'Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon my soul,
  And every pain grows less. Oh! gentle Altamont,
  Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone,
  But pity me. Had I but early known
  Thy wond'rous worth, thou excellent young man,
  We had been happier both. Now 'tis too late.
  And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee!
  Thou art their last dear object.--Mercy, Heav'n!'

  "Your affectionate,
  "And (shall I confess it?)
  "Too affectionate,
  "ALICIA."

Marvel was settling some accounts with Wright when this note was put
into his hands: scarcely had he glanced his eye over it, when he started
up, seized a parcel of bank notes, which lay on the table, and was
rushing out of the room. Wright caught hold of his arm, and stopped him
by force.

"Where now? What now, Marvel?" said he.

"Do not stop me, Wright! I will not be stopped! She has been barbarously
used. They are dragging her to prison.--They have driven her almost out
of her senses. I must go to her this instant."

"Well, well, don't go without your hat, man, for the people in the
street will take you for a lunatic. May a friend see this letter that
has driven _you_ out of your senses?"

Marvel put it into Wright's hands, who read it with wonderful composure;
and when he came to the end of it, only said--"Hum!"

"Hum," repeated Marvel, provoked beyond measure; "you have no humanity.
You are most strangely prejudiced. You are worse than Goodenough. Why do
you follow me?" continued he, observing that Wright was coming after him
across the inn-yard into the street.

"I follow you to take care of you," said Wright, calmly; "and though you
do stride on at such a rate, I'll be bound to keep up with you."

He suffered Marvel to walk on at his own pace for the length of two
streets, without saying another word; but just as they were turning the
corner into the square where the milliner lived, he again caught hold of
his cousin's arm, and said to him: "Hark you, Marvel; will you trust me
with those bank notes that you have in your pocket? and will you let me
step on to the milliner's, and settle this business for you? I see
it will cost you fifty pounds, but that I cannot help. You may think
yourself well off."

"Fifty pounds! What are fifty pounds?" cried Marvel, hurrying forwards.
"You see that my Alicia must be superior to mercenary considerations;
for, though she knows I have a good fortune, that could not decide her
in my favour."

"No, because she fancies that 1 have a better fortune; and, besides (for
there are times when a man must speak plainly), I've a notion she would
at this minute sooner be my mistress than your wife, if the thing were
fairly tried. She'll take your money as fast as you please; and I may
take her as fast as I please."

Incensed at these words, Marvel could scarcely restrain his passion
within bounds: but Wright, without being, moved, continued to speak.

"Nay, then, cousin, if you don't believe me, put it to the test!--I'll
wait here, at this woollen-draper's, where I am to dine: do you go on to
your milliner's, and say what you please, only let me have my turn for
half an hour this evening; and, if I am mistaken in the lady, I'll
freely own it, and make all due apology."

In the afternoon, Marvel came to Wright with a face full of joy and
triumph. "Go to my Alicia now, cousin Wright," said he: "I defy you. She
is at her lodging.--She has promised to marry me! I am the happiest man
in the world!"

Wright said not a word, but departed. Now he had in his pocket an
unanswered billet-doux, which had been laid upon his table the preceding
night: the billet-doux had no name to it; but, from all he had remarked
of the lady's manners towards him, he could not doubt that it was the
charming Alicia's. He was determined to have positive proof, however, to
satisfy Marvel's mind completely. The note which he had received was as
follows:

"What can be the cause of your cruel and sudden change towards one of
whom you lately appeared to think so partially? A certain female friend
may deceive you, by false representations: do not trust to her, but
learn the real sentiments of a fond heart from one who knows not how to
feign. Spare the delicacy of your victim, and guess her name."

To this note, from one "who knew not how to feign," Wright sent the
following reply:

"If Miss Barton knows any thing of a letter that was left at Mrs.
Stokes's, the milliner's, last night, she may receive an answer to her
questions from the bearer; who, being no scholar, hopes she will not
take no offence at the shortness of these lines, but satisfy him in the
honour of drinking tea with her, who waits below stairs for an answer."

The charming Alicia allowed him the honour of drinking tea with her, and
was delighted with the thought that she had at last caught him in her
snares. The moment she had hopes of him, she resolved to break her
promise to Marvel; and by making a merit of sacrificing to Wright all
his rivals, she had no doubt that she should work so successfully
upon his vanity, as to induce him to break off his treaty with the
Lincolnshire lady.

Wright quickly let her go on with the notion that she had the game in
her own hands; at length he assumed a very serious look, like one upon
the point of forming some grand resolution; and turning half away from
her, said:

"But now, look ye, Miss Barton, I am not a sort of man who would like to
be made a fool of. Here I'm told half the gentlemen of York are dying
for you; and, as your friend Mrs. Stokes informed--"

"Mrs. Stokes is not my friend, but the basest and most barbarous of
enemies," cried Alicia.

"Why, now, this is strange! She was your friend yesterday; and how do I
know but a woman may change as quick, and as short, about her lovers, as
about her friends?"

"I never can change: fear nothing," said Alicia, tenderly.

"But let me finish what I was saying about Mrs. Stokes; she told me
something about one Mr. Marvel, I think they call him; now what is all
that?"

"Nothing: he is a foolish young man, who was desperately in love with
me, that's all, and offered to marry me; but, as I told him, I am
superior to mercenary considerations."

"And is the affair broke off, then?" said Wright, looking her full in
the face. "That's in one word what I must be sure of: for I am not a man
that would choose to be jilted. Sit you down and pen me a farewell to
that same foolish young fellow. I am a plain-spoken man, and now you
have my mind."

Miss Barton was now persuaded that all Wright's coldness had proceeded
from jealousy: blinded by her passions, and alarmed by the idea that
this was the moment in which she must either secure or for ever abandon
Wright and his fortune, she consented to his proposal, and wrote the
following tender adieu to Marvel:

"TO----MARVEL, ESQ. &C. At the Green Man.


"SIR,

"CIRCUMSTANCES have occurred, since I had last the honour of seeing you,
which make it impossible that I should ever think of you more.

"ALICIA BARTON."

Wright said he was perfectly satisfied with this note; and all that he
now desired was to be himself the bearer of it to Marvel.

"He is a hot-headed young man," said Alicia; "he will perhaps quarrel
with you: let me send the letter by a messenger of my own. You don't
know him; you will not be able to find him out. Besides, why will you
deprive me of your company? Cannot another carry this note as well as
you?"

"None shall carry it but myself," said Wright, holding fast his prize.
She was apprehensive of losing him for ever, if she opposed what she
thought his jealous humour; so she struggled no longer to hold him, but
bade him make haste to return to his Alicia.

He returned no more; but the next morning she received from him the
following note:

"TO MISS ALICIA BARTON, &C.

"MADAM,

"Circumstances have occurred, since I had last the honour of seeing you,
which make it impossible that I should ever think of you more.

"JOHN WRIGHT.

"P.S. My cousin, Marvel, thanks you for your note. Before you receive
this, he will have left York wiser than he came into it by fifty guineas
and more."

"Wiser by more than fifty guineas, I hope," said Marvel, as he rode out
of town, early in the morning.

"I have been on the point of being finely taken in! I'm sure this
will be a lesson to me as long as I live. I shall never forget your
good-nature, and steadiness to me, Wright. Now, if it had not been for
you, I might have been married to this jade; and have given her and her
brother every thing I'm worth in the world. Well, well, this is a lesson
I shall remember. I've felt it sharply enough. Now I'll turn my head to
my business again, if I can. How Goodenough would laugh at me if he knew
this story. But I'll make up for all the foolish things I have done
yet before I die; and I hope, before I die, I may be able to show you,
cousin Wright, how much I am obliged to you: that would be greater joy
to me even than getting by my own ingenuity my uncle Pearson's ten
thousand pound legacy. Do, Wright, find out something I can do for you,
to make amends for all the trouble I've given you, and all the time I
have made you waste: do, there's a good fellow."

"Well, then," said Wright, "I don't want to saddle you with an
obligation. You shall pay me in kind directly, since you are so desirous
of it. I told you I was in love: you shall come with me and see my
mistress, to give me your opinion of her. Every man can be prudent for
his neighbour: even you no doubt can," added Wright, laughing. Wright's
mistress was a Miss Banks, only daughter to a gentleman who had set up
an apparatus for manufacturing woad. Mr. Banks's house was in their way
home, and they called there. They knocked several times at the door,
before any one answered: at last a boy came to hold their horses, who
told them that Mr. Banks was dead, and that nobody could be let into the
house. The boy knew nothing of the matter, except that his master died,
he believed, of a sort of a fit; and that his young mistress was in
great grief: "which I'm mortal sorry for," added he: "for she he's kind
hearted and civil spoken, and moreover did give me the very shoes I have
on my feet."

"I wish I could see her," said Wright; "I might be some comfort to her."

"Might ye so, master? If that the thing be so," said the boy, looking
earnestly in Wright's face, "I'll do my best endeavours."

He ran off at full speed through the back yard, but returned to learn
the gentleman's name, which he had forgotten to ask; and presently
afterwards he brought his answer. It was written with a pencil, and with
a trembling hand:

"My dear Mr. Wright, I cannot see you now: but you shall hear from me as
soon as I am able to give an answer to your last.

"S. BANKS."

The words, "My dear," were half rubbed out: but they were visible enough
to his eyes. Wright turned his horse's head homewards, and Marvel and he
rode away. His heart was so full that he could not speak, and he did
not hear what Marvel said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on
slowly, they heard a great noise of horsemen behind them; and looking
back, they saw a number of farmers, who were riding after them. As they
drew near, Wright's attention was roused by hearing the name of _Banks_
frequently repeated. "What news, neighbour?" said Marvel.

"The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead; he died of an apoplectic fit, and
has left his daughter a power o' money, they say. Happy the man who
gets her! Good morrow to you, gentlemen; we're in haste home." After
receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress's note over again,
and observed that he was not quite pleased to see the words "My dear"
half rubbed out. Marvel exclaimed, "Have nothing more to do with her;
that's my advice to you; for I would not marry any woman for her
fortune; especially if she thought she was doing me a favour. If she
loved you, she would not have rubbed out those words at such a time as
this."

"Stay a bit," said Wright; "we shall be better able to judge by and by."

A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss Banks; nor did he
attempt to see her, but waited as patiently as he could for her promised
letter. At last it came. The first word was "Sir." That was enough for
Marvel, who threw it down with indignation when his cousin showed it to
him. "Nay, but read it, at least," said Wright.

"SIR,

"My poor father's affairs have been left in great disorder; and instead
of the fortune which you might have expected with me, I shall have
little or nothing. The creditors have been very kind to me; and I hope
in time to pay all just debts. I have been much hurried with business,
or should have written sooner. Indeed it is no pleasant task to me to
write at all, on this occasion. I cannot unsay what I have said to you
in former times, for I think the same of you as ever I did: but I know
that I am not now a fit match for you as to fortune, and would not hold
any man to his word, nor could value any man enough to marry him, who
would break it. Therefore it will be no grief for me to break off with
you if such should be your desire. And no blame shall be thrown upon you
by my friends, for I will take the refusal upon myself. I know the terms
of your uncle's will, and the great reason you have to wish for a good
fortune with your wife; so it is very natural--I mean very likely, you
may not choose to be burdened with a woman who has none. Pray speak your
mind freely to, sir,

"Your humble servant,

"S. BANKS." Marvel had no sooner read this letter than he advised his
friend Wright to marry Miss Banks directly.

"That is what I have determined to do," said Wright: "for I don't think
money the first thing in the world; and I would sooner give up my uncle
Pearson's legacy this minute than break my word to any woman, much less
to one that I love, as I do Miss Banks, better now than ever. I have
just heard from the steward, who brought this letter, how handsomely
and prudently she has behaved to other people, as well as to myself:
by which I can judge most safely. She has paid all the debts that were
justly due, and has sold even the gig, which I know she wished to keep;
but, seeing that it was not suited to her present circumstances, her
good sense has got the better. Now, to my mind, a prudent wife, even as
to money matters, may turn out a greater treasure to a man than what
they call a great fortune."

With these sentiments Wright married Miss Banks, who was indeed a very
prudent, amiable girl. Goodenough sneered at this match; and observed
that he had always foretold Wright would be taken in, sooner or later.
Goodenough was now in his thirty-second year, and as he had always
determined to marry precisely at this age, he began to look about for a
wife. He chose a widow, said to be of a very close saving temper: she
was neither young, handsome, nor agreeable; but then she was rich,
and it was Goodenough's notion that the main chance should be first
considered, in matrimony as in every thing else. Now this notable dame
was precisely of his way of thinking; but she had more shrewdness than
her lover, and she overreached him in the bargain: her fortune did not
turn out to be above one half of what report had represented it; her
temper was worse than even her enemies said it was; and the time that
was daily wasted in trifling disputes between this well-matched pair was
worth more than all the petty savings made by her avaricious habits.

Goodenough cursed himself ten times a day, during the honey-moon; but
as he did not like to let the neighbours know how far he had been
outwitted, he held his tongue with the fortitude of a martyr; and his
partisans all commended him for making so prudent a match. "Ah, ay,"
said they, "there's Wright, who might have had this very woman, has gone
and married a girl without a shilling, with all his prudence; and, as to
Marvel, he will surely be bit." There they were mistaken. Marvel was
a person capable of learning from experience, and he never forgot the
lesson that he had received from the charming Alicia. It seemed to have
sobered him completely.




CHAPTER IV.


About this time, Mr. James Harrison, an eminent dyer, uncle to Wright's
friend of that name at York, came to settle near Clover-hill; and
as Marvel was always inclined to be hospitable, he assisted his new
neighbour with many of those little conveniences, which money cannot
always command at the moment they are wanted. The dyer was grateful;
and, in return for Marvel's civilities, let him into many of the
mysteries of the dyeing business, which he was anxious to understand.
Scarcely a day passed without his calling on Mr. James Harrison. Now,
Mr. Harrison had a daughter, Lucy, who was young and pretty, and Marvel
thought her more and more agreeable every time he saw her; but, as he
told Wright, he was determined not to fall in love with her, until he
was quite sure that she was good for something. A few weeks after he had
been acquainted with her, he had an opportunity of seeing her tried.
Mrs. Isaac Harrison, the dyer of York's lady, came to spend some
time; Miss Millicent, or, as she was commonly called, Milly Harrison,
accompanied her mother: she, having a more fashionable air than Lucy,
and having learned to dance from a London dancing-master, thought
herself so much her superior that she ought to direct her in all things.
Miss Milly, the Sunday after her arrival, appeared at church in a bonnet
that charmed half the congregation; and a crowd of farmers' wives and
daughters, the moment church was over, begged the favour of Miss Milly
to tell them where and how such a bonnet could be got, and how much it
would cost. It was extravagantly dear; and those mothers who had any
prudence were frightened at the price: but the daughters were of opinion
that it was the cheapest, as well as prettiest thing that ever was seen
or heard of; and Miss Milly was commissioned to write immediately to
York to bespeak fifteen bonnets exactly like her own. This transaction
was settled before they had left the churchyard; and Miss Milly was
leaning upon a tombstone to write down the names of those who were most
eager to have their bonnets before the next Sunday, when Wright and
Marvel came up to the place where the crowd was gathered, and they saw
what was going forward.

Miss Barber, Miss Cotton, Miss Lamb, Miss Dishley, Miss Trotter, Miss
Hull, Miss Parker, Miss Bury, Miss Oxley, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. &c.
&c. &c. &c. &c. &c., all, in their turn, peeped anxiously over Miss
Milly's shoulder, to make themselves sure that their names were in the
happy list. Lucy Harrison, alone, stood with a composed countenance in
the midst of the agitated group. "Well, cousin Lucy, what say you now?
Shall I bespeak a bonnet for you, hey?--Do you know," cried Miss Milly,
turning to the admirers of her bonnet, "do you know that I offered to
bespeak one yesterday for Lucy; and she was so stingy she would not let
me, because it was _too dear_?" "_Too dear!_ Could ye conceive it?"
repeated the young ladies, joining in a scornful titter. All eyes were
now fixed upon Lucy, who blushed deeply, but answered, with gentle
steadiness, that she really could not afford to lay out so much money
upon a bonnet, and that she would rather not have her name put down in
the list.

"She's a good prudent girl," whispered Wright to Marvel.

"And very pretty, I am sure; I never saw her look so pretty as at this
instant," replied Marvel in a low voice,

"Please yourself, child," said Miss Milly, throwing back her head with
much disdain; "but I'm sure you'll please nobody else with such a dowdy
thing as that you have on. Lord! I should like to see her walk the
streets of York on a Sunday that figure. Lord! how Mrs. Stokes would
laugh!"

Here she paused, and several of her fair audience were struck with the
terrible idea of being laughed at by a person whom they had never seen,
and whom they were never likely to see; and transporting themselves
in imagination into the streets of York, felt all the horror of being
stared at, in an unfashionable bonnet, by Mrs. Stokes. "Gracious me!
Miss Milly, do pray be sure to have mine sent from York afore next
Sunday," cried one of the country belles: "and, gracious me! don't
forget mine, Miss Mill," was reiterated by every voice but Lucy's, as
the crowd followed Miss Harrison out of the churchyard. Great was the
contempt felt for her by the company; but she was proof against their
ridicule, and calmly ended, as she began, with saying, "I cannot afford
it."

"She is a very prudent girl," repeated Wright, in a low voice, to
Marvel.

"But I hope this is not stinginess," whispered Marvel. "I would not
marry such a stingy animal as Goodenough has taken to wife for all the
world. Do you know she has half starved the servant boy that lived with
them? There he is, yonder, getting over the stile: did you ever see such
a miserable-looking creature?--He can tell you fifty stories of dame
Goodenough's stinginess. I would not marry a stingy woman for the whole
world. I hope Lucy Harrison is not stingy."

"Pray, Mrs. Wright," said Marvel's friend, turning to his wife, who had
been standing beside him, and who had not yet said one word, "what may
your opinion be?"

"My opinion is, that she is as generous a girl as any upon earth," said
Mrs. Wright, "and I have good reason to say so."

"How? What?" said Marvel, eagerly.

"Her father lent my poor father five hundred pounds; and at the meeting
of the creditors after his death, Mr. Harrison was very earnest to have
the money paid, because it was his daughter's fortune. When he found
that it could not be had immediately, he grew extremely angry; but Lucy
pacified him, and told him that she was sure I should pay the money
honestly, as soon as I could; and that she would willingly wait to
have it paid at a hundred pounds a year, for my convenience. I am more
obliged to her for the handsome way in which she trusted to me, than if
she had given me half the money. I shall never forget it."

"I hope you forgive her for not buying the bonnet," said Wright to
Marvel.

"Forgive her! ay; now I love her for it," said Marvel; "now I know that
she is not stingy."

From this day forward, Marvel's attachment to Lucy rapidly increased.
One evening he was walking in the fields with Lucy and Miss Milly, who
played off her finest York airs to attract his admiration, when the
following dialogue passed between them: "La! cousin Lucy," said Miss
Millicent, "when shall we get you to York? I long to show you a little
of the world, and to introduce you to my friend, Mrs. Stokes, the
milliner."

"My father says that he does not wish that I should be acquainted with
Mrs. Stokes," said Lucy.

"Your father! Nonsense, child. Your father has lived all his life in the
country, the Lord knows where; he has not lived in York, as I have; so
how can he know any thing upon earth of the world?--what we call the
world, I mean."

"I do not know, cousin Milly, what you call the world; but I think
that he knows more of Mrs. Stokes than I do; and I shall trust to his
opinion, for I never knew him speak ill of any body without having good
reason for it. Besides, it is my duty to obey my father."

"Duty! La! Gracious me! She talks as if she was a baby in
leading-strings," cried Miss Milly, laughing; but she was mortified at
observing that Marvel did not join, as she had expected, in the laugh:
so she added, in a scornful tone, "Perhaps I'm in the wrong box;
and that Mr. Marvel is one of them that admires pretty babes in
leading-strings."

"I am one of those that admire a good daughter, I confess," said Marvel;
"and," said he, lowering his voice, "that love her too."

Miss Milly coloured with anger, and Lucy with an emotion that she had
never felt before. As they returned home, they met Mr. Harrison, and the
moment Marvel espied him he quitted the ladies.

"I've something to say to you, Mr. Harrison. I should be glad to speak a
few words to you in private, if you please," cried he, seizing his arm,
and leading him down a by-lane.

Mr. Harrison was all attention; but Marvel began to gather primroses,
instead of speaking.

"Well," said Mr. Harrison, "did you bring me here to see you gather
primroses?"

After smelling the flowers twenty times, and placing them in twenty
different forms, Marvel at last threw them on the bank, and, with a
sudden effort, exclaimed, "You have a daughter, Mr. James Harrison."

"I know I have; and I thank God for it."

"So you have reason to do; for a more lovely girl and a better, in my
opinion, never existed."

"One must not praise one's own, or I should agree with you," said the
proud father.

Again there was silence. And again Marvel picked up his primroses.

"In short," said he, "Mr. Harrison, would you like me for a son-in-law?"

"Would Lucy like you for a husband? I must know that first," said the
good father.

"That is what I do not know," replied Marvel; "but, if I was to ask
her, she would ask you, I am sure, whether you would like me for a
son-in-law."

"At this rate, we shall never get forwards," said Harrison. "Go you back
to Miss Milly, and send my Lucy here to me."

We shall not tell how Lucy picked up the flowers, which had been her
lover's grand resource; nor how often she blushed upon the occasion: she
acknowledged that she thought Mr. Marvel _very agreeable_, but that she
was afraid to marry a person who had so little steadiness. That she had
heard of a great number of schemes, undertaken by him, which had failed;
or which he had given up as hastily as he had begun them. "Besides,"
said she, "may be he might change his mind about me as well as about
other things; for I've heard from my cousin Milly--I've heard--that--he
was in love, not very long since, with an actress in York. Do you think
this is all true?"

"Yes, I know it is all true," said Mr. Harrison, "for he told me so
himself. He is an honest, open-hearted young man; but I think as you do,
child, that we cannot be sure of his steadiness."

When Marvel heard from Mr. Harrison the result of this conversation,
he was inspired with the strongest desire to convince Lucy that he was
capable of perseverance. To the astonishment of all who knew him, or who
thought that they knew him, he settled steadily to business; and, for a
whole twelvemonth, no one heard him speak of any new scheme. At the end
of this time he renewed his proposal to Lucy; saying that he hoped she
would now have some dependence upon his constancy to her, since she had
seen the power she had over his mind. Lucy was artless and affectionate,
as well as prudent: now that her only real objection to the match was
lessened, she did not torment him, to try her power; but acknowledged
her attachment to him, and they were married.

Sir Plantagenet Mowbray's agent was much astonished that Lucy did not
prefer him, because he was a much richer man than Pierce Marvel; and
Miss Milly Harrison was also astonished that Mr. Marvel did not prefer
her to such a country girl as Lucy, especially when she had a thousand
pounds more _to_ her fortune. But, notwithstanding all this
astonishment, Marvel and his wife were perfectly happy.

It was now the fifth year after old Mr. Pearson's death. Wright was at
this time the richest of the three nephews; for the money that he had
laid out in draining Holland fen began to bring him in twenty per cent.
As to Marvel, he had exchanged some of his finest acres for the warren
of silver sprigs, the common full of thistles, and the marsh full of
reeds: he had lost many guineas by his sheep and their jackets, and many
more by his ill-fenced plantations: so that counting all the losses from
the failure of his schemes and the waste of his time, he was a thousand
pounds poorer than when he first came into possession of Clover-hill.

Goodenough was not, according to the most accurate calculations, one
shilling richer or poorer than when he first began the world. "Slow and
sure," said his friends: "fair and softly goes far in a day. What he has
he'll hold fast; that's more than Marvel ever did, and may be more than
Wright will do in the end. He dabbles a little in _experiments_, as he
calls them: this he has learned from his friend Marvel; and this will
come to no good."

About this time there was some appearance of a scarcity in England; and
many farmers set an unusual quantity of potatoes, in hopes that they
would bear a high price the ensuing season. Goodenough, who feared and
hated every thing that was called a speculation, declared that, for his
part, he would not set a drill more than he used to do. What had always
done for him and his should do for him still. With this resolution, he
began to set his potatoes: Marvel said to him, whilst he was at work,
"Cousin Goodenough, I would advise you not to set the shoots that are at
the bottom of these potatoes; for, if you do, they won't be good for
any thing. This is a secret I learned last harvest home, from one of my
Irish haymakers. I made the experiment last year, and found the poor
fellow was quite right. I have given him a guinea for his information;
and it will be worth a great deal more to me and my neighbours."

"May be so," said Goodenough; "but I shall set my own potatoes my own
way, I thank you, cousin Marvel; for I take it the old way's best, and
I'll never follow any other."

Marvel saw that it was in vain to attempt to convince Goodenough:
therefore he left him to his old ways. The consequence was, that
Goodenongh and his family ate the worst potatoes in the whole country
this year; and Marvel cleared _above two hundred pounds_ by twenty acres
of potatoes, set according to his friend the Irishman's directions.

This was the first speculation of Marvel's which succeeded; because
it was the first which had been begun with prudence, and pursued with
steadiness. His information, in the first instance, was good: it came
from a person who had actually tried the experiment, and who had seen it
made by others; and when he was convinced of the fact, he applied his
knowledge at the proper time, boldly extended his experiment, and
succeeded. This success raised him in the opinion even of his enemies.
His friend, Wright, heartily rejoiced at it; but Goodenough sneered, and
said to Wright, "What Marvel has gained this year he'll lose by some
scheme the next. I dare to say, now, he has some new scheme or another
brewing in his brains at this very moment. Ay--look, here he comes, with
two bits of rags in his hand.--Now for it!"

Marvel came up to them with great eagerness in his looks; and showing
two freshly-dyed patterns of cloth, said, "Which of these two blues is
the brightest?"

"That in your left hand," said Wright; "it is a beautiful blue."

"Marvel rubbed his hands with an air of triumph; but restraining his
joy, he addressed himself to Wright in a composed voice.

"My dear Wright, I have many obligations to you; and, if I have any good
fortune, you shall be the first to share it with me. As for you, cousin
Goodenough, I don't bear malice against you for laughing at me and my
herons' feathers, and my silver sprigs, and my sheep's jackets, and my
thistles: shake hands, man; you shall have a share in our scheme, if you
please."

"I don't please to have no share at all in none of your schemes, cousin
Marvel: I thank you kindly," said Goodenough.

"Had not you better hear what it is, before you decide against it?" said
Wright.

Marvel explained himself further: "Some time ago," said he, "I was with
my father-in-law, who was dyeing some cloth with woad. I observed that
one corner of the cloth was of much brighter blue than any of the rest;
and upon examining what could be the cause of this, I found that the
corner of the cloth had fallen upon the ground, as it was taken out of
the dyeing vat, and had trailed through a mixture of colours, which I
had accidentally spilled on the floor. I carefully recollected of
what this mixture was composed: I found that woad was the principal
ingredient; the other----is a secret. I have repeated my experiments
several times, and I find that they have always succeeded: I was
determined not to speak of my discovery till I was sure of the facts.
Now I'm sure of them, my father-in-law tells me that he and his brother
at York could ensure to me an advantageous sale for as much blue cloth
as I can prepare; and he advised me to take out a patent for the dye."

Goodenough had not patience to listen any longer, but exclaimed:

"Join in a patent! that's more than I would do, I'm sure, cousin Marvel;
so don't think to take me in: I'll end as I began, without having any
thing to do with any of your new-fangled schemes--Good morning to you."

"I hope, Wright," said Marvel, proudly, "that you do not suspect me of
any design to take you in; and that you will have some confidence in
this scheme, when you find that my experiments have been accurately
tried."

Wright assured Marvel that he had the utmost confidence in his
integrity; and that he would carefully go over with him any experiments
he chose to show him. "I do not want to worm your secret from you," said
he; "but we must make ourselves sure of success before we go to take out
a patent, which will be an expensive business."

"You are exactly the sort of man I should wish to have for my partner,"
cried Marvel, "for you have all the coolness and prudence that I want."

"And you have all the quickness and ingenuity that I want," replied
Wright; "so, between us, we should indeed, as you say, make good
partners."

A partnership was soon established between Wright and Marvel. The woad
apparatus, which belonged to Wright's father-in-law, was given up to the
creditors to pay the debts; but none of these creditors understood the
management of it, or were willing to engage in it, lest they should ruin
themselves. Marvel prevailed upon Wright to keep it in his own hands:
and the creditors, who had been well satisfied by his wife's conduct
towards them, and who had great confidence in his character for
prudence, relinquished their claims upon the property, and trusted to
Wright's promise, that they should be gradually paid by instalments.

"See what it is to have chosen a good wife," said Wright. "Good
character is often better than good fortune."

The wife returned the husband's compliment; but we must pass over such
unfashionable conversation, and proceed with our story.

The reader may recollect our mentioning a little boy, who carried a
message from Wright to Miss Banks the day that he called upon her, on
his return from York. She had been very good to this boy, and he was of
a grateful temper. After he left her father's service, he was hired by
a gentleman, who lived near Spalding, and for some time she had heard
nothing of him: but, about a year after she was married, his master paid
a visit in Lincolnshire, and the lad early one morning came to see his
"_old young mistress_." He came so very early that none of the family
were stirring, except Marvel, who had risen by daybreak to finish some
repairs that he was making in the woad apparatus. He recognized the boy
the moment he saw him, and welcomed him with his usual good-nature.

"Ah, sir!" said the lad, "I be's glad to see things going on here again.
I be's main glad to hear how young mistress is happy! But I must be back
afore my own present master be's up; so will you be pleased to give my
sarvice and duty, and here's a little sort of a tea-chest for her, that
I made with the help of a fellow-sarvant of mine. If so be she'll think
well of taking it, I should be very proud: it has a lock and key and
all."

Marvel was astonished at the workmanship of this tea-chest; and when he
expressed his admiration, the boy said, "Oh, sir! all the difficult_est_
parts were done by my fellow-sarvant, who is more handy like than I
am, ten to one, though he is a Frenchman. He was one of them French
prisoners, and is a curious man. He would have liked of all things to
have come here along with me this morning, to get a sight of what's
going on here; because that they have woad mills and the like in his own
country, he says; but then he would not come spying without leave, being
a civil honest man."

Marvel told the boy that his fellow-servant should be heartily welcome
to satisfy his curiosity; and the next morning the Frenchman came. He
was a native of Languedoc, where woad is cultivated: he had been engaged
in the manufacture of it, and Marvel soon found, by his conversation,
that he was a well-informed, intelligent man. He told Marvel that there
were many natives of Languedoc, at this time, prisoners in England,
who understood the business as well as he did, and would be glad to be
employed, or to sell their knowledge at a reasonable price. Marvel was
not too proud to learn, even from a Frenchman. With Wright's consent, he
employed several of these workmen; and he carried, by their means, the
manufacture of woad to a high pitch of perfection. How success changes
the opinion of men! The Lincolnshire farmers, who had formerly sneered
at Marvel as a genius and a projector, began to look up to him as to a
very wise and knowing man, when they saw this manufactory continue to
thrive; and those who had blamed Wright, for entering into partnership
with him, now changed their minds. Neither of them could have done
separately what they both effected by their union.

At the end of the ten years, Goodenough was precisely where he was when
he began; neither richer nor poorer; neither wiser nor happier; all that
he had added to his stock was a cross wife and two cross children. He,
to the very last moment, persisted in the belief that he should be the
richest of the three, and that Wright and Marvel would finish by being
bankrupts. He was in unutterable astonishment, when, upon the appointed
day, they produced their account-books to Mr. Constantine, the executor,
and it was found that they were many thousand pounds better in the world
than himself.

"Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Constantine, "to which of you am I to give
your uncle's legacy? I must know which of the partners has the greatest
share in the manufactory."

"Wright has the greatest share," cried Marvel; "for without his prudence
I should have been ruined."

"Marvel has the greatest share," cried Wright: "for without his
ingenuity I should never have succeeded in the business, nor indeed
should I have undertaken it."

"Then, gentlemen, you must divide the legacy between you," said Mr.
Constantine, "and I give you joy of your happy partnership. What can he
more advantageous than a partnership between prudence and justice on the
one side, and generosity and abilities on the other?"

_June, 1800_. THE LIMERICK GLOVES.



CHAPTER I.


It was Sunday morning, and a fine day in autumn; the bells of Hereford
cathedral rang, and all the world smartly dressed were flocking to
church.

"Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill!--Phœbe! Phœbe! There's the cathedral bell, I say,
and neither of you ready for church, and I a verger;" cried Mr, Hill,
the tanner, as he stood at the bottom of his own staircase. "I'm ready,
papa," replied Phœbe; and down she came, looking so clean, so fresh, and
so gay, that her stern father's brows unbent, and he could only say to
her, as she was drawing on a new pair of gloves, "Child, you ought to
have had those gloves on before this time of day."

"Before this time of day!" cried Mrs. Hill, who was now coming down
stairs completely equipped, "before this time of day! she should know
better, I say, than to put on those gloves at all: more especially when
going to the cathedral."

"The gloves are very good gloves, as far as I see," replied Mr. Hill.
"But no matter now. It is more fitting that we should be in proper time
in our pew, to set an example, as becomes us, than to stand here talking
of gloves and nonsense."

He offered his wife and daughter each an arm, and set out for the
cathedral; but Phœbe was too busy in drawing on her new gloves, and
her mother was too angry at the sight of them, to accept of Mr. Hill's
courtesy: "What I say is always nonsense, I know, Mr. Hill," resumed the
matron: "but I can see as far into a millstone as other folks. Was it
not I that first gave you a hint of what became of the great dog, that
we lost out of our tan-yard last winter? And was it not I who first
took notice to you, Mr. Hill, verger as you are, of the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral? Was it not, I ask you, Mr. Hill?" "But, my
dear Mrs. Hill, what has all this to do with Phœbe's gloves?"

"Are you blind, Mr. Hill? Don't you see that they are Limerick gloves?"

"What of that?" said Mr. Hill; still preserving his composure, as it was
his custom to do as long as he could, when he saw his wife was ruffled.

"What of that, Mr. Hill! why don't you know that Limerick is in Ireland,
Mr. Hill?"

"With all my heart, my dear."

"Yes, and with all your heart, I suppose, Mr, Hill, you would see our
cathedral blown up, some fair day or other, and your own daughter
married to the person that did it; and you a verger, Mr. Hill."

"God forbid!" cried Mr. Hill; and he stopped short and settled his wig.
Presently recovering himself, he added, "But, Mrs. Hill, the cathedral
is not yet blown up; and our Phœbe is not yet married."

"No: but what of that, Mr. Hill? Forewarned is forearmed, as I told you
before your dog was gone; but you would not believe me, and you see how
it turned out in that case; and so it will in this case, you'll see, Mr.
Hill."

"But you puzzle and frighten me out of my wits, Mrs. Hill," said the
verger, again settling his wig. "_In that case and in this case!_ I
can't understand a syllable of what you've been saying to me this half
hour. In plain English, what is there the matter about Phœbe's gloves?"

"In plain English, then, Mr. Hill, since you can understand nothing
else, please to ask your daughter Phœbe who gave her those gloves.
Phœbe, who gave you those gloves?"

"I wish they were burnt," said the husband, whose patience could endure
no longer. "Who gave you those cursed gloves, Phœbe?"

"Papa," answered Phœbe, in a low voice, "they were a present from Mr.
Brian O'Neill."

"The Irish glover," cried Mr. Hill, with a look of terror.

"Yes," resumed the mother; "very true, Mr. Hill, I assure you. Now, you
see, I had my reasons."

"Take off the gloves directly: I order you, Phœbe," said her father, in
his most peremptory tone. "I took a mortal dislike to that Mr. Brian
O'Neill the first time I ever saw him. He's an Irishman, and that's
enough, and too much for me. Off with the gloves, Phœbe! When I order a
thing, it must be done."

Phœbe seemed to find some difficulty in getting off the gloves, and
gently urged that she could not well go into the cathedral without them.
This objection was immediately removed, by her mother's pulling from
her pocket a pair of mittens, which had once been brown, and once been
whole, but which were now rent in sundry places; and which, having been
long stretched by one who was twice the size of Phœbe, now hung in huge
wrinkles upon her well-turned arms.

"But, papa," said Phœbe, "why should we take a dislike to him because he
is an Irishman? Cannot an Irishman be a good man?"

The verger made no answer to this question, but a few seconds after it
was put to him, observed that the cathedral bell had just done ringing;
and, as they were now got to the church door, Mrs. Hill, with a
significant look at Phœbe, remarked that it was no proper time to talk
or think of good men, or bad men, or Irishmen, or any men, especially
for a verger's daughter.

We pass over in silence the many conjectures that were made by several
of the congregation, concerning the reason why Miss Phœbe Hill should
appear in such a shameful shabby pair of gloves on a Sunday. After
service was ended, the verger went, with great mystery, to examine the
hole under the foundation of the cathedral; and Mrs. Hill repaired, with
the grocer's and the stationer's ladies, to take a walk in the Close;
where she boasted to all her female acquaintance, whom she called her
friends, of her maternal discretion in prevailing upon Mr. Hill to
forbid her daughter Phœbe to wear the Limerick gloves.

In the mean time, Phœbe walked pensively homewards; endeavouring to
discover why her father should take a mortal dislike to a man, at first
sight, merely because he was an Irishman; and why her mother had talked
so much of the great dog, which had been lost last year out of the
tan-yard; and of the hole under the foundation of the cathedral! What
has all this to do with my Limerick gloves? thought she. The more she
thought, the less connexion she could perceive between these things:
for as she had not taken a dislike to Mr. Brian O'Neill at first sight,
because he was an Irishman, she could not think it quite reasonable to
suspect him of making away with her father's dog; nor yet of a design to
blow up Hereford cathedral. As she was pondering upon these matters,
she came within sight of the ruins of a poor woman's house, which a few
months before this time had been burnt down. She recollected that her
first acquaintance with her lover began at the time of this fire; and
she thought that the courage and humanity he showed, in exerting himself
to save this unfortunate woman and her children, justified her notion of
the possibility that an Irishman might be a good man.

The name of the poor woman, whose house had been burnt down, was Smith:
she was a widow, and she now lived at the extremity of a narrow lane in
a wretched habitation. Why Phœbe thought of her with more concern than
usual at this instant we need not examine, but she did; and, reproaching
herself for having neglected it for some weeks past, she resolved to go
directly to see the widow Smith, and to give her a crown which she had
long had in her pocket, with which she had intended to have bought play
tickets.

It happened that the first person she saw in the poor widow's kitchen
was the identical Mr. O'Neill. "I did not expect to see any body here
but you, Mrs. Smith, "said Phœbe, blushing.

"So much the greater the pleasure of the meeting; to me, I mean, Miss
Hill," said O'Neill, rising, and putting down a little boy, with whom he
had been playing. Phœbe went on talking to the poor woman; and, after
slipping the crown into her hand, said she would call again. O'Neill,
surprised at the change in her manner, followed her when she left the
house, and said, "It would be a great misfortune to me to have done any
thing to offend Miss Hill; especially if I could not conceive how or
what it was, which is my case at this present speaking." And, as the
spruce glover spoke, he fixed his eyes upon Phœbe's ragged gloves. She
drew them up in vain; and then said, with her natural simplicity and
gentleness, "You have not done any thing to offend me, Mr. O'Neill; but
you are some way or other displeasing to my father and mother, and
they have forbid me to wear the Limerick gloves."

"And sure Miss Hill would not be after changing her opinion of her
humble servant for no reason in life, but because her father and mother,
who have taken a prejudice against him, are a little contrary."

"No," replied Phœbe; "I should not change my opinion without any reason;
but I have not yet had time to fix my opinion of you, Mr. O'Neill."

"To let you know a piece of my mind, then, my dear Miss Hill," resumed
he, "the more contrary they are, the more pride and joy it would give me
to win and wear you, in spite of 'em all; and if without a farthing in
your pocket, so much the more I should rejoice in the opportunity of
proving to your dear self, and all else whom it may consarn, that Brian
O'Neill is no fortune-hunter, and scorns them that are so narrow-minded
as to think that no other kind of cattle but them there fortune-hunters
can come out of all Ireland. So, my dear Phœbe, now we understand one
another, I hope you will not be paining my eyes any longer with the
sight of these odious brown bags, which are not fit to be worn by any
Christian arms, to say nothing of Miss Hill's, which are the handsomest,
without any compliment, that ever I saw; and, to my mind, would become a
pair of Limerick gloves beyond any thing: and I expect she'll show her
generosity and proper spirit by putting them on immediately."

"You expect, sir!" repeated Miss Hill, with a look of more indignation
than her gentle countenance had ever before been seen to assume.
"Expect!" If he had said hope, thought she, it would have been another
thing: but expect! what right has he to expect?

Now Miss Hill, unfortunately, was not sufficiently acquainted with the
Irish idiom, to know, that to expect, in Ireland, is the same thing as
to hope in England; and, when her Irish admirer said I expect, he meant
only in plain English, I hope. But thus it is that a poor Irishman,
often, for want of understanding the niceties of the English language,
says the rudest when he means to say the civillest things imaginable.

Miss Hill's feelings were so much hurt by this unlucky "I expect,"
that the whole of his speech, which had before made some favourable
impression upon her, now lost its effect; and she replied with proper
spirit, as she thought, "You expect a great deal too much, Mr. O'Neill;
and more than ever I gave you reason to do. It would be neither pleasure
nor pride to me to be won and worn, as you were pleased to say, in spite
of them all; and to be thrown, without a farthing in my pocket, upon the
protection of one who expects so much at first setting out.--So I assure
you, sir, whatever you may expect, I shall not put on the Limerick
gloves."

Mr. O'Neill was not without his share of pride and proper spirit;
nay, he had, it must be confessed, in common with some others of his
countrymen, an improper share of pride and spirit. Fired by the lady's
coldness, he poured forth a volley of reproaches; and ended by wishing,
as he said, a good morning, for ever and ever, to one who could change
her opinion, point blank, like the weathercock. "I am, miss, your most
obedient; and I expect you'll never think no more of poor Brian O'Neill,
and the Limerick gloves."

If he had not been in too great a passion to observe any thing, poor
Brian O'Neill would have found out that Phœbe was not a weathercock: but
he left her abruptly, and hurried away, imagining all the while that it
was Phœbe, and not himself, who was in a rage. Thus, to the horseman,
who is galloping at full speed, the hedges, trees, and houses, seem
rapidly to recede; whilst, in reality, they never move from their
places. It is he that flies from them, and not they from him.

On Monday morning Miss Jenny Brown, the perfumer's daughter, came to pay
Phœbe a morning visit, with face of busy joy.

"So, my dear!" said she: "fine doings in Hereford! but what makes you
look so downcast? To be sure you are invited, as well as the rest of
us."

"Invited where?" cried Mrs. Hill, who was present, and who could never
endure to hear of an invitation in which she was not included. "Invited
where, pray, Miss Jenny?"

"La! have not you heard? Why, we all took it for granted that you and
Miss Phœbe would have been the first and foremost to have been asked to
Mr. O'Neill's ball."

"Ball!" cried Mrs. Hill; and luckily saved Phœbe, who was in some
agitation, the trouble of speaking. "Why, this is a mighty sudden thing:
I never heard a tittle of it before."

"Well, this is really extraordinary! And, Phœbe, have you not received a
pair of Limerick gloves?"

"Yes, I have," said Phœbe, "but what then? What have my Limerick gloves
to do with the ball?"

"A great deal," replied Jenny. "Don't you know, that a pair of Limerick
gloves is, as one may say, a ticket to this ball? for every lady that
has been asked has had a pair sent to her along with the card; and
I believe as many as twenty, besides myself, have been asked this
morning."

Jenny then produced her new pair of Limerick gloves; and as she tried
them on, and showed how well they fitted, she counted up the names of
the ladies who, to her knowledge, were to be at this ball. When she had
finished the catalogue, she expatiated upon the grand preparations which
it was said the widow O'Neill, Mr. O'Neill's mother, was making for the
supper; and concluded by condoling with Mrs. Hill for her misfortune
in not having been invited. Jenny took her leave, to get her dress in
readiness: "for," added she, "Mr. O'Neill has engaged me to open the
ball, in case Phœbe does not go: but I suppose she will cheer up and go,
as she has a pair of Limerick gloves as well as the rest of us."

There was a silence for some minutes after Jenny's departure, which was
broken by Phœbe, who told her mother that, early in the morning, a note
had been brought to her, which she had returned unopened; because she
knew, from the hand-writing of the direction, that it came from Mr.
O'Neill.

We must observe that Phœbe had already told her mother of her meeting
with this gentleman at the poor widow's, and of all that had passed
between them afterwards. This openness, on her part, had softened the
heart of Mrs. Hill; who was really inclined to be good-natured, provided
people would allow that she had more penetration than any one else in
Hereford. She was moreover a good deal piqued and alarmed by the idea
that the perfumer's daughter might rival and outshine her own. Whilst
she had thought herself sure of Mr. O'Neill's attachment to Phœbe, she
had looked higher; especially as she was persuaded, by the perfumer's
lady, to think that an Irishman could not be a bad match: but now she
began to suspect that the perfumer's lady had changed her opinion of
Irishmen, since she did not object to her own Jenny's leading up the
ball at Mr. O'Neill's.

All these thoughts passed rapidly in the mother's mind; and, with her
fear of losing an admirer for her Phœbe, the value of that admirer
suddenly rose in her estimation. Thus, at an auction, if a lot is going
to be knocked down to a lady, who is the only person that has bid for
it, even she feels discontented, and despises that which nobody covets;
but if, as the hammer is falling, many voices answer to the question,
Who bids more? then her anxiety to secure the prize suddenly rises; and,
rather than be outbid, she will give far beyond its value.

"Why, child," said Mrs. Hill, "since you have a pair of Limerick gloves;
and since certainly that note was an invitation to us to this ball; and
since it is much more fitting that you should open the ball than Jenny
Brown; and since, after all, it was very handsome and genteel of the
young man to say he would take you without a farthing in your pocket,
which shows that those were misinformed who talked of him as an Irish
adventurer; and since we are not certain 'twas he made away with the
dog, although he said its barking was a great nuisance; there is no
great reason to suppose he was the person who made the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral, or that he could have such a wicked thought
as to blow it up; and since he must be in a very good way of business to
be able to afford giving away four or five guineas' worth of Limerick
gloves, and balls and suppers; and since, after all, it is no fault of
his to be an Irishman; I give it as my vote and opinion, my dear, that
you put on your Limerick gloves and go to this ball; and I'll go and
speak to your father, and bring him round to our opinion; and then I'll
pay the morning visit I owe to the widow O'Neill, and make up your
quarrel with Brian. Love quarrels are easy to make up, you know; and
then we shall have things all upon velvet again; and Jenny Brown need
not come with her hypocritical condoling face to us anymore."

After running this speech glibly off, Mrs. Hill, without waiting to hear
a syllable from poor Phœbe, trotted off in search of her consort. It was
not, however, quite so easy a task as his wife expected to bring Mr.
Hill round to her opinion. He was slow in declaring himself of any
opinion; but, when once he had said a thing, there was but little chance
of altering his notions. On this occasion, Mr. Hill was doubly bound to
his prejudice against our unlucky Irishman; for he had mentioned with
great solemnity at the club which he frequented, the grand affair of
the hole under the foundation of the cathedral; and his suspicions that
there was a design to blow it up. Several of the club had laughed at
this idea; others, who supposed that Mr. O'Neill was a Roman Catholic,
and who had a confused notion that a Roman Catholic _must_ be a very
wicked, dangerous being, thought that there might be a great deal in the
verger's suggestions; and observed that a very watchful eye ought to be
kept upon this Irish glover, who had come to settle at Hereford nobody
knew why, and who seemed to have money at command nobody knew how.

The news of this ball sounded to Mr. Hill's prejudiced imagination like
the news of a conspiracy. Ay! ay! thought he; the Irishman is cunning
enough! But we shall be too many for him: he wants to throw all the good
sober folks of Hereford off their guard, by feasting, and dancing, and
carousing, I take it; and so to perpetrate his evil designs when it is
least suspected; but we shall be prepared for him, fools as he takes us
plain Englishmen to be, I warrant.

In consequence of these most shrewd cogitations, our verger silenced his
wife with a peremptory nod, when she came to persuade him to let Phœbe
put on the Limerick gloves, and go to the ball. "To this ball she shall
not go; and I charge her not to put on those Limerick gloves, as she
values my blessing," said Mr. Hill. "Please to tell her so, Mrs. Hill,
and trust to my judgment and discretion in all things, Mrs. Hill.
Strange work may be in Hereford yet: but I'll say no more; I must go and
consult with knowing men, who are of my opinion."

He sallied forth, and Mrs. Hill was left in a state which only those
who are troubled with the disease of excessive curiosity can rightly
comprehend or compassionate. She hied her back to Phœbe, to whom she
announced her father's answer; and then went gossipping to all her
female acquaintance in Hereford, to tell them all that she knew, and all
that she did not know; and to endeavour to find out a secret where there
was none to be found.

There are trials of temper in all conditions: and no lady, in high or
low life, could endure them with a better grace than Phoebe. Whilst Mr.
and Mrs. Hill were busied abroad, there came to see Phoebe one of the
widow Smith's children. With artless expressions of gratitude to Phoebe,
this little girl mixed the praises of O'Neill, who, she said, had been
the constant friend of her mother, and had given her money every
week since the fire happened. "Mammy loves him dearly, for being so
good-natured," continued the child: "and he has been good to other
people as well as to us."

"To whom?" said Phoebe.

"To a poor man who has lodged for these few days past next door to
us," replied the child; "I don't know his name rightly, but he is an
Irishman; and he goes out a-haymaking in the day-time, along with a
number of others. He knew Mr. O'Neill in his own country, and he told
mammy a great deal about his goodness."

As the child finished these words, Phoebe took out of a drawer some
clothes, which she had made for the poor woman's children, and gave them
to the little girl. It happened that the Limerick gloves had been thrown
into this drawer; and Phoebe's favourable sentiments of the giver
of those gloves were revived by what she had just heard, and by the
confession Mrs. Hill had made, that she had no reasons, and but vague
suspicions, for thinking ill of him. She laid the gloves perfectly
smooth, and strewed over them, whilst the little girl went on talking of
Mr. O'Neill, the leaves of a rose which she had worn on Sunday.

Mr. Hill was all this time in deep conference with those prudent men of
Hereford, who were of his own opinion, about the perilous hole under the
cathedral. The ominous circumstance of this ball was also considered,
the great expense at which the Irish glover lived, and his giving away
gloves; which was a sure sign he was not under any necessity to sell
them; and consequently a proof that, though he pretended to be a glover,
he was something wrong in disguise. Upon putting all these things
together, it was resolved, by these over-wise politicians, that the best
thing that could be done for Hereford, and the only possible means of
preventing the immediate destruction of its cathedral, would be to take
Mr. O'Neill into custody. Upon recollection, however, it was perceived
that there was no legal ground on which he could be attacked. At
length, after consulting an attorney, they devised what they thought an
admirable mode of proceeding.

Our Irish hero had not that punctuality which English tradesmen usually
observe in the payment of bills: he had, the preceding year, run up a
long bill with a grocer in Hereford; and, as he had not at Christmas
cash in hand to pay it, he had given a note, payable six months after
date. The grocer, at Mr. Hill's request, made over the note to him; and
it was determined that the money should be demanded, as it was now due,
and that, if it was not paid directly, O'Neill should be that night
arrested. How Mr. Hill made the discovery of this debt to the grocer
agree with his former notion that the Irish glover had always money at
command, we cannot well conceive; but anger and prejudice will swallow
down the grossest contradictions without difficulty.

When Mr. Hill's clerk went to demand payment of the note, O'Neill's head
was full of the ball which he was to give that evening. He was much
surprised at the unexpected appearance of the note: he had not ready
money by him to pay it; and, after swearing a good deal at the clerk,
and complaining of this ungenerous and ungentleman-like behaviour in
the grocer and the tanner, he told the clerk to be gone, and not to be
bothering him at such an unseasonable time; that he could not have the
money then, and did not deserve to have it at all.

This language and conduct were rather new to the English clerk's
mercantile ears: we cannot wonder that it should seem to him, as he said
to his master, more the language of a madman than a man of business.
This want of punctuality in money transactions, and this mode of
treating contracts as matters of favour and affection, might not have
damned the fame of our hero in his own country, where such conduct is,
alas! too common; but he was now in a kingdom where the manners and
customs are so directly opposite, that he could meet with no allowance
for his national faults. It would be well for his countrymen if they
were made, even by a few mortifications, somewhat sensible of this
important difference in the habits of Irish and English traders, before
they come to settle in England.

But, to proceed with our story. On the night of Mr. O'Neill's grand
ball, as he was seeing his fair partner, the perfumer's daughter, safe
home, he felt himself tapped on the shoulder by no friendly hand. When
he was told that he was the king's prisoner, he vociferated with sundry
strange oaths, which we forbear to repeat, "No, I am not the king's
prisoner! I am the prisoner of that shabby rascally tanner, Jonathan
Hill. None but he would arrest a gentleman, in this way, for a trifle
not worth mentioning."

Miss Jenny Brown screamed when she found herself under the protection
of a man who was arrested; and, what between her screams and his oaths,
there was such a disturbance that a mob gathered.

Among this mob there was a party of Irish haymakers, who, after
returning late from a hard day's work, had been drinking in a
neighbouring ale-house. With one accord they took part with their
countryman, and would have rescued him from the civil officers with
all the pleasure in life, if he had not fortunately possessed just
sufficient sense and command of himself, to restrain their party
spirit, and to forbid them, as they valued his life and reputation, to
interfere, by word or deed, in his defence.

He then despatched one of the haymakers home to his mother, to inform
her of what had happened; and to request that she would get somebody to
be bail for him as soon as possible, as the officers said they could not
let him out of their sight till he was bailed by substantial people, or
till the debt was discharged.

The widow O'Neill was just putting out the candles in the ball-room when
this news of her son's arrest was brought to her. We pass over Hibernian
exclamations: she consoled her pride by reflecting that it would
certainly be the most easy thing imaginable to procure bail for Mr.
O'Neill in Hereford, where he had so many friends who had just been
dancing at his house, but to dance at his house she found was one thing,
and to be bail for him quite another. Each guest sent excuses; and the
widow O'Neill was astonished at what never fails to astonish every body
when it happens to themselves. "Rather than let my son be detained in
this manner for a paltry debt," cried she, "I'd sell all I have within
half an hour to a pawnbroker." It was well no pawnbroker heard this
declaration: she was too warm to consider economy. She sent for a
pawnbroker, who lived in the same street, and, after pledging goods to
treble the amount of the debt, she obtained ready money for her son's
release.

O'Neill, after being in custody for about an hour and a half, was set at
liberty upon the payment of his debt. As he passed by the cathedral in
his way home, he heard the clock strike; and he called to a man, who was
walking backwards and forwards in the churchyard, to ask whether it was
two or three that the clock struck. "Three," answered the man; "and, as
yet, all is safe."

O'Neill, whose head was full of other things, did not stop to inquire
the meaning of these last words. He little suspected that this man was a
watchman, whom the over-vigilant verger had stationed there to guard the
Hereford cathedral from his attacks. O'Neill little guessed that he had
been arrested merely to keep him from blowing up the cathedral this
night. The arrest had an excellent effect upon his mind, for he was a
young man of good sense: it made him resolve to retrench his expenses in
time, to live more like a glover and less like a gentleman; and to aim
more at establishing credit, and less at gaining popularity. He found,
from experience, that good friends will not pay bad debts.




CHAPTER II.

On Thursday morning, our verger rose in unusually good spirits,
congratulating himself upon the eminent service he had done to the city
of Hereford, by his sagacity in discovering the foreign plot to blow up
the cathedral, and by his dexterity in having the enemy held in custody,
at the very hour when the dreadful deed was to have been perpetrated.
Mr. Hill's knowing friends farther agreed it would be necessary to have
a guard that should sit up every night in the churchyard; and that as
soon as they could, by constantly watching the enemy's motions, procure
any information which the attorney should deem sufficient grounds for a
legal proceeding, they should lay the whole business before the mayor.

After arranging all this most judiciously and mysteriously with friends
who were exactly of his own opinion, Mr. Hill laid aside his dignity of
verger; and assuming his other character of a tanner proceeded to his
tan-yard. What was his surprise and consternation, when he beheld his
great rick of oak bark levelled to the ground; the pieces of bark were
scattered far and wide, some over the close, some over the fields, and
some were seen swimming upon the water! No tongue, no pen, no muse can
describe the feelings of our tanner at this spectacle! feelings which
became the more violent from the absolute silence which he imposed on
himself upon this occasion. He instantly decided in his own mind, that
this injury was perpetrated by O'Neill, in revenge for his arrest; and
went privately to the attorney to inquire what was to be done, on his
part, to secure legal vengeance.

The attorney unluckily, or at least as Mr. Hill thought, unluckily, had
been sent for, half an hour before, by a gentleman at some distance from
Hereford, to draw up a will; so that our tanner was obliged to postpone
his legal operations.

We forbear to recount his return, and how many times he walked up and
down the close to view his scattered bark, and to estimate the damage
that had been done to him. At length that hour came which usually
suspends all passions by the more imperious power of appetite--the hour
of dinner; an hour of which it was never needful to remind Mr. Hill by
watch, clock, or dial; for he was blessed with a punctual appetite, and
powerful as punctual: so powerful, indeed, that it often excited the
spleen of his more genteel, or less hungry wife.--"Bless my stars, Mr.
Hill," she would oftentimes say, "I am really downright ashamed to see
you eat so much; and when company is to dine with us, I do wish you
would take a snack by way of a damper before dinner, that you may not
look so prodigious famishing and ungenteel."

Upon this hint, Mr. Hill commenced a practice, to which he ever
afterwards religiously adhered, of going, whether there was to be
company or no company, into the kitchen regularly every day, half an
hour before dinner, to take a slice from the roast or the boiled before
it went up to table. As he was this day, according to his custom, in the
kitchen, taking his snack by way of a damper, he heard the housemaid and
the cook talking about some wonderful fortune-teller, whom the housemaid
had been consulting. This fortune-teller was no less a personage than
the successor to Bampfylde Moore Carew, king of the gipsies, whose life
and adventures are probably in many, too many, of our readers' hands.
Bampfylde, the second king of the gipsies, assumed this title, in hopes
of becoming as famous, or as infamous, as his predecessor: he was now
holding his court in a wood near the town of Hereford, and numbers of
servant-maids and 'prentices went to consult him--nay, it was whispered
that he was resorted to, secretly, by some whose education might have
taught them better sense.

Numberless were the instances which our verger heard in his kitchen of
the supernatural skill of this cunning man; and whilst Mr. Hill ate his
snack with his wonted gravity, he revolved great designs in his secret
soul. Mrs. Hill was surprised, several times during dinner, to see her
consort put down his knife and fork, and meditate. "Gracious me, Mr.
Hill, what can have happened to you this day? What can you be thinking
of, Mr. Hill, that can make you forget what you have upon your plate?"

"Mrs. Hill," replied the thoughtful verger, "our grand-mother Eve had
too much curiosity; and we all know it did not lead to good. What I am
thinking of will be known to you in due time, but not now, Mrs. Hill;
therefore, pray, no questions, or teasing, or pumping. What I think, I
think; what I say, I say; what I know, I know; and that is enough for
you to know at present: only this, Phoebe, you did very well not to put
on the Limerick gloves, child. What I know, I know. Things will turn out
just as I said from the first. What I say, I say; and what I think, I
think; and this is enough for you to know at present."

Having finished dinner with this solemn speech, Mr. Hill settled himself
in his arm-chair, to take his after-dinner's nap; and he dreamed of
blowing up cathedrals, and of oak bark floating upon the waters; and
the cathedral was, he thought, blown up by a man dressed in a pair of
woman's Limerick gloves, and the oak bark turned into mutton steaks,
after which his great dog Jowler was swimming; when, all on a sudden, as
he was going to beat Jowler for eating the bark transformed into mutton
steaks, Jowler became Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies; and
putting a horsewhip with a silver handle into Hill's hand, commanded him
three times, in a voice as loud as the town crier's, to have O'Neill
whipped through the market-place of Hereford: but, just as he was going
to the window to see this whipping, his wig fell off, and he awoke.

It was difficult, even for Mr. Hill's sagacity, to make sense of this
dream: but he had the wise art of always finding in his dreams something
that confirmed his waking determinations. Before he went to sleep, he
had half resolved to consult the king of the gipsies, in the absence of
the attorney; and his dream made him now wholly determined upon this
prudent step. From Bampfylde the second, thought he, I shall learn for
certain who made the hole under the cathedral, who pulled down my rick
of bark, and who made away with my dog Jowler; and then I shall swear
examinations against O'Neill without waiting for attorneys. I will
follow my own way in this business: I have always found my own way best.

So, when the dusk of the evening increased, our wise man set out towards
the wood to consult the cunning man. Bampfylde the second, king of the
gipsies, resided in a sort of hut made of the branches of trees: the
verger stooped, but did not stoop low enough, as he entered this
temporary palace; and, whilst his body was almost bent double, his
peruke was caught upon a twig. From this awkward situation he was
relieved by the consort of the king; and he now beheld, by the light
of some embers, the person of his gipsy majesty, to whose sublime
appearance this dim light was so favourable that it struck a secret awe
into our wise man's soul; and, forgetting Hereford cathedral, and oak
bark, and Limerick gloves, he stood for some seconds speechless. During
this time, the queen very dexterously disencumbered his pocket of all
superfluous articles. When he recovered his recollection, he put with
great solemnity the following queries to the king of the gipsies, and
received the following answers:

"Do you know a dangerous Irishman, of the name of O'Neill, who has come,
for purposes best known to himself, to settle at Hereford?"

"Yes, we know him well."

"Indeed! And what do you know of him?"

"That he is a dangerous Irishman."

"Right! And it was he, was it not, that pulled down, or caused to be
pulled down, my rick of oak bark?"

"It was."

"And who was it that made away with my dog Jowler, that used to guard
the tan-yard?"

"It was the person that you suspect."

"And was it the person whom I suspect that made the hole under the
foundation of our cathedral?"

"The same, and no other."

"And for what purpose did he make that hole?"

"For a purpose that must not be named," replied the king of the gipsies;
nodding his head in a mysterious manner.

"But it may be named to me," cried the verger, "for I have found it out,
and I am one of the vergers; and is it not fit that a plot to blow up
the Hereford cathedral should be known _to_ me, and _through_ me?"

  "Now, take my word,
  Wise men of Hereford,
  None in safety may be,
  Till the _bad man_ doth flee."

These oracular verses, pronounced by Bampfylde with all the enthusiasm
of one who was inspired, had the desired effect upon our wise man; and
he left the presence of the king of the gipsies with a prodigiously high
opinion of his majesty's judgment and of his own, fully resolved to
impart, the next morning, to the mayor of Hereford, his important
discoveries.

Now it happened that, during the time Mr. Hill was putting the foregoing
queries to Bampfylde the second, there came to the door or entrance
of the audience chamber, an Irish haymaker, who wanted to consult the
cunning man about a little leathern purse which he had lost, whilst he
was making hay, in a field near Hereford. This haymaker was the same
person who, as we have related, spoke so advantageously of our hero,
O'Neill, to the widow Smith. As this man, whose name was Paddy
M'Cormack, stood at the entrance of the gipsies' hut, his attention
was caught by the name of O'Neill; and he lost not a word of all that
passed. He had reason to be somewhat surprised at hearing Bampfylde
assert it was O'Neill who had pulled down the rick of bark. "By the holy
poker," said he to himself, "the old fellow now is out there. I know
more o' that matter than he does--no offence to his majesty: he knows no
more of my purse, I'll engage now, than he does of this man's rick of
bark and his dog: so I'll keep my tester in my pocket, and not be giving
it to this king o' the gipsies, as they call him; who, as near as I can
guess, is no better than a cheat. But there is one secret which I can be
telling this conjuror himself; he shall not find it such an easy matter
to do all what he thinks; he shall not be after ruining an innocent
countryman of my own, whilst Paddy M'Cormack has a tongue and brains."

Now Paddy M'Cormack had the best reason possible for knowing that Mr.
O'Neill did not pull down Mr. Hill's rick of bark; it was M'Cormack
himself, who, in the heat of his resentment for the insulting arrest of
his countryman in the streets of Hereford, had instigated his fellow
haymakers to this mischief; he headed them, and thought he was doing a
clever, spirited action.

There is a strange mixture of virtue and vice in the minds of the lower
class of Irish; or rather a strange confusion in their ideas of right
and wrong, from want of proper education. As soon as poor Paddy found
out that his spirited action of pulling down the rick of bark was likely
to be the ruin of his countryman, he resolved to make all the amends in
his power for his folly: he went to collect his fellow haymakers and
persuaded them to assist him this night in rebuilding what they had
pulled down.

They went to this work when every body except themselves, as they
thought, was asleep in Hereford. They had just completed the stack,
and were all going away except Paddy, who was seated at the very top,
finishing the pile, when they heard a loud voice cry out, "Here they
are, Watch! Watch!"

Immediately, all the haymakers, who could, ran off as fast as possible.
It was the watch who had been sitting up at the cathedral who gave the
alarm. Paddy was taken from the top of the rick, and lodged in the
watchhouse till morning. "Since I'm to be rewarded this way for doing a
good action, sorrow take me," said he, "if they catch me doing another
the longest day ever I live."

Happy they who have in their neighbourhood such a magistrate as Mr.
Marshal! He was a man who, to an exact knowledge of the duties of
his office, joined the power of discovering truth from the midst of
contradictory evidence; and the happy art of soothing, or laughing,
the angry passions into good-humour. It was a common saying in
Hereford--that no one ever came out of Justice Marshal's house as angry
as he went into it.

Mr. Marshal had scarcely breakfasted when he was informed that Mr. Hill,
the verger, wanted to speak to him on business of the utmost importance.
Mr. Hill, the verger, was ushered in; and, with gloomy solemnity, took a
seat opposite to Mr. Marshal.

"Sad doings in Hereford, Mr. Marshal! Sad doings, sir."

"Sad doings? Why, I was told we had merry doings in Hereford. A ball the
night before last, as I heard."

"So much the worse, Mr. Marshal; so much the worse; as those think with
reason that see as far into things as I do."

"So much the better, Mr. Hill," said Mr. Marshal, laughing; "so much the
better; as those think with reason that see no farther into things than
I do."

"But, sir," said the verger, still more solemnly, "this is no laughing
matter, nor time for laughing; begging your pardon. Why, sir, the night
of that there diabolical ball, our Hereford cathedral, sir, would have
been blown up--blown up from the foundation, if it had not been for me,
sir!"

"Indeed, Mr. Verger! And pray how, and by whom, was the cathedral to be
blown up? and what was there diabolical in this ball?"

Here Mr. Hill let Mr. Marshal into the whole history of his early
dislike to O'Neill, and his shrewd suspicions of him the first moment
he saw him in Hereford; related in the most prolix manner all that
the reader knows already, and concluded by saying that, as he was now
certain of his facts, he was come to swear examinations against this
villanous Irishman, who, he hoped, would be speedily brought to justice,
as he deserved.

"To justice he shall be brought, as he deserves," said Mr. Marshal;
"but, before I write, and before you swear, will you have the goodness
to inform me how you have made yourself as certain, as you evidently
are, of what you call your facts?"

"Sir, that is a secret," replied our wise man, "which I shall trust to
you alone;" and he whispered into Mr. Marshal's ear that his information
came from Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies.

Mr. Marshal instantly burst into laughter; then composing himself said,
"My good sir, I am really glad that you have proceeded no farther in
this business; and that no one in Hereford, beside myself, knows that
you were on the point of swearing examinations against a man on the
evidence of Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies[1]. My dear sir,
it would be a standing joke against you to the end of your days. A
grave man, like Mr. Hill; and a verger too! Why, you would be the
laughing-stock of Hereford!"

Now Mr. Marshal well knew the character of the man to whom he was
talking, who, above all things on earth, dreaded to be laughed at. Mr.
Hill coloured all over his face, and, pushing back his wig by way of
settling it, showed that he blushed not only all over his face but all
over his head.

[Footnote 1: The following passage is an extract from Colquhoun, On the
Police of the Metropolis, page 69:--"An instance of mischievous
credulity, occasioned by consulting this impostor" (_a man calling
himself an astrologer,who practised long in the Curtain-road,
Shoreditch, London; and who is said, in conjunction with his associates,
to have made near 300£. a year by practising on the credulity of the
lower order of the people_), "fell lately under the review of a police
magistrate. A person, having property stolen from him, went to consult
the conjuror respecting the thief; who having described something like
the person of a man whom he suspected, his credulity and folly so far
got the better of his reason and reflection, as to induce him, upon the
authority of this impostor, actually to charge his neighbour with a
felony, and to cause him to be apprehended. The magistrate settled the
matter by discharging the prisoner, reprimanding the accuser severely,
and ordering the conjuror to be taken into custody, according to law, as
a rogue and a vagabond."]

"Why, Mr. Marshal, sir," said he, "as to my being laughed at, it is what
I did not look for, being as there are some men in Hereford to whom
I have mentioned that hole in the cathedral, who have thought it
no laughing matter, and who have been precisely of my own opinion
thereupon."

"But did you tell these gentlemen that you had been consulting the king
of the gipsies?"

"No, sir, no: I can't say that I did."

"Then I advise you, keep your own counsel, as I will."

Mr. Hill, whose imagination wavered between the hole in the cathedral
and his rick of bark on one side, and between his rick of bark and his
dog Jowler on the other, now began to talk of the dog, and now of the
rick of bark; and when he had exhausted all he had to say upon these
subjects, Mr. Marshal gently pulled him towards the window, and putting
a spy-glass into his hand, bid him look towards his own tan-yard, and
tell him what he saw. To his great surprise, Mr. Hill saw his rick of
bark rebuilt.

"Why, it was not there last night," exclaimed he, rubbing his eyes.
"Why, some conjuror must have done this."

"No," replied Mr. Marshal, "no conjuror did it: but your friend
Bampfylde the second, king of the gipsies, was the cause of its being
rebuilt; and here is the man who actually pulled it down, and who
actually rebuilt it."

As he said these words, Mr. Marshal opened the door of an adjoining
room, and beckoned to the Irish haymaker, who had been taken into
custody about an hour before this time. The watch who took Paddy had
called at Mr. Hill's house to tell him what had happened, but Mr. Hill
was not then at home.

It was with much surprise that the verger heard the simple truth from
this poor fellow; but no sooner was he convinced that O'Neill was
innocent as to this affair, than he recurred to his other ground of
suspicion, the loss of his dog.

The Irish haymaker now stepped forward, and, with a peculiar twist of
the hips and shoulders, which those only who have seen it can picture to
themselves, said, "Plase your honour's honour, I have a little word to
say too about the dog." "Say it then," said Mr. Marshal.

"Plase your honour, if I might expect to be forgiven, and let off for
pulling down the jontleman's stack, I might be able to tell him what I
know about the dog."

"If you can tell me any thing about my dog," said the tanner, "I will
freely forgive you for pulling down the rick: especially as you have
built it up again. Speak the truth now: did not O'Neill make away with
the dog?"

"Not at all at all, plase your honour," replied the haymaker: "and the
truth of the matter is, I know nothing of the dog, good or bad; but I
know something of his collar, if your name, plase your honour, is Hill,
as I take it to be?"

"My name is Hill: proceed," said the tanner, with great eagerness. "You
know something about the collar of my dog Jowler?"

"Plase your honour, this much I know any way, that it is now or was the
night before last, at the pawnbroker's there, below in town; for, plase
your honour, I was sent late at night (that night that Mr. O'Neill,
long life to him! was arrested) to the pawnbroker's for a Jew, by Mrs.
O'Neill, poor creature! she was in great trouble that same time."

"Very likely," interrupted Mr. Hill: "but go on to the collar; what of
the collar?"

"She sent me,--I'll tell you the story, plase your honour, _out of the
face_--she sent me to the pawnbroker's for the Jew; and, it being so
late at night, the shop was shut, and it was with all the trouble in
life that I got into the house any way: and, when I got in, there was
none but a slip of a boy up; and he set down the light that he had in
his hand, and ran up the stairs to waken his master: and, whilst he was
gone, I just made bold to look round at what sort of a place I was in,
and at the old clothes and rags and scraps; there was a sort of a frieze
trusty."

"A trusty!" said Mr. Hill; "what is that pray?"

"A big coat, sure, plase your honour: there was a frieze big coat lying
in a corner, which I had my eye upon, to trate myself to; I having, as
I then thought, money in my little purse enough for it. Well, I won't
trouble your honour's honour with telling of you now how I lost my purse
in the field, as I found after; but about the big coat, as I was saying,
I just lifted it off the ground, to see would it fit me; and, as I swung
it round, something, plase your honour, hit me a great knock on the
shins: it was in the pocket of the coat, whatever it was, I knew; so I
looks into the pocket, to see what was it, plase your honour, and out I
pulls a hammer and a dog-collar; it was a wonder, both together, they
did not break my shins entirely: but it's no matter for my shins now:
so, before the boy came down, I just out of idleness spelt out to myself
the name that was upon the collar: there were two names, plase your
honour; and out of the first there were so many letters hammered out I
could make nothing of it, at all at all; but the other name was plain
enough to read any way, and it was Hill, plase your honour's honour, as
sure as life: Hill, now."

This story was related in tones and gestures which were so new and
strange to English ears and eyes, that even the solemnity of our verger
gave way to laughter.--Mr. Marshal sent a summons for the pawnbroker,
that he might learn from him how he came by the dog-collar. The
pawnbroker, when he found from Mr. Marshal that he could by no other
means save himself from being committed to prison, confessed that
the collar had been sold to him by Bampfylde the second, king of the
gipsies.

A warrant was immediately despatched for his majesty: and Mr. Hill was
a good deal alarmed, by the fear of its being known in Hereford that he
was on the point of swearing examinations against an innocent man, upon
the evidence of a dog-stealer and a gipsy.

Bampfylde the second made no sublime appearance, when he was brought
before Mr. Marshal; nor could all his astrology avail upon this
occasion: the evidence of the pawnbroker was so positive, as to the fact
of his having sold to him the dog-collar, that there was no resource
left for Bampfylde but an appeal to Mr. Hill's mercy. He fell on his
knees, and confessed that it was he who stole the dog; which used to
bark at him at night so furiously that he could not commit certain petty
depredations, by which, as much as by telling fortunes, he made his
livelihood.

"And so," said Mr. Marshal, with a sternness of manner which till now he
had never shown, "to screen yourself, you accused an innocent man; and
by your vile arts would have driven him from Hereford, and have set two
families for ever at variance, to conceal that you had stolen a dog."

The king of the gipsies was, without farther ceremony, committed to the
house of correction. We should not omit to mention, that, on searching
his hut, the Irish haymaker's purse was found, which some of his
majesty's train had emptied. The whole set of gipsies decamped, upon the
news of the apprehension of their monarch.

Mr. Hill stood in profound silence, leaning upon his walking-stick,
whilst the committal was making out for Bampfylde the second. The fear
of ridicule was struggling with the natural positiveness of his temper:
he was dreadfully afraid that the story of his being taken in by the
king of the gipsies would get abroad; and, at the same time, he was
unwilling to give up his prejudice against the Irish glover.

"But, Mr. Marshal," cried he, after a long silence, "the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral has never been accounted for: that is, was,
and ever will be, an ugly mystery to me; and I never can have a good
opinion of this Irishman, till it is cleared up; nor can I think the
cathedral in safety."

"What," said Mr. Marshal, with an arch smile, "I suppose the verses
of the oracle still work upon your imagination, Mr. Hill. They are
excellent in their kind. I must have them by heart that, when I am asked
the reason why Mr. Hill has taken an aversion to an Irish glover, I may
be able to repeat them:

  'Now, take my word,
  Wise men of Hereford,
  None in safety may be,
  Till the bad man doth flee.'"

"You'll oblige me, sir," said the verger, "if you would never repeat
those verses, sir; nor mention, in any company, the affair of the king
of the gipsies."

"I will oblige you," replied Mr. Marshal, "if you will oblige me. Will
you tell me honestly whether now that you find this Mr. O'Neill is
neither a dog-killer nor a puller down of bark ricks, you feel that you
could forgive him for being an Irishman, if the mystery, as you call
it, of the hole under the cathedral was cleared up?" "But that is not
cleared up, I say, sir," cried Mr. Hill, striking his walking-stick
forcibly upon the ground, with both his hands. "As to the matter of his
being an Irishman, I have nothing to say to it: I am not saying any
thing about that, for I know we all are born where it pleases God; and
an Irishman may be as good as another. I know that much, Mr. Marshal;
and I am not one of those illiberal-minded ignorant people that cannot
abide a man that was not born in England. Ireland is now in his
majesty's dominions, I know very well, Mr. Marshal; and I have no manner
of doubt, as I said before, that an Irishman born may be as good,
almost, as an Englishman born."

"I am glad," said Mr. Marshal, "to hear you speak, almost, as reasonably
as an Englishman born and every man ought to speak; and I am convinced
that you have too much English hospitality to persecute an inoffensive
stranger, who comes amongst us trusting to our justice and good nature."

"I would not persecute a stranger, God forbid!" replied the verger, "if
he was, as you say, inoffensive."

"And if he was not only inoffensive, but ready to do every service in
his power to those who are in want of his assistance, we should not
return evil for good, should we?"

"That would be uncharitable, to be sure; and moreover a scandal," said
the verger.

"Then," said Mr. Marshal, "will you walk with me as far as the widow
Smith's, the poor woman whose house was burnt last winter! This
haymaker, who lodged near her, can show us the way to her present
abode."

During his examination of Paddy M'Cormack, who would tell his whole
history, as he called it, _out of the face_, Mr. Marshal heard several
instances of the humanity and goodness of O'Neill, which Paddy related
to excuse himself for that warmth of attachment to his cause, that had
been manifested so injudiciously by pulling down the rick of bark in
revenge for the arrest. Amongst other things, Paddy mentioned his
countryman's goodness to the widow Smith: Mr. Marshal was determined,
therefore, to see whether he had, in this instance, spoken the truth;
and he took Mr. Hill with him, in hopes of being able to show him the
favourable side of O'Neill's character. Things turned out just as Mr.
Marshal expected. The poor widow and her family, in the most simple
and affecting manner, described the distress from which they had been
relieved by the good gentleman and lady, the lady was Phoebe Hill;
and the praises that were bestowed upon Phoebe were delightful to her
father's ear, whose angry passions had now all sub sided.

The benevolent Mr. Marshal seized the moment when he saw Mr. Hill's
heart was touched, and exclaimed, "I must be acquainted with this Mr.
O'Neill. I am sure we people of Hereford ought to show some hospitality
to a stranger, who has so much humanity. Mr. Hill, will you dine with
him to-morrow at my house?"

Mr. Hill was just going to accept of this invitation, when the
recollection of all he had said to his club about the hole under the
cathedral came across him; and, drawing Mr. Marshal aside, he whispered,
"But sir, sir, that affair of the hole under the cathedral has not been
cleared up yet."

At this instant, the widow Smith exclaimed, "Oh! here comes my little
Mary" (one of her children, who came running in): "this is the little
girl, sir, to whom the lady has been so good. Make your curtsy, child.
Where have you been all this while?"

"Mammy," said the child, "I've been showing the lady my rat."

"Lord bless her! Gentlemen, the child has been wanting me this many a
day to go to see this tame rat of hers; but I could never get time,
never: and I wondered too at the child's liking such a creature. Tell
the gentlemen, dear, about your rat. All I know is, that, let her have
but never such a tiny bit of bread, for breakfast or supper, she saves
a little of that little for this rat of hers: she and her brothers have
found it out somewhere by the cathedral."

"It comes out of a hole under the wall of the cathedral," said one
of the elder boys; "and we have diverted ourselves watching it, and
sometimes we have put victuals for it, so it has grown, in a manner,
tame like."

Mr. Hill and Mr. Marshal looked at one another during this speech; and
the dread of ridicule again seized on Mr. Hill, when he apprehended
that, after all he had said, the mountain might, at last, bring forth--a
rat. Mr. Marshal, who instantly saw what passed in the verger's mind,
relieved him from this fear, by refraining even from a smile on this
occasion. He only said to the child, in a grave manner, "I am afraid,
my dear, we shall be obliged to spoil your diversion. Mr. Verger, here,
cannot suffer rat-holes in the cathedral: but, to make you amends for
the loss of your favourite, I will give you a very pretty little dog, if
you have a mind."

The child was well pleased with this promise; and, at Mr. Marshal's
desire, she then went along with him and Mr. Hill to the cathedral, and
they placed themselves at a little distance from that hole which had
created so much disturbance. The child soon brought the dreadful enemy
to light; and Mr. Hill, with a faint laugh, said, "I'm glad it's no
worse: but there were many in our club who were of my opinion; and, if
they had not suspected O'Neill too, I am sure I should never have given
you so much trouble, sir, as I have done this morning. But, I hope, as
the club know nothing about that vagabond, that king of the gipsies, you
will not let any one know any thing about the prophecy, and all that?
I am sure, I am very sorry to have given you so much trouble, Mr.
Marshal."

Mr. Marshal assured him that he did not regret the time which he had
spent in endeavouring to clear up all these mysteries and suspicions;
and Mr. Hill gladly accepted his invitation to meet O'Neill at his house
the next day. No sooner had Mr. Marshal brought one of the parties
to reason and good-humour, than he went to prepare the other for a
reconciliation. O'Neill and his mother were both people of warm but
forgiving tempers: the arrest was fresh in their minds; but when
Mr. Marshal represented to them the whole affair, and the verger's
prejudices, in a humorous light, they joined in the good-natured laugh,
and O'Neill declared that, for his part, he was ready to forgive and
to forget every thing, if he could but see Miss Phoebe in the Limerick
gloves.

Phosbe appeared the next day, at Mr. Marshal's, in the Limerick gloves;
and no perfume ever was so delightful to her lover as the smell of the
rose leaves, in which they had been kept. Mr. Marshal had the benevolent
pleasure of reconciling the two families. The tanner and the glover of
Hereford became, from bitter enemies, useful friends to each other; and
they were convinced, by experience, that nothing could be more for their
mutual advantage than to live in union.

_Nov_. 1799.




OUT OF THE DEBT OF DANGER

       *       *       *       *       *

CHAPTER I.


Leonard Ludgate was the only son and heir of a London haberdasher, who
had made some money by constant attendance to his shop. "Out of debt
out of danger," was the father's old-fashioned saying. The son's more
liberal maxim was, "Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow." Whilst he was
under his father's eye, it was not in his power to live up to his
principles; and he longed for the time when he should be relieved from
his post behind the counter: a situation which he deemed highly unworthy
a youth of his parts and spirit. To imprison his elegant person behind a
counter in Cranbourne-alley was, to be sure, in a cruel father's power;
but his tyranny could not extend to his mind; and, whilst he was
weighing minikin pins, or measuring out penny ribbon, his soul, leaving
all these meaner things, was expatiating in Bond-street or Hyde-park.
Whilst his fingers mechanically adjusted the scales, or carelessly
slipped the yard, his imagination was galloping a fine bay with Tom
Lewis, or driving Miss Belle Perkins in a gig.

Now Tom Lewis was a dashing young citizen, whom old Ludgate could not
endure; and Miss Belle Perkins a would-be fine lady, whom he advised
his son never to think of for a wife. But the happy moment at length
arrived, when our hero could safely show how much he despised both the
advice and the character of his father; when he could quit his nook
behind the counter, throw aside the yard, assume the whip, and affect
the fine gentleman. In short, the happy moment came when his father
died.

Leonard now shone forth in all the glory which the united powers of
tailor, hatter, and hosier, could spread around lug person. Miss Belle
Perkins, who had hitherto looked down upon our hero as a reptile of
Cranbourne-alley, beheld his metamorphosis with surprise and admiration.
And she, who had formerly been heard to say, "she would not touch him
with a pair of tongs," now unreluctantly gave him her envied hand at a
ball at Bagnigge Wells. Report farther adds that, at tea, Miss Belle
whispered loud enough to be heard, that since his queer father's death,
Leonard Ludgate had turned out quite a genteeler sort of person than
could have been expected.

"Upon this hint he spake." His fair one, after assuming all proper and
becoming airs upon the occasion, suffered herself to be prevailed
upon to call, with her mother and a friend, at Mr. Ludgate's house in
Cranbourne-alley, to see whether it could be possibly inhabited by a
lady of her taste and consequence.

As Leonard handed her out of her hackney-coach, she exclaimed, "Bless
us, and be we to go up this paved lane, and through the shop, before we
can get to the more creditabler apartments?"

"I'm going to cut a passage off the shop, which I've long had in
contemplation," replied our hero; "only I can't get light into it
cleverly."

"Oh! a lamp in the style of a _chandaleer_ will do vastly well by night,
which is the time one wants one's house to put the best foot foremost,
for company; and by day we can make a shift, somehow or other, I dare
say. Any thing's better than _trapesing_ through a shop; which is a
thing I've never been used to, and cannot reconcile myself to by any
means."

Leonard immediately acceded to this scheme of the dark passage by day,
and the _chandaleer_ by night; and he hurried his fair one through the
odious shop to the _more creditabler_ apartments. She was handed above,
about, and underneath. She found every particle of the house wanted
modernizing immensely, and was altogether smaller than she could ever
have conceived beforehand. Our hero, ambitious at once to show his
gallantry, spirit, and taste, incessantly protested he would adopt every
improvement Miss Belle Perkins could suggest; and he declared that the
identical same ideas had occurred to him a hundred and a hundred times,
during his poor father's lifetime: but he could never make the old
gentleman enter into any thing of the sort, his notions of life being
utterly limited, to say no worse. "He had one old saw, for ever grating
in my ears, as an answer to everything that bore the stamp of gentility,
or carried with it an air of spirit: hey, Allen!" continued our hero,
looking over his shoulder at a young man who was casting up accounts;
"hey, Allen--you remember the old saw?"

"Yes, sir," replied the young man, "if you mean, 'Out of debt out of
danger:' I hope I shall never forget it."

"I hope so too; as you have your fortune to make, it is very proper for
you: but for one that has a fortune ready made to spend, I am free to
confess I think my principle worth a million of it: and my maxim is,
'Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow:' hey, ladies?" concluded Leonard,
appealing with an air secure of approbation to his fair mistress and her
young companion.

"Why that suits my notions, I must own candidly," said Belle; "but
here's one beside me, or behind me--Where are you, Lucy?" pursued the
young lady, addressing herself to her humble companion: "here's one, who
is more of your shop-man's way of thinking than yours, I fancy. 'Out of
debt out of danger' is just a sober saying to your mind, an't it, Lucy?"

Lucy did not deny the charge. "Well, child," said Miss Perkins, "it's
very proper, for you have no fortune of your own to spend."

"It is, indeed," said Lucy, with modest firmness; "for as I have none
of my own, if it were my maxim to spend to-day and spare to-morrow, I
should be obliged to spend other people's money, which I never will do
as long as I can maintain myself independently."

"How proud we are!" cried Miss Perkins, sarcastically. Leonard assented
to the sarcasm by his looks; but Allen declared he liked proper pride,
and seemed to think that Lucy's was of this species.

An argument might have ensued, if a collation, as Mr. Ludgate called it,
had not appeared at this critical moment. Of what it consisted, and how
genteelly and gallantly our hero did the honours of his collation, we
forbear to relate; but one material circumstance we must not omit, as on
this, perhaps more than even on his gentility and gallantry, depended
the fortune of the day. In rummaging over a desk to find a corkscrew,
young Ludgate took occasion to open and shake a pocket-book, from which
fell a shower of bank notes. What effect they produced upon his fair
one, and on her mother, can be best judged of by the event. Miss Belle
Perkins, after this domiciliary visit, consented to go with our hero on
Sunday to Kensington Gardens, Monday to Sadler's Wells, Tuesday on the
water, Wednesday to the play, Thursday the Lord knows to what ball,
Friday to Vauxhall, and on Saturday to--the altar!

Some people thought the young lady and gentleman rather precipitate; but
these were persons who, as the bride justly observed, did not understand
any thing in nature of a love match. Those who have more liberal
notions, and a more extensive knowledge of the human heart, can readily
comprehend how a lady may think a man so odious at one minute, that she
could not touch him with a pair of tongs, and so charming the next, that
she would die a thousand deaths for him, and him alone. Immediately
after the ceremony was performed, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate went down in the
hoy to Margate, to spend their honeymoon in style. Their honeymoon,
alas! could not be prolonged beyond the usual bounds. Even the joys of
Margate could not be eternal, and the day came too soon when our happy
pair were obliged to think of returning home. Home! With what different
sensations different people pronounce and hear that word pronounced!
Mrs. Leonard Ludgate's home in Cranbourne-alley appeared to her, as she
scrupled not to declare, an intolerable low place, after Margate. The
stipulated alterations, her husband observed, had been made in the
house, but none of them had been executed to her satisfaction. The
expedient of the dark passage was not found to succeed: a thorough wind,
from the front and back doors, ran along it when either or both were
left open to admit light; and this wicked wind, not content with running
along the passage, forced its way up and down stairs, made the kitchen
chimney smoke, and rendered even the _more creditabler_ apartments
scarcely habitable. Chimney doctors were in vain consulted: the
favourite dark passage was at length abandoned, and the lady, to her
utter discomfiture, was obliged to pass through the shop.

To make herself amends for this mortification, she insisted upon
throwing down the partition between the dining-room and her own
bedchamber, that she might have one decent apartment at least fit for a
rout. It was to no purpose that her friend Lucy, who was called in to
assist in making up furniture, represented that this scheme of throwing
bedchamber and dining-room into one would be attended with some
inconveniences; for instance, that Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate would be
obliged, in consequence of this improvement, to sleep in half of the
maid's garret, or to sit up all night. This objection was overruled by
Mrs. Ludgate, whose genius, fertile in expedients, made every thing
easy, by the introduction of a bed in the dining-room, in the shape of a
sofa. The newly-enlarged apartment, she observed, would thus answer the
double purposes of show and utility; and, as soon as the supper and card
tables should be removed, the sofa-bed might be let down. She asserted
that the first people in London manage in this way. Leonard could not
contradict his lady, because she had a ready method of silencing him, by
asking how he could possibly know any thing of life who had lived all
his days, except Sundays, in Cranbourne-alley? Then, if any one of his
father's old notions of economy by chance twinged his conscience, Belle
very judiciously asked how he ever came to think of her for a wife?
"Since you have got a genteel wife," said she, "it becomes you to live
up to her notions, and to treat her as she and her friends have a right
to expect. Before I married you, sir, none of the Perkins's were in
trade themselves, either directly or indirectly; and many's the
slights and reproaches I've met with from my own relations and former
acquaintances, since my marriage, on account of the Ludgates being all
tradesfolks; to which I always answer, that my Leonard is going to
wash his hands of trade himself, and to make over all concern in the
haberdashery line and shop to the young man below stairs, who is much
better suited to such things."

By such speeches as these, alternately piquing and soothing the vanity
of her Leonard, our accomplished wife worked him to her purposes. She
had a rout once a week; and her room was so crowded, that there was
scarcely a possibility of breathing. Yet, notwithstanding all this, she
one morning declared, with a burst of tears, she was the most miserable
woman in the world. And why? Because her friend, Mrs. Pimlico, Miss
Coxeater that was, had a house in Weymouth-street; whilst she was forced
to keep on being buried in Cranbourne-alley. Mr. Ludgate was moved
by his wife's tears, and by his own ambition, and took a house in
Weymouth-street. But before they had been there six weeks, the fair
one was again found bathed in tears. And why? "Because," said Belle,
"because, Mr. Ludgate, the furniture of this house is as old as
Methusalem's; and my friend, Mrs. Pimlico, said yesterday that it was a
shame to be seen: and so to be sure it is, compared with her own, which
is spick and span new. Yet why should she pretend to look down upon
me in point of furniture, or any thing? Who was she, before she was
married? Little Kitty Coxeater, as we always called her at the dancing
school; and nobody ever thought of comparing her, in point of gentility,
with Belle Perkins! Why, she is as ugly as sin! though she is my friend,
I must acknowledge _that_; and, if she had all the clothes in the world,
she would never know how to put any of them on; that's one comfort. And,
as every body says, to be sure she never would have got a husband but
for her money. And, after all, what sort of a husband has she got? A
perfumer, indeed! a man with a face like one of his own wash-balls, all
manner of colours. I declare, I would rather have gone without to the
end of my days than have married Mr. Pimlico."

"I cannot blame you there, my dear," said Mr. Ludgate; "for to be sure
Mr. Pimlico, much as he thinks of himself and his country house, has as
little the air of--the air of fashion as can be well conceived."

Leonard Ludgate made an emphatic pause in this speech; and surveyed
himself in a looking-glass with much complacency, whilst he pronounced
the word fashion. He, indeed, approved so much of his wife's taste and
discernment, in preferring him to Mr. Pimlico, that he could not at this
moment help inclining to follow her judgment respecting the furniture.
He acceded to her position, that the Ludgates ought to appear at least
no shabbier than the Pimlicos. The conclusion was inevitable: Leonard,
according to his favourite maxim of "Spend to-day, and spare to-morrow,"
agreed that they might new furnish the house this year, and pay for it
the next. This was immediately done; and the same principle was extended
through all their household affairs, as far as the tradesmen concerned
would admit of its being carried into practice.

By this means, Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were not for some time sensible of
the difficulties they were preparing for themselves. They went on vying
with the Pimlicos, and with all their new acquaintance, who were many of
them much richer than themselves; and of this vain competition there
was no end. Those who estimate happiness not by the real comforts or
luxuries which they enjoy, but by comparison between themselves and
their neighbours, must be subject to continual mortification and
discontent. Far from being happier than they were formerly, Mr. and Mrs.
Ludgate were much more miserable after their removal to Weymouth-street.
Was it not better to be the first person in Cranbourne-alley than the
last in Weymouth-street? New wants and wishes continually arose in their
new situation. They must live like other people. Everybody, that is,
everybody in Weymouth-street, did so and so; and, therefore, they must
do the same. They must go to such a place, or they must have such a
thing, not because it was in itself necessary or desirable, but because
everybody, that is, everybody of their acquaintance, did or had the
same. Even to be upon a footing with their new neighbours was a matter
of some difficulty; and then merely to be upon an equality, merely to
be admitted and suffered at parties, is awkward and humiliating. Noble
ambition prompted them continually to aim at distinction. The desire
to attain _il poco piu--the little more_, stimulates to excellence, or
betrays to ruin, according to the objects of our ambition. No artist
ever took more pains to surpass Raphael or Correggio than was taken by
Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate to outshine Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico. And still what
they had done seemed nothing: what they were to do occupied all their
thoughts. No timid economical fears could stop or even startle them
in the road to ruin. Faithful to his maxim, our hero denied himself
nothing. If, for a moment, the idea that any thing was too expensive
suggested itself, his wife banished care by observing, "We need not pay
for it now. What signifies it, since we need not think of paying for it
till next year?" She had abundance of arguments of similar solidity,
adapted to all occasions. Sometimes the thing in question was such a
trifle it could not ruin anybody. "'Tis but a guinea! '_Tis but_ a
few shillings!" Sometimes it was a sort of thing that could not ruin
anybody, because "'Tis but for once and away!" '_Tis but_ is a most
dangerous thing! How many guineas may be spent upon '_tis but_, in the
course of one year, in such a city as London!

Bargains! excellent bargains! were also with our heroine admirable pleas
for expense. "We positively must buy this, my dear; for it would be a
sin to let such a bargain slip through one's fingers. Mrs. Pimlico paid
twice as much for what is not half as good. 'Twould be quite a shame to
one's good sense to miss such a bargain!" Mrs. Ludgate was one of those
ladies who think it is more reasonable to buy a thing because it is a
bargain than because they want it: she farther argued, "If we don't want
it, we may want it:" and this was a satisfactory plea.

Under the head bargains we must not forget _cheap days_. Messrs. Run
and Raffle advertised a sale of old shop goods, with the catching
words--_cheap days_! Everybody crowded to throw away their money on
cheap days; and, amongst the rest, Mrs. Ludgate.

One circumstance was rather disagreeable in these cheap days: ready
money was required; and this did not suit those who lived by
the favourite maxim of the family. Yet there was a reason that
counterbalanced their objection in Mrs. Ludgate's mind: "Mrs. Pimlico
was going to Messrs. Run and Raffle's and what would she think, if I
wasn't to be there? She'd think, to be sure, that we were as poor as
Job." So, to demonstrate that she had ready money to throw away, Mrs.
Ludgate must go on the cheap days.

"Belle," said her husband, "ready money's a serious thing."

"Yes, Leonard, but, when nothing else will be taken, you know, one can't
do without it."

"But, if one has not it, I tell you, one must do without it," said
Leonard peevishly.

"Lord, Mr. Ludgate, if you have not it about you, can't you send to
Cranbourne-alley, to Mr. Allen, for some for me? 'Tis but a few guineas
I want; and 'twould be a shame to miss such bargains as are to be had
for nothing, at Run and Raffle's. And these cheap days are extraordinary
things. It can't ruin any body to spend a guinea or two, once and away,
like other people."

At the conclusion of her eloquent speech, Mrs. Ludgate rang the bell;
and, without waiting for any assent from her husband but silence, bade
the footman run to _the shop_, and desire Allen to send her ten guineas
immediately.

Mr. Ludgate looked sullen, whistled, and then posted himself at the
parlour window to watch for the ambassador's return. "I wonder,"
continued Mrs. Ludgate, "I wonder, Leonard, that you let Allen leave you
so bare of cash of late! It is very disagreeable to be always sending
out of the house, this way, for odd guineas. Allen, I think, uses you
very ill; but I am sure I would not let him cheat me, if I was you.
Pray, when you gave up the business of the shop to him, was not you to
have half the profits for your good-will, and name, and all that!"

"Yes."

"And little enough! But why don't you look after Allen, then, and make
him pay us what he owes us?"

"I'll see about it to-morrow, child."

"About how much do you think is owing to us?" pursued Mrs. Ludgate.

"I can't tell, ma'am."

"I wish then you'd settle accounts to-morrow, that I might have some
ready money."

The lady seemed to take it for granted that her having ready money would
be the necessary and immediate consequence of settling accounts with
Allen; her husband could have set her right in this particular, and
could have informed her that not a farthing was due to him; that, on
the contrary, he had taken up money in advance, on the next half year's
expected profits; but Mr. Ludgate was ashamed to let his wife know the
real state of his affairs: indeed, he was afraid to look them in the
face himself. "Here's the boy coming back!" cried he, after watching for
some time in silence at the window.

Leonard went to the street-door to meet him; and Belle followed close,
crying, "Well! I hope Allen has sent me the money?"

"I don't know," said the breathless boy. "I have a letter for my master,
here, that was written ready, by good luck, afore I got there."

Leonard snatched the letter; and his wife waited to see whether the
money was enclosed.

"The rascal has sent me no money, I see, but a letter, and an account as
long as my arm."

"No money!" cried Belle; "that's using us very oddly and ill, indeed;
and I wonder you submit to such conduct! I declare I won't bear it! Go
back, I say, Jack; go, run this minute, and tell Allen he must come up
himself; for _I, Mrs. Ludgate, wants_ to speak with him."

"No, my dear, no; nonsense! don't go, Jack. What signifies your sending
to speak with Allen? What can you do? How can you settle accounts with
him? What should women know of business? I wish women would never meddle
with things they don't understand."

"Women can understand well enough when they want money," cried the sharp
lady; "and the short and the long of it is, Mr. Ludgate, that I will see
and settle accounts with Allen myself; and bring him to reason, if you
won't; and this minute, too."

"Bless me! upon my faith, Allen's better than we thought: here's
bank-notes within the account," said Mr. Ludgate.

"Ay, I thought he could not be so very impertinent as to refuse when _I_
sent to him myself. But this is only one five pound note: I sent for
ten. Where is the other?"

"I want the other myself," said her husband.

The tone was so peremptory, that she dared not tempt him further; and
away she went to Messrs. Run and Raffle's, where she had the pleasure of
buying a bargain of things that were of no manner of use to her, and for
which she paid twice as much as they were worth. These cheap days proved
dear days to many.

Whilst Mrs. Ludgate spent the morning at Messrs. Run and Raffle's, her
husband was with Tom Lewis, lounging up and down Bond-street. Tom Lewis
being just one step above him in gentility, was invited to parties where
Ludgate could not gain admittance, was bowed to by people who never
bowed to Leonard Ludgate, could tell to whom this livery or that carriage
belonged, knew who everybody was, and could point out my lord
this, and my lady that, in the park or at the play. All these things
made him a personage of prodigious consequence in the eyes of our hero,
who looked upon him as the mirror of fashion. Tom knew how to take
advantage of this admiration, and borrowed many a guinea from him in
their morning walks: in return, he introduced Mr. Ludgate to some of his
friends, and to his club.

New occasions, or rather new necessities, for expense occurred every
day, in consequence of his connexion with Lewis. Whilst he aimed at
being thought a young man of spirit, he could not avoid doing as other
people did. He could not think of economy! That would be shabby! On his
fortune rested his claims to respect from his present associates; and,
therefore, it was his constant aim to raise their opinion of his riches.
For some time, extravagance was not immediately checked by the want of
money, because he put off the evil day of payment. At last, when bills
poured in upon him, and the frequent calls of tradesmen began to be
troublesome, he got rid of the present difficulty by referring them to
Allen. "Go to Allen; he must settle with you: he does all my business."

Allen sent him account after account, stating the sums he paid by his
order. Ludgate thrust the unread accounts into his escritoire, and
thought no more of the matter. Allen called upon him, to beg he would
come to some settlement, as he was getting more and more, every day,
into his debt. Leonard desired to have an account, stated in full, and
promised to look over it on Monday: but Monday came, and then it was put
off till Tuesday; and so on, day after day.

The more reason he had to know that his affairs were deranged, the
more carefully he concealed all knowledge of them from his wife. Her
ignorance of the truth not only led her daily into fresh extravagance,
but was, at last, the cause of bringing things to a premature
explanation. After spending the morning at Messrs. Run and Raffle's, she
returned home with a hackney-coach full of bargains. As she came into
the parlour, loaded with things that she did not want, she was surprised
by the sight of an old friend, whom she had lately treated entirely as
a stranger. It was Lucy, who had in former days been her favourite
companion. But Lucy had chosen to work, to support herself
independently, rather than to be a burden to her friends; and Mrs.
Ludgate could not take notice of a person who had degraded herself so
far as to become a workwoman at an upholsterer's. She had consequently
never seen Lucy since this event took place, except when she went to Mr.
Beech the upholsterer's, to order her new furniture. She then was in
company with Mrs. Pimlico: and, when she saw Lucy at work in a back
parlour with two or three other young women, she pretended not to know
her. Lucy could scarcely believe that this was done on purpose; and, at
all events, she was not mortified by the insult. She was now come to
speak to Mrs. Ludgate about the upholsterer's bill.

"Ha! Lucy, is it you?" said Mrs. Ludgate, as soon as she entered. "I've
never seen you in Weymouth-street before! How comes it you never called,
if it was only to see our new house? I'm sure I should always be very
happy to have you here--when we've nobody with us; and I'm quite sorry
_as_ I can't ask you to stay and take a bit of mutton with us to-day,
because I'm engaged to dine in Bond-street, with Mrs. Pimlico's cousin,
pretty Mrs. Paget, the bride whom you've heard talk of, no doubt. So
you'll excuse me if I run away from you, to make myself a little decent;
for it's horrid late!"

After running off this speech, with an air and a volubility worthy of
her betters, she set before Lucy some of her bargains, and was then
retreating to make herself decent; but Lucy stopped her, by saying,
"My dear Mrs. Ludgate, I am sorry to detain you, but Mr. Beech, the
upholsterer, knowing I have been acquainted with you, has sent me to
speak to you about his bill. He is in immediate want of money, because
he is fitting out one of his sons for the East Indies."

"Well! but his son's nothing to me! I sha'n't think of paying the bill
yet, I can assure him; and you may take it back, and tell him so."

"But," said Lucy, "if I take back such an answer, I am afraid Mr. Beech
will send the bill to Mr. Ludgate; and that was what you particularly
desired should not be done."

"Why, no; that's what I can't say I should particularly wish, just at
present," said Mrs. Ludgate, lowering her tone "because, to tell you a
bit of a secret, Lucy, I've run up rather an _unconsciable_ bill, this
year, with my milliner and mantua-maker; and I would not have all
_them_ bills come upon him all in a lump, and on a sudden, as it were;
especially as I laid out more on the furniture than he counts. So, my
dear Lucy, I'll tell you what you must do: you must use your influence
with Beech to make him wait a little longer. I'm sure he may wait well
enough; and he shall be paid next month."

Lucy declared that her influence, on the present occasion, would be of
no avail; but she had the good-nature to add, "If you are sure the bill
can be paid next month, I will leave my two years' salary in Mr. Beech's
hands till then; and this will perhaps satisfy him, if he can get bills
from other people paid, to make up the money for his son. He said thirty
guineas from you on account would do, for the present; and that sum is
due to me."

"Then, my dearest Lucy, for Heaven's sake, do leave it in his hands!
You were a good creature to think of it; but you always were a good
creature."

"Your mother used to be kind to me, when I was a child; and I am sure I
ought not to forget it," said Lucy, the tears starting into her eyes:
"and you were once kind to me; I do not forget that," continued Lucy,
wiping the tears from her cheeks.--"But do not let me detain you; you
are in a hurry to dress to go to Mrs. Pimlico's."

"No--pray--I am not in a hurry now," said Mrs. Ludgate, who had the
grace to blush at this instant. "But, if you must go, do take this
hat along with you. I assure you it's quite _the rage_: I got it this
morning at Run and Raffle's, and Mrs. Pimlico and Mrs. Paget have got
the same."

Lucy declined accepting the hat, notwithstanding this strong and, as
Mrs. Ludgate would have thought it, irresistible recommendation. "Now
you must have it: it will become you a thousand times better than that
you have on," cried Mrs. Ludgate, insisting the more the more Lucy
withdrew; "and, besides, you must wear it for my sake. You won't? Then
I take it very ill of you that you are so positive; for I assure you,
whatever you may think, I wish to be as kind to you now as ever. Only,
you know, one can't always, when one lives in another style, be at home
as often as one wishes."

Lucy relieved her _ci-devant_ friend from the necessity of making any
more awkward apologies, by moving quickly towards the door. "Then you
won't forget," continued Mrs. Ludgate, following her into the passage,
"you won't forget the job you are to do for me with Beech?"

"Certainly I shall not. I will do what I have promised: but I hope you
will be punctual about the payment next month," said Lucy, "because I
believe I shall be in want of my money at that time. It is best to tell
you exactly the truth."

"Certainly! certainly! you shall have your money before you want it,
long and long; and my only reason for borrowing it from you at all is,
that I don't like to trouble Mr. Ludgate, till he has settled accounts
with Allen, who keeps all our money from us in a strange way; and, in my
opinion, uses Leonard exceedingly ill and unfairly."

"Allen!" cried Lucy, stopping short. "Oh, Belle! how can you say so?
How can you think so? But you know nothing of him, else you could not
suspect him of using any one ill, or unfairly; much less your husband,
the son of his old friend."

"Bless me! how she runs on! and how she colours! I am sure I didn't
know I was upon such tender ground! I did not know Allen was such a
prodigious favourite!"

"I only do him justice in saying that I am certain he could not do an
unfair or unhandsome action."

"I know nothing of the matter, I protest; only this--that short
accounts, they say, make long friends; and I hope I sha'n't affront any
body by saying, it would be very convenient if he could be got to settle
with Mr. Ludgate, who, I am sure, is too much the gentleman to ask any
thing from him but his own; which, indeed, if it was not for me, he'd be
too genteel to mention. But, as I said before, short accounts make long
friends; and, as you are so much Allen's friend, you can hint that to
him."

"I shall not hint, but say it to him as plainly as possible," replied
Lucy; "and you may be certain that he will come to settle accounts with
Mr. Ludgate before night." "I am sure I shall be mighty glad of it; and
so will Mr. Ludgate," said Belle; and thus they parted.

Mrs. Ludgate with triumph announced to her husband, upon his return
home, that she had brought affairs to a crisis with Allen; and that
he would come to settle his accounts this evening. The surprise and
consternation which appeared in Mr. Ludgate's countenance, convinced the
lady that her interference was highly disagreeable.




CHAPTER II.


Allen came punctually in the evening to settle his accounts. When he
and Leonard were by themselves, he could not help expressing some
astonishment, mixed with indignation, at the hints which had been thrown
out by Mrs. Ludgate.

"Why, she knows nothing of the matter," said Ludgate. "I've no notion of
talking of such things to one's wife; it would only make her uneasy;
and we shall be able to go on some way or other. So let us have another
bottle of wine, and talk no more of business for this night."

Allen would by no means consent to put off the settlement of accounts,
after what had passed. "Short accounts," said he, "as Mrs. Ludgate
observed, make long friends."

It appeared, when the statement of affairs was completed, that Allen had
advanced above three hundred pounds for Leonard; and bills to a large
amount still remained unpaid.

Now it happened that Jack, the footboy, contrived to go in and out of
the room several times, whilst Mr. Ludgate and Allen were talking; and
he, finding it more for his interest to serve his master's tradesmen
than his master, sent immediate notice to all whom it might concern,
that Mr. Ludgate's affairs were in a bad way, and that now or never must
be the word with his creditors. The next morning bills came showering in
upon Leonard whilst he was at breakfast, and amongst them came sundry
bills of Mrs. Ludgate's. They could not possibly have come at a
more inauspicious moment. People bespeak goods with one species of
enthusiasm, and look over their bills with another. We should rather
have said people spend with one enthusiasm, and pay with another; but
this observation would not apply to our present purpose, for Mr. and
Mrs. Ludgate had never yet experienced the pleasure or the pain of
paying their debts; they had hitherto been faithful to their maxim of
"Spend to-day, and pay to-morrow."

They agreed well in the beginning of their career of extravagance; but
the very similarity of their tastes and habits proved ultimately the
cause of the most violent quarrels. As they both were expensive,
selfish, and self-willed, neither would, from regard to the other,
forbear. Comparisons between their different degrees of extravagance
commenced; and, once begun, they never ended. It was impossible to
settle, to the satisfaction of either party, which of them was most to
blame. Recrimination and reproaches were hourly and daily repeated; and
the lady usually ended by bursting into tears, and the gentleman by
taking his hat and walking out of the house.

In the meantime, the bills must be paid. Mr. Ludgate was obliged to sell
the whole of his interest in the shop in Cranbourne-alley; and the ready
money he received from Allen was to clear him from all difficulties.
Allen came to pay him this sum. "Do not think me impertinent, Mr.
Ludgate," said he, "but I cannot for the soul of me help fearing for
you. What _will_ you do, when this money is gone? and go it must, at the
rate you live, in a very short time."

"You are very good, sir," replied Leonard, coldly, "to interest yourself
so much in my concerns; but I shall live at what rate I please. Every
man is the best judge of his own affairs."

After this repulse Allen could interfere no further. But when two months
had elapsed from the date of Mrs. Ludgate's promised payment of the
upholsterer's bill, Lucy resolved to call again upon Mrs. Ludgate. Lucy
had now a particular occasion for the money: she was going to be married
to Allen, and she wished to put into her husband's hands the little
fortune which she had so hardly earned by her own industry. From the
time that Allen heard her conversation, when Belle came to view the
house in Cranbourne-alley, he had been of opinion that she would make
an excellent wife: and the circumstances which sunk Lucy below Mrs.
Ludgate's notice raised her in the esteem and affection of this prudent
and sensible young man. He did not despise--he admired her for going
into a creditable business, to make herself independent, instead of
living as an humble companion with Mrs. Ludgate, of whose conduct and
character she could not approve.

When Lucy called again upon Mrs. Ludgate to remind her of her promise,
she was received with evident confusion. She was employed in directing
Mr. Green, a builder, to throw out a bow in her dining-room, and to add
a balcony to the windows; for Mrs. Pimlico had a bow and a balcony, and
how could Mrs. Ludgate live without them?

"Surely, my dear Mrs. Ludgate," said Lucy, drawing her aside, so that
the man who was measuring the windows could not hear what she said,
"surely you will think of paying Mr. Beech's bill, as you promised,
before you go into any new expense?"

"Hush! hush! don't speak so loud. Leonard is in the next room; and I
would not have him hear any thing of Beech's bill, just when the man's
here about the balcony, for any thing in the world!"

Lucy, though she was good-natured, was not so weak as to yield to airs
and capricious extravagance; and Mrs. Ludgate at last, though with a bad
grace, paid her the money which she had intended to lay out in a
very different manner. But no sooner had she paid this debt than she
considered how she could prevail upon Mr. Green to throw out the bow,
and finish the balcony, without paying him for certain alterations he
had made in the house in Cranbourne-alley, for which he had never yet
received one farthing. It was rather a difficult business, for Mr.
Green was a sturdy man, and used to regular payments. He resisted all
persuasion, and Mrs. Ludgate was forced again to have recourse to Lucy.

"Do, my dear girl," said she, "lend me only twenty guineas for this
positive man; else, you see, I cannot have my balcony." This did not
appear to Lucy the greatest of all misfortunes. "But is it not much more
disagreeable to be always in debt and danger, than to live in a room
without a balcony?" said Lucy.

"Why it is disagreeable, certainly, to be in debt, because of being
dunned continually; but the reason I'm so anxious about the balcony, is
that Mrs. Pimlico has one, and that's the only thing in which her house
is better than mine. Look just over the way: do you see Mrs. Pimlico's
beautiful balcony?"

Mrs. Ludgate who had thrust her head far out of the window, pulling Lucy
along with her, now suddenly drew back, exclaiming, "Lord, if here is
not that odious woman; I hope Jack won't let her in."--She shut the
window hastily, ran to the top of the stairs, and called out, "Jack! I
say, Jack; don't let nurse in for your life."

"Not if she has the child with her, ma'am?" said Jack.

"No, no, I say!"

"Then that's a sin and a shame," muttered Jack, "to shut the door upon
your own child."

Mrs. Ludgate did not hear this reflection, because she had gone back to
the man who was waiting for directions about the balcony; but Lucy heard
it distinctly. "Ma'am, nurse would come in, for she says she saw you at
the window; and here she is, coming up the stairs," cried the footboy.

The nurse came in, with Mrs. Ludgate's child in her arms.

"Indeed, madam," said she, "the truth of the matter is, I can't and
won't be denied my own any longer: and it is not for my own sake I speak
up so bold, but for the dear babe that I have here in my arms, that
can't speak for itself, but only smile in your face, and stretch out its
arms to you. I, that am only its nurse, can't bear it; but I have little
ones of my own, and can't see them want. I can't do for them all: if I'm
not paid my lawful due, how can I? And is it not fit I should think of
my own flesh and blood first? So I must give up this one. I must!--I
must!"--cried the nurse, kissing the child repeatedly, "I must leave her
to her mother."

The poor woman laid the child down on the sofa, then turned her back
upon it, and, hiding her face in her apron, sobbed as if her heart would
break. Lucy was touched with compassion; the mother stood abashed; shame
struggled for a few instants with pride; pride got the victory. "The
woman's out of her wits, I believe," cried Mrs. Ludgate. "Mr. Green, if
you'll please to call again to-morrow, we'll talk about the balcony.
Lucy, give me the child, and don't you fall a crying without knowing why
or wherefore. Nurse, I'm surprised at you! Did not I tell you I'd send
you your money next week?"

"Oh! yes, madam; but you have said so this many a week; and things are
come to such a pass now, that husband says I shall not bring back the
child without the money."

"What can I do?" said Mrs. Ludgate.

Lucy immediately took her purse out of her pocket, and whispered, "I
will lend you whatever you want to pay the nurse, upon condition that
you will give up the scheme of the balcony."

Mrs. Ludgate submitted to this condition; but she was not half so much
obliged to Lucy for doing her this real service as she would have been
if her friend had assisted in gratifying her vanity and extravagance.
Lucy saw what passed in Mrs. Ludgate's mind, and nothing but the sense
of the obligations she lay under to Belle's mother could have prevented
her from breaking off all connexion with her.

But Mrs. Ludgate was now much inclined to court Lucy's acquaintance, as
her approaching marriage with Mr. Allen, who was in good circumstances,
made her appear quite a different person. Mrs. Allen would be able, and
she hoped willing, to assist her from time to time with money. With this
view, Belle showed Lucy a degree of attention and civility which she
had disdained to bestow upon her friend whilst she was in an inferior
situation. It was in vain, however, that this would-be fine lady
endeavoured to draw the prudent Lucy out of her own sphere of life:
though Lucy was extremely pretty, she had no desire to be admired; she
was perfectly satisfied and happy at home, and she and her husband lived
according to old Ludgate's excellent maxim, "Out of debt out of danger."

We shall not weary our readers with the history of all the petty
difficulties into which Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate's foolish extravagance led
them. The life of the _shabby genteel_ is most miserable. Servants'
wages unpaid, duns continually besieging the door, perpetual excuses,
falsehoods to be invented, melancholy at home, and forced gaiety abroad!
Who would live such a life? Yet all this Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate endured,
for the sake of outshining Mr. and Mrs. Pimlico.

It happened that one night, at a party, Mrs. Ludgate caught a violent
cold, and her face became inflamed and disfigured by red spots. Being
to go to a ball in a few days, she was very impatient to get rid of the
eruption; and in this exigency she applied to Mr. Pimlico, the perfumer,
who had often supplied her with cosmetics, and who now recommended a
beautifying lotion. This quickly cleared her complexion; but she soon
felt the effects of her imprudence: she was taken dangerously ill, and
the physician who was consulted attributed her disease entirely to
the preparation she had applied to her face. Whilst she was ill, an
execution was brought against Mr. Ludgate's goods. Threatened with a
jail, and incapable of taking any vigorous measures to avoid distress,
he went to consult his friend, Tom Lewis. How this Mr. Lewis lived was
matter of astonishment to all his acquaintance: he had neither estate,
business, or any obvious means of supporting the expense in which he
indulged.

"What a happy dog you are, Lewis!" said our hero: "how is it that you
live better than I do?"

"You might live as well as I, if you were inclined," said Lewis.

Our hero was all curiosity; and Lewis exacted from him an oath of
secrecy. A long pause ensued.

"Have you the courage," said Lewis, "to extricate yourself from all your
difficulties at once?"

"To be sure I have; since I must either go to jail this night, or raise
two hundred guineas for these cursed fellows!"

"You shall have it in half an hour," said Lewis, "if you will follow my
advice."

"Tell me at once what I am to do, and I will do it," cried Leonard. "I
will do any thing to save myself from disgrace, and from a jail."

Lewis, who now perceived his friend was worked up to the pitch he
wanted, revealed the whole mystery. He was connected with a set of
gentlemen, ingenious in the arts of forgery, from whom he purchased
counterfeit bank-notes at a very cheap rate. The difficulty and risk of
passing them was extreme; therefore the confederates were anxious to
throw this part of the business off their hands. Struck with horror at
the idea of becoming an accomplice in such a scheme of villany, Leonard
stood pale and silent, incapable of even thinking distinctly. Lewis
was sorry that he had opened his mind so fully. "Remember your oath of
secrecy!" said he.

"I do," replied Ludgate.

"And remember that you must become one of us before night, or go to
jail."

Ludgate said he would take an hour to consider of the business, and here
they parted; Lewis promising to call at his house before evening, to
learn his final decision.

"And am I come to this?" thought the wretched man. "Would to Heaven I
had followed my poor father's maxim! but it is now too late."

Mr. Ludgate, when he arrived at home, shut himself up in his own room,
and continued walking backwards and forwards, for nearly an hour, in a
state of mind more dreadful than can be described. Whilst he was in this
situation, some one knocked at the door. He thought it was Lewis, and
trembled from head to foot. It was only a servant with a parcel of
bills, which several tradesmen, hearing that an execution was in the
house, had hastened to present for payment. Among them were those of Mr.
Beech, the upholsterer, and Mrs. Ludgate's milliner and mantua-maker,
which having been let to run on for above two years and a half, now
amounted to a sum that astonished and shocked Mr. Ludgate. He could not
remonstrate with his wife, or even vent his anger in reproaches, for she
was lying senseless in her bed.

Before he had recovered from this shock, and whilst the tradesmen who
brought the bills were still waiting for their money, Lewis and one of
his companions arrived. He came to the point immediately. He produced
bank-notes sufficient to discharge all his debts, and proposed to lend
him this money on condition that he would enter into the confederacy as
he had proposed. "All that we ask of you is to pass a certain number of
notes for us every week. You will find this to your advantage; for we
will allow you a considerable percentage, besides freeing you from your
present embarrassments."

The sight of the bank-notes, the pressure of immediate distress, and the
hopes of being able to support the style of life in which he had of late
appeared, all conspired to tempt Ludgate. When he had, early in life,
vaunted to his young companions that he despised his father's old maxim,
while he repeated his own, they applauded his spirit. They were not
present, at this instant, to pity the wretched state into which that
spirit had betrayed him. But our hero has yet much greater misery to
endure. It is true his debts were now paid, and he was able to support
an external appearance of affluence; but not one day, not one night,
could he pass without suffering the horrors of a guilty conscience, and
all the terrors which haunt the man who sees himself in hourly danger of
detection. He determined to keep his secret cautiously from his wife: he
was glad that she was confined to her bed at this time, lest her prying
curiosity should discover what was going forward. The species of
affection which he had once felt for her had not survived the first six
months of their marriage; and their late disputes had rendered this
husband and wife absolutely odious to each other. Each believed, and
indeed pretty plainly asserted, that they could live more handsomely
asunder: but, alas! they were united for better and for worse.

Mrs. Ludgate's illness terminated in another eruption on her face. She
was extremely mortified by the loss of her beauty, especially as Mrs.
Pimlico frequently contrasted her face with that of Mrs. Paget, who
was now acknowledged to be the handsomest woman of Mrs. Pimlico's
acquaintance. She endeavoured to make herself of consequence by fresh
expense. Mr. Ludgate, to account for the sudden payment of his debts,
and the affluence in which he now appeared to live, spread a report of
his having had a considerable legacy left to him by a relation, who
had died in a distant part of England. The truth of the report was not
questioned; and for some time Mr. and Mrs. Ludgate were the envy of
their acquaintance. How little the world, as it is called, can judge, by
external appearances, of the happiness of those who excite admiration or
envy!

"What lucky people the Ludgates are!" cried Mrs. Pimlico. The
exclamation was echoed by a crowded card party, assembled at her house.
"But then," continued Mrs. Pimlico, "it is a pity poor Belle is so
disfigured by that scurvy, or whatever it is, in her face. I remember
the time when she was as pretty a woman as you could see: nay, would you
believe it, she had once as fine a complexion as young Mrs. Paget!"

These observations circulated quickly, and did not escape Mrs. Ludgate's
ear. Her vanity was deeply wounded; and her health appeared to her but a
secondary consideration, in comparison with the chance of recovering her
lost complexion. Mr. Pimlico, who was an eloquent perfumer, persuaded
her that her former illness had nothing to do with the beautifying
lotion she had purchased at his shop; and to support his assertions, he
quoted examples of innumerable ladies, of high rank and fashion, who
were in the constant habit of using this admirable preparation. The vain
and foolish woman, notwithstanding the warnings which she had received
from the physician who attended her during her illness, listened to the
oratory of the perfumer, and bought half a dozen bottles of another kind
of beautifying lotion. The eruption vanished from her face, after she
had used the cosmetic; and, as she did not feel any immediate bad
effects upon her health, she persisted in the practice for some months.
The consequence was at last dreadful. She was found one morning
speechless in her bed, with one side of her face distorted and
motionless. During the night, she had been seized with a paralytic
stroke: in a few days she recovered her speech; but her face continued
totally disfigured.

This was the severest punishment that could have been inflicted on a
woman of her character. She was now ashamed to show herself abroad, and
incapable of being contented at home. She had not the friendship of a
husband, or the affection of children, to afford her consolation and
support. Her eldest child was a boy of about five years old, her
youngest four. They were as fretful and troublesome as children usually
are, whose education has been totally neglected; and the quarrels
between them and Jack the footboy were endless, for Jack was alternately
their tutor and their playfellow.

Beside the disorder created in this family by mischievous children,
the servants were daily plagues. Nothing was ever done by them well or
regularly; and though the master and mistress scolded without mercy, and
perpetually threatened to turn Jack or Sukey away, yet no reformation in
their manners was produced; for Jack and Sukey's wages were not paid,
and they felt that they had the power in their own hands; so that they
were rather the tyrants than the servants of the house.




CHAPTER III.


Mrs. Ludgate's temper, which never was sweet, was soured to such a
degree, by these accumulated evils, that she was insufferable. Her
husband kept out of the way as much as possible: he dined and supped at
his club, or at the tavern: and, during the evenings and mornings, he
was visible at home but for a few minutes. Yet, though his time was
passed entirely away from his wife, his children, and his home, he was
not happy. His life was a life of perpetual fraud and fear. He was bound
by his engagements with Lewis to pass for the confederates a certain
number of forged notes every day. This was a perilous task! His utmost
exertions and ingenuity were continually necessary to escape detection;
and, after all, he was barely able to wrest from the hard hands of his
_friends_ a sufficient profit upon his labour to maintain himself. How
often did he look back, with regret, to the days when he stood behind
the counter, in his father's shop! Then he had in Allen a real friend;
but now he had in Lewis only a profligate and unfeeling associate.
Lewis cared for no one but himself; and he was as avaricious as he was
extravagant; "greedy of what belonged to others, prodigal of his own."

One night, Leonard went to the house where the confederates met, to
settle with them for the last parcel of notes that he had passed. Lewis
insisted upon being paid for his services before Ludgate should touch a
farthing. Words ran high between them: Lewis, having the most influence
with his associates, carried his point; and Leonard, who was in want of
ready money, could supply himself only by engaging to pass double the
usual quantity of forged notes during the ensuing month. Upon this
condition, he obtained the supply for which he solicited. Upon his
return home, he locked up the forged notes as usual in his escritoir. It
happened the very next morning that Mrs. la Mode, the milliner, called
upon Mrs. Ludgate. The ruling passion still prevailed, notwithstanding
the miserable state to which this lady was reduced. Even palsy could not
deaden her personal vanity: her love of dress survived the total loss
of her beauty; she became accustomed to the sight of her distorted
features, and was still anxious to wear what was most genteel and
becoming. Mrs. la Mode had not a more constant visitor.

"How are you, Mrs. Ludgate, this morning?" said she. "But I need not
ask, for you look _surprising_ well. I just called to tell you a bit of
a secret, that I have told to nobody else; but you being such a friend
and a favourite, have a right to know it. You must know, I am going next
week to bring out a new spring hat; and I have made one of my girls
bring it up, to consult with you before any body else, having a great
opinion of your taste and judgment: though it is a thing that must not
be mentioned, because it would ruin me with Mrs. Pimlico, who made me
swear she should have the first sight."

Flattered by having the first sight of the spring hat, Mrs. Ludgate was
prepossessed in its favour; and, when she tried it on, she thought it
made her look ten years younger. In short, it was impossible not to take
one of the hats, though it cost three guineas, and was not worth ten
shillings.

"Positively, ma'am, you must _patronize_ my spring hat," said the
milliner.

Mrs. Ludgate was decided by the word patronize: she took the hat, and
desired that it should be set down in her bill: but Mrs. la Mode was
extremely concerned that she had made a rule, nay a vow, not to take any
thing but ready money for the spring hats; and she could not break her
vow, even for her favourite Mrs. Ludgate. This was at least a prudent
resolution in the milliner, who had lately received notice, from Mr.
Ludgate, not to give his wife any goods upon credit, for that he was
determined to refuse payment of her bills. The wife, who was now in a
weak state of health, was not able as formerly to fight her battles with
her husband upon equal terms. To cunning, the refuge of weakness, she
had recourse; and she considered that, though she could no longer
outscold, she could still outwit her adversary. She could not have the
pleasure and honour of patronizing the spring hat, without ready money
to pay for it; her husband, she knew, had always bank-notes in his
escritoir; and she argued with herself that it was better to act without
his consent than against it. She went and tried, with certain keys of
her own, to open Leonard's desk; and open it came. She seized from a
parcel of bank-notes as many as she wanted, and paid Mrs. la Mode with
three of them for the spring hat. When her husband came home the next
day, he did not observe that he had lost any of the notes; and, as he
went out of the house again without once coming into the parlour where
his wife was sitting, she excused herself to her conscience, for not
telling him of the freedom she had taken, by thinking--It will do as
well to tell him of it to-morrow: a few notes, out of such a parcel as
he has in his desk locked up from me, can't signify; and he'll only
bluster and bully when I do tell him of it; so let him find it out when
he pleases.

The scheme of acting without her husband's consent in all cases, where
she was morally certain that if she asked she could not obtain it, Mrs.
Ludgate had often pursued with much success. A few days after she had
bought the spring hat, she invited Mrs. Pimlico, Mrs. Paget, and all her
genteel friends, to tea and cards. Her husband, she knew, would be out
of the way, at his club, or at the tavern. Mrs. Pimlico, and Mrs. Paget,
and all their genteel friends, did Mrs. Ludgate the honour to wait upon
her on the appointed evening, and she had the satisfaction to appear
upon this occasion in the new spring hat; while her friend, Mrs.
Pimlico, whispered to young Mrs. Paget, "She patronize the new spring
hat! What a fool Mrs. la Mode makes of her! A death's head in a wreath
of roses! How frightfully ridiculous!"

Unconscious that she was an object of ridicule to the whole company,
Mrs. Ludgate sat down to cards in unusually good spirits, firmly
believing Mrs. la Mode's comfortable assertion, "that the spring hat
made her look ten years younger." She was in the midst of a panegyric
upon Mrs. la Mode's taste, when Jack, the footboy, came behind her
chair, and whispered that three men were below, who desired to speak to
her immediately.

"Men! gentlemen, do you mean?" said Mrs. Ludgate.

"No, ma'am, not gentlemen." "Then send them away about their business,
dunce," said the lady. "Some tradesfolk, I suppose; tell them I'm
engaged with company."

"But, ma'am, they will not leave the house without seeing you, or Mr.
Ludgate."

"Let them wait, then, till Mr. Ludgate comes in. I have nothing to say
to them. What's their business, pray?"

"It is something about a note, ma'am, that you gave to Mrs. la Mode, the
other day."

"What about it?" said Mrs. Ludgate, putting down her cards.

"They say it is a bad note."

"Well, I'll change it; bid them send it up."

"They won't part with it, ma'am: they would not let it out of their
hands, even to let me look at it for an instant."

"What a riot about a pound note," said Mrs. Ludgate, rising from the
card-table: "I'll speak to the fellows myself."

She had recourse again to her husband's desk; and, armed with a whole
handful of fresh bank-notes, she went to the strangers. They told her
that they did not want, and would not receive, any note in exchange
for that which they produced; but that, as it was a forgery, they must
insist upon knowing from whom she had it. There was an air of mystery
and authority about the strangers which alarmed Mrs. Ludgate; and,
without attempting any evasion, she said that she took the note from her
husband's desk, and that she could not tell from whom he received it.
The strangers declared that they must wait till Mr. Ludgate should
return home. She offered to give them a guinea to drink, if they would
go away quietly; but this they refused. Jack, the footboy, whispered
that they had pistols, and that he believed they were Bow-street
officers.

They went into the back parlour to wait for Mr. Ludgate; and the lady,
in extreme perturbation, returned to her company and her cards. In vain
she attempted to resume her conversation about the spring hat, and
to conceal the agitation of her spirits. It was observed by all her
_friends_, and especially by Mrs. Pimlico, whose curiosity was strongly
excited, to know the cause of her alarm. Mrs. Ludgate looked frequently
at her watch, and even yawned without ceremony, more than once, to
manifest her desire that the company should depart; but no hints
availed. The card players resolutely kept their seats, and even the
smell of extinguishing candles had no effect upon their callous senses.

The time appeared insupportably long to the wretched mistress of
the house; and the contrast between her fantastic headdress and her
agonizing countenance every minute became more striking.

Twelve o'clock struck. "It is growing very late," said Mrs. Ludgate.

"But we must have another rubber," said Mrs. Pimlico.

She began to deal; a knock was heard at the door. "There's Mr. Ludgate,
I do suppose," said Mrs. Pimlico, continuing her deal. Mrs. Ludgate left
her cards, and went out of the room without speaking. She stopped at the
head of the staircase, for she heard a scuffle and loud voices below.
Presently all was silent, and she ventured down when she heard the
parlour door shut. The footman met her in the passage.

"What is the matter?" said she.

"I don't know; but I must be paid my wages," said he, "or must pay
myself."

He passed on rudely. She half opened the parlour door, and looked in:
her husband was lying back on the sofa, seemingly stupefied by despair:
one of the Bow-street officers was chafing his temples, another was
rummaging his desk, and the third was closely examining certain notes,
which he had just taken from the prisoner's pockets.

"What is the matter?" cried Mrs. Ludgate, advancing. Her husband lifted
up his eyes, saw her, started up, and, stamping furiously, exclaimed,
"Cursed, cursed woman! you have brought me to the gallows, and all for
this trumpery!" cried he, snatching her gaudy hat from her head, and
trampling it under his feet. "For this--for this! you vain, you ugly
creature, you have brought your husband to the gallows!"

One of the Bow-street officers caught hold of his uplifted arm, which
trembled with rage. His wife sank to the ground; a second paralytic
stroke deprived her of the power of speech. As they were carrying her
up stairs, Mrs. Pimlico and the rest of the company came out of the
dining-room, some of them with cards in their hands, all eagerly asking
what was the matter? When they learnt that the Bow-street officers were
in the house, and that Mr. Ludgate was taken into custody for uttering
forged bank-notes, there was a general uproar. Some declared it was
shocking! others protested it was no more than might have been expected!
The Ludgates lived so much above their circumstances! Then he was such a
coxcomb; and she such a poor vain creature! Better for people to do like
their neighbours--to make no show, and live honestly!

In the midst of these effusions of long suppressed envy, some few of the
company attempted a slight word or two of apology for their host and
hostess; and the most humane went up to the wretched woman's bedchamber,
to offer assistance and advice. But the greater number were occupied
in tucking up their white gowns, finding their clogs, or calling for
hackney coaches. In less than a quarter of an hour the house was clear
of all Mrs. Ludgate's _friends_. And it is to please such friends that
whole families ruin themselves by unsuitable expense.

Lucy and Allen were not, however, of this class of friends. A confused
report of what had passed the preceding night was spread the next
morning in Cranbourne-alley, by a young lady, who had been at Mrs.
Ludgate's rout. The moment the news reached Allen's shop, he and Lucy
set out immediately to offer their assistance to the unfortunate family.
When they got to Weymouth-street, they gave only a single knock at the
door, that they might not create any alarm. They were kept waiting
a considerable time, and at last the door was opened by a slip-shod
cook-maid, who seemed to be just up, though it was near eleven o'clock.
She showed them into the parlour, which was quite dark; and, whilst
she was opening the shutters, told them that the house had been up all
night, what with the Bow-street officers and her mistress's fits. Her
master, she added, was carried off to prison, she believed. Lucy asked
who was with Mrs. Ludgate, and whether she could go up to her room?

"There's nobody with her, ma'am, but nurse, that called by chance, early
this morning, to see the children, and had the good-nature to stay to
help, and has been sitting in mistress's room, whilst I went to my bed.
I'll step up and see if you can go in, ma'am."

They waited for some time in the parlour, where every thing looked
desolate and in disorder. The ashes covered the hearth; the poker lay
upon the table, near Mr. Ludgate's desk, the lock of which had been
broken open; a brass flat candlestick, covered with tallow, was upon the
window-seat, and beside it a broken cruet of vinegar; a cravat, and red
silk handkerchief, which had been taken from Mr. Ludgate's neck when he
swooned, lay under the table. Lucy and her husband looked at one another
for some moments without speaking. At last Allen said, "We had better
lock up this press, where there are silver spoons and china, for there
is nobody now left to take care of any thing, and the creditors will be
here soon to seize all they can." Lucy said that she would go up
into the dining-room, and take an inventory of the furniture. In the
dining-room she found Jack the footboy collecting shillings from beneath
the candlesticks on the card-tables: the two little children were
sitting on the floor, the girl playing with a pack of cards, the boy
drinking the dregs of a decanter of white wine.--"Poor children! Poor
creatures!" said Lucy; "is there nobody to take care of you?"

"No; nobody but Jack," said the boy, "and he's going away. Papa's gone I
don't know where; and mama's not up yet, so we have had no breakfast."

The cook-maid came in to say that Mrs. Ludgate was awake, and sensible
now, and would be glad to see Mrs. Allen, if she'd be so good as to walk
up. Lucy told the children, who clung to her, that she would take them
home with her, and give them some breakfast, and then hastened up
stairs. She found her wretched friend humbled indeed to the lowest
state of imbecile despair. Her speech had returned; but she spoke with
difficulty, and scarcely so as to be intelligible. The good-natured
nurse supported her in the bed, saying repeatedly, "Keep a good heart,
madam; keep a good heart! Don't let your spirits sink so as this, and
all may be well yet."

"O Lucy! Lucy! What will become of me now? What a change is here! And
nobody to help or advise me! Nobody upon earth! I am forsaken by all the
world!"

"Not forsaken by me," said Lucy, in a soothing voice.

"What noise is that below?" cried Mrs. Ludgate.

Lucy went downstairs to inquire, and found that, as Allen had foretold,
the creditors were come to seize all they could find. Allen undertook to
remain with them, and to bring them to some settlement, whilst Lucy had
her unfortunate friend and the two children removed immediately to her
own house.

As to Mr. Ludgate, there was no hope for him; the proofs of his guilt
were manifest and incontrovertible. The forged note, which his wife had
taken from his desk and given to the milliner, was one which had not
gone through certain mysterious preparations. It was a bungling forgery.
The plate would doubtless have been retouched, had not this bill been
prematurely circulated by Mrs. Ludgate: thus her vanity led to a
discovery of her husband's guilt. All the associates in Lewis's
iniquitous confederacy suffered the just punishment of their crimes.
Many applications were made to obtain a pardon for Leonard Ludgate: but
the executive power preserved that firmness which has not, upon any
similar occasion, ever been relaxed.

Lucy and Allen, those real friends, who would not encourage Mrs. Ludgate
in extravagance, now, in the hour of adversity and repentance, treated
her with the utmost tenderness and generosity. They were economical, and
therefore could afford to be generous. All the wants of this destitute
widow were supplied from the profits of their industry: they nursed her
with daily humanity, bore with the peevishness of disease, and did all
in their power to soothe the anguish of unavailing remorse.

Nothing could be saved from the wreck of Mr. Ludgate's fortune for the
widow; but Allen, in looking over old Ludgate's books, had found and
recovered some old debts, which Leonard, after his father's death,
thought not worth looking after. The sum amounted to about three hundred
and twenty pounds. As the whole concern had been made over to him, he
could lawfully have appropriated this money to his own use, but he
reserved it for his friend's children. He put it out to interest; and in
the mean time he and Lucy not only clothed and fed, but educated these
orphans, with their own children, in habits of economy and industry.
The orphans repaid, by their affection and gratitude, the care that was
bestowed upon them; and, when they grew up, they retrieved the credit
of their family, by living according to their grandfather's useful
maxim--"Out of debt out of danger."

_Nov. 1801._




THE LOTTERY


CHAPTER I.


Near Derby, on the way towards Darley-grove, there is a cottage which
formerly belonged to one Maurice Robinson. The jessamine which now
covers the porch was planted by Ellen, his wife: she was an industrious,
prudent, young woman; liked by all her neighbours, because she was ready
to assist and serve them, and the delight of her husband's heart; for
she was sweet-tempered, affectionate, constantly clean and neat, and
made his house so cheerful that he was always in haste to come home to
her, after his day's work. He was one of the manufacturers employed in
the cotton works at Derby; and he was remarkable for his good conduct
and regular attendance at his work.

Things went on very well in every respect, till a relation of his, Mrs.
Dolly Robinson, came to live with him. Mrs. Dolly had been laundry-maid
in a great family, where she learned to love gossiping, and
tea-drinkings, and where she acquired some taste for shawls and
cherry-brandy. She thought that she did her young relations a great
favour by coming to take up her abode with them, because, as she
observed, they were young and inexperienced; and she, knowing a great
deal of the world, was able and willing to advise them; and besides, she
had had a legacy of some hundred pounds left to her, and she had saved
some little matters while in service, which might make it worth her
relations' while to take her advice with proper respect, and to make her
comfortable for the rest of her days.

Ellen treated her with all due deference, and endeavoured to make her as
comfortable as possible; but Mrs. Dolly could not be comfortable unless,
besides drinking a large spoonful of brandy in every dish of tea, she
could make each person in the house do just what she pleased. She began
by being dissatisfied because she could not persuade Ellen that brandy
was wholesome, in tea, for the nerves; next she was affronted because
Ellen did not admire her shawl; and, above all, she was grievously
offended because Ellen endeavoured to prevent her from spoiling little
George.

George was, at this time, between five and six years old; and his mother
took a great deal of pains to bring him up well: she endeavoured to
teach him to be honest, to speak the truth, to do whatever she and his
father bid him, and to dislike being idle.

Mrs. Dolly, on the contrary, coaxed and flattered him, without caring
whether he was obedient or disobedient, honest or dishonest. She was
continually telling him that he was the finest little fellow in the
world; and that she would do great things for him, some time or another.

What these great things were to be the boy seemed neither to know nor
care; and, except at the moments when she was stuffing gingerbread into
his mouth, he seemed never to desire to be near her: he preferred being
with William Deane, his father's friend, who was a very ingenious man,
and whom he liked to see at work.

William gave him a slate, and a slate pencil; and taught him how to make
figures, and to cast up sums; and made a little wheel-barrow for him,
of which George was very fond, so that George called him in play "_King
Deane_." All these things tended to make Mrs. Dolly dislike William
Deane, whom she considered as her rival in power.

One day, it was George's birthday, Mrs. Dolly invited a party, as she
called it, to drink tea with her; and, at tea-time, she was entertaining
the neighbours with stories of what she had seen in the great world.
Amongst others, she had a favourite story of a butler, in the family
where she had lived, who bought a ticket in the lottery when he was
drunk, which ticket came up a ten thousand pound prize when he was
sober; and the butler turned gentleman, and kept his coach directly.

One evening, Maurice Robinson and William came home, after their day's
work, just in time to hear the end of this story; and Mrs. Dolly
concluded it by turning to Maurice, and assuring him that he must put
into the lottery and try his luck: for why should not he be as lucky as
another? "Here," said she, "a man is working and drudging all the days
of his life to get a decent coat to put on, and a bit of bread to put
into his child's mouth; and, after all, may be he can't do it; though
all the while, for five guineas, or a guinea, or half-a-guinea even, if
he has but the spirit to lay out his money properly, he has the chance
of making a fortune without any trouble. Surely a man should try his
luck, if not for his own, at least for his children's sake," continued
Mrs. Dolly, drawing little George towards her, and hugging him in her
arms. "Who knows what might turn up! Make your papa buy a ticket in the
lottery, love; there's my darling; and I'll be bound he'll have good
luck. Tell him, I'll be bound we shall have a ten thousand pound prize
at least; and all for a few guineas. I'm sure I think none but a miser
would grudge the money, if he had it to give."

As Mrs. Dolly finished her speech, she looked at William Deane, whose
countenance did not seem to please her. Maurice was whistling, and Ellen
knitting as fast as possible. Little George was counting William Deane's
buttons. "Pray, Mr. Deane," cried Mrs. Dolly, turning full upon him,
"what may your advice and opinion be? since nothing's to be done here
without your leave and word of command, forsooth. Now, as you know so
much and have seen so much of the world, would you be pleased to tell
this good company, and myself into the bargain, what harm it can do
anybody, but a miser, to lay out a small sum to get a good chance of a
round thousand, or five thousand, or ten thousand, or twenty thousand
pounds, without more ado?"

As she pronounced the words five thousand, ten thousand, twenty thousand
pounds, in a triumphant voice, all the company, except Ellen and
William, seemed to feel the force of her oratory.

William coolly answered that he was no miser, but that he thought money
might be better laid out than in the lottery; for that there was more
chance of a man's getting nothing for his money than of his getting a
prize; that when a man worked for fair wages every day, he was sure of
getting something for his pains, and with honest industry, and saving,
might get rich enough in time, and have to thank himself for it, which
would be a pleasant thing: but that if a man, as he had known many, set
his heart upon the turning of the lottery wheel, he would leave off
putting his hand to any thing the whole year round, and so grow idle,
and may be, drunken; "and then," said William, "at the year's end, if
he have a blank, what is he to do for his rent, or for his wife and
children, that have nothing to depend upon but him and his industry?"

Here Maurice sighed, and so did Ellen, whilst William went on and told
many a true story of honest servants, and tradesmen, whom he had known,
who had ruined themselves by gaming and lotteries.

"But," said Maurice, who now broke silence, "putting into the lottery,
William, is not gaming, like dice or cards, or such things. Putting into
the lottery is not gaming, as I take it."

"As I take it, though," replied William, "it is gaming. For what is
gaming but trusting one's money, or somewhat, to luck and hap-hazard?
And is there not as much hap-hazard in the turning of the wheel as in
the coming up of the dice, or the dealing of the cards?"

"True enough; but somebody must get a prize," argued Maurice.

"And somebody must win at dice or cards," said William, "but a many more
must lose; and a many more, I take it, must lose by the lottery than by
any other game; else how would they that keep the lottery gain by it, as
they do? Put a case. If you and I, Maurice, were this minute to play
at dice, we stake our money down on the table here, and one or t'other
takes all up. But, in the lottery, it is another affair; for the whole
of what is put in does never come out."

This statement of the case made some impression upon Maurice, who was no
fool; but Mrs. Dolly's desire that he should buy a lottery ticket, was
not to be conquered by reason: it grew stronger and stronger the more
she was opposed. She was silent and cross during the remainder of the
evening; and the next morning, at breakfast, she was so low that even
her accustomed dose of brandy, in her tea, had no effect.

Now Maurice, besides his confused hopes that Mrs. Dolly would leave
something handsome to him or his family, thought himself obliged to her
for having given a helping hand to his father, when he was in distress;
and therefore he wished to bear with her humours, and to make her happy
in his house. He knew that the lottery ticket was uppermost in her mind,
and the moment he touched upon that subject she brightened up. She told
him she had had a dream; and she had great faith in dreams: and she had
dreamed, three times over, that he had bought number 339 in the lottery,
and that it had come up a ten thousand pound prize!

"Well, Ellen," said Maurice, "I've half a mind to try my luck; and it
can do us no harm, for I'll only put off buying the cow this year."

"Nay," said Mrs. Dolly, "why so? may be you don't know what I know, that
Ellen's as rich as a Jew? She has a cunning little cupboard, in the wall
yonder, that I see her putting money into every day of her life, and
none goes out."

Ellen immediately went and drew back a small sliding oak door in the
wainscot, and took out a glove, in which some money was wrapped; she put
it altogether in her husband's hand, saying, with a good-humoured smile,
"There is my year's spinning, Maurice: I only thought to have made more
of it before I gave it you. Do what you please with it."

Maurice was so much moved by his wife's kindness, that he at the moment
determined to give up his lottery scheme, of which, he knew, she did
not approve. But, though a good-natured, well-meaning man, he was of an
irresolute character; and even when he saw what was best to be done,
had not courage to persist. As he was coming home from work, a few days
after Ellen had given him the money, he saw, in one of the streets of
Derby, a house with large windows finely illuminated, and read the words:

"Lottery-office of Fortunatus, Gould, and Co." At this office was sold
the fortunate ticket, which came up on Monday last a twenty thousand
pound prize. Ready money paid for prizes immediately on demand. The
  15,000_l_.
  10,000_l_.
   5,000_l_.
still in the wheel. None but the brave deserve a prize."

Whilst Maurice was gazing at this and other similar advertisements,
which were exhibited in various bright colours in this tempting window,
his desire to try his fortune in the lottery returned; and he was just
going into the office to purchase a ticket, when luckily he found that
he had not his leathern purse in his pocket. He walked on, and presently
brushed by some one; it was William Deane, who was looking very eagerly
over some old books, at a bookseller's stall. "I wish I had but money to
treat myself with some of these," said William: "but I cannot; they cost
such a deal of money, having all these prints in them."

"We can lend you,--no, we can't neither," cried Maurice, stopping
himself short; for he recollected that he could not both lend his friend
money to buy the books and buy a lottery ticket. He was in great doubt
which he should do; and walked on with William, in silence. "So, then,"
cried he at last, "you would not advise me to put into the lottery?"

"Nay," said William laughing, "it is not for me to advise you about it,
now; for I know you are considering whether you had best put it into the
lottery or lend me the money to buy these books. Now, I hope you don't
think I was looking to my own interest in what I said the other day; for
I can assure you, I had no thoughts of meeting with these books at that
time, and did not know that you had any money to spare."

"Say no more about it," replied Maurice. "Don't I know you are an honest
fellow, and would lend me the money if I wanted it? You shall have it
as soon as ever we get home. Only mind and stand by me stoutly, if Mrs.
Dolly begins any more about the lottery."

Mrs. Dolly did not fail to renew her attacks; and she was both provoked
and astonished when she found that the contents of the leathern purse
were put into the hands of William Deane.

"Books, indeed! To buy books forsooth! What business had such a one as
he with books?" She had seen a deal of life, she said, and never saw
no good come of bookish bodies; and she was sorry to see that her own
darling, George, was taking to the bookish line, and that his mother
encouraged him in it. She would lay her best shawl, she said, to a gauze
handkerchief, that William Deane would, sooner or later, beggar himself,
and all that belonged to him, by his books and his gimcracks; "and if
George were my son," continued she, raising her voice, "I'd soon cure
him of prying and poring into that man's picture-books, and following
him up and down with wheels and mechanic machines, which will never
come to no good, nor never make a gentleman of him, as a ticket in the
lottery might and would."

All mouths were open at once to defend William. Maurice declared he was
the most industrious man in the parish; that his books never kept him
from his work, but always kept him from the alehouse and bad company;
and that, as to his gimcracks and machines, he never laid out a farthing
upon them but what he got by working on holidays, and odd times, when
other folks were idling or tippling. His master, who understood the like
of those things, said, before all the workmen at the mills, that William
Deane's machines were main clever, and might come to bring in a deal of
money for him and his.

"Why," continued Maurice, "there was Mr. Arkwright, the man that first
set a going all our cotton frames here, was no better than William
Deane, and yet came at last to make a power of money. It stands to
reason, any how, that William Deane is hurting nobody, nor himself
neither; and, moreover, he may divert himself his own way, without being
taken to task by man, woman, or child. As to children, he's very good to
my child; there's one loves him," pointing to George, "and I'm glad of
it: for I should be ashamed, so I should, that my flesh and blood should
be in any ways disregardful or ungracious to those that be kind and good
to them."

Mrs. Dolly, swelling with anger, repeated in a scornful voice,
"Disregardful, ungracious! I wonder folks can talk so to me! But this is
all the gratitude one meets with, in this world, for all one does. Well,
well! I'm an old woman, and shall soon be out of people's way; and then
they will be sorry they did not use me better; and then they'll bethink
them that it is not so easy to gain a friend as to lose a friend; and
then--"

Here Mrs. Dolly's voice was stopped by her sobs; and Maurice, who was a
very good-natured man, and much disposed to gratitude, said he begged
her pardon a thousand times, if he had done any thing to offend her; and
declared his only wish was to please and satisfy her, if she would but
tell him how. She continued sobbing, without making any answer, for some
time: but at last she cried, "My ad--my ad--my ad-vice is never taken in
any thing!"

Maurice declared he was ready to take her advice, if that was the only
way to make her easy in her mind. "I know what you mean, now," added he:
"you are still harping upon the lottery ticket. Well, I'll buy a ticket
this day week, after I've sold the cow I bought at the fair. Will you
have done sobbing, now, cousin Dolly?"

"Indeed, cousin Maurice, it is only for your own sake I speak," said
she, wiping her eyes. "You know you was always a favourite of mine from
your childhood up; I nursed you, and had you on my knee, and foretold
often and often you would make a fortune, so I did. And will you buy the
ticket I dreamed about, hey?"

Maurice assured her that, if it was to be had, he would. The cow was
accordingly sold the following week, and the ticket in the lottery was
bought. It was not, however, the number about which Mrs. Dolly had
dreamed, for that was already purchased by some other person. The ticket
Maurice bought was number 80; and, after he had got it, his cousin
Dolly continually deplored that it was not the very number of which she
dreamed. It would have been better not to have taken her advice at all
than to have taken it when it was too late.

Maurice was an easy-tempered man, and loved quiet; and when he found
that he was reproached for something or other whenever he came into his
own house, he began to dislike the thought of going home after his day's
work, and loitered at public-houses sometimes, but more frequently at
the lottery-office. As the lottery was now drawing, his whole
thoughts were fixed upon his ticket; and he neglected his work at the
manufactory. "What signify a few shillings wages, more or less?" said he
to himself. "If my ticket should come up a prize, it makes a rich man of
me at once."

His ticket at last was drawn a prize of five thousand pounds! He was
almost out of his senses with joy! He ran home to tell the news. "A
prize! a prize, Dolly!" cried he, as soon as he had breath to speak.

"That comes of taking my advice!" said Dolly.

"A five thousand pound prize! my dear Ellen," cried he, and down he
kicked her spinning-wheel.

"I wish we may be as happy with it as we have been without it, Maurice,"
said Ellen; and calmly lifted her spinning-wheel up again.

"No more spinning-wheels!" cried Maurice; "no more spinning! no more
work! We have nothing to do now but to be as happy as the day is long.
Wife, I say, put by that wheel."

"You're a lady now; and ought to look and behave like a lady," added
Mrs. Dolly, stretching up her head, "and not stand moping over an old
spinning-wheel."

"I don't know how to look and behave like a lady," said Ellen, and
sighed: "but I hopes Maurice won't love me the less for that."

Mrs. Dolly was for some time wholly taken up with the pleasure of laying
out money, and "preparing," as she said, "to look like somebody." She
had many acquaintances at Paddington, she said, and she knew of a very
snug house there, where they could all live very genteel.

She was impatient to go thither, for two reasons; that she might make
a figure in the eyes of these acquaintances, and that she might get
Maurice and little George away from William Deane, who was now become
more than ever the object of her aversion and contempt; for he actually
advised his friend not to think of living in idleness, though he had
five thousand pounds. William moreover recommended it to him to put his
money out to interest, or to dispose of a good part of it in stocking a
farm, or in fitting out a shop. Ellen, being a farmer's daughter, knew
well the management of a dairy; and, when a girl, had also assisted in a
haberdasher's shop, that was kept in Derby by her uncle; so she was able
and willing, she said, to assist her husband in whichever of these ways
of life he should take to.

Maurice, irresolute and desirous of pleasing all parties, at last said,
it would be as well, seeing they were now rich enough not to mind such a
journey, just to go to Paddington and look about 'em; and if so be they
could not settle there in comfort, why still they might see a bit of
London town, and take their pleasure for a month or so; and he hoped
William Deane would come along with them, and it should not be a
farthing out of his pocket.

Little George said every thing he could think of to persuade his _King
Deane_ to go with them, and almost pulled him to the coach door, when
they were setting off; but William could not leave his master and his
business. The child clung with his legs and arms so fast to him that
they were forced to drag him into the carriage.

"You'll find plenty of friends at Paddington, who'll give you many
pretty things. Dry your eyes, and see! you're in a coach!" said Mrs.
Dolly.

George dried his eyes directly, for he was ashamed of crying; but he
answered, "I don't care for your pretty things. I shall not find my
good dear King Deane any where;" and, leaning upon his mother's lap, he
twirled round the wheel of a little cart, which William Deane had given
him, and which he carried under his arm as his greatest treasure.

Ellen was delighted to see signs of such a grateful and affectionate
disposition in her son, and all her thoughts were bent upon him; whilst
Mrs. Dolly chattered on about her acquaintance at Paddington, and her
satisfaction at finding herself in a coach once again. Her satisfaction
was not, however, of long continuance; for she grew so sick that she was
obliged, or thought herself obliged, every quarter of an hour, to have
recourse to her cordial bottle. Her spirits were at last raised so much,
that she became extremely communicative, and she laid open to Maurice
and Ellen all her plans of future pleasure and expense.

"In the first place," said she, "I am heartily glad now I have got you
away from that cottage that was not fit to live in; and from certain
folks that shall be nameless, that would have one live all one's
life like scrubs, like themselves. You must know that when we get to
Paddington, the first thing I shall do shall be to buy a handsome
coach." "A coach!" exclaimed Maurice and Ellen, with extreme
astonishment.

"A coach, to be sure," said Mrs. Dolly. "I say a coach."

"I say we shall be ruined, then," said Maurice; "and laughed at into the
bargain."

"La! you don't know what money is," said Mrs. Dolly. "Why haven't you
five thousand pounds, man? You don't know what can be done with five
thousand pounds, cousin Maurice."

"No, nor you neither, cousin Dolly; or you'd never talk of setting up
your coach."

"Why not, pray? I know what a coach costs as well as another. I know
we can have a second-hand coach, and we need not tell nobody that it's
second-hand, for about a hundred pounds. And what's a hundred pounds out
of five thousand?"

"But if we've a coach, we must have horses, must not we?" said Ellen,
"and they'll cost a hundred more."

"Oh, we can have job horses, that will cost us little or nothing," said
Mrs. Dolly.

"Say £150. a-year," replied Maurice; "for I heard my master's coachman
telling that the livery-keeper in London declared as how he made nothing
by letting him have job horses for £150. a-year."

"We are to have our own coach," said Dolly, "and that will be cheaper,
you know."

"But the coach won't last for ever," said Ellen; "it must be mended, and
that will cost something."

"It is time enough to think of that when the coach wants mending," said
Mrs. Dolly; who, without giving herself the trouble of calculating,
seemed to be convinced that every thing might be done for five thousand
pounds. "I must let you know a little secret," continued she. "I have
written, that is, got a friend to write, to have the house at Paddington
taken for a year; for I know it's quite the thing for us, and we are
only to give fifty pounds a-year for it: and you know that one thousand
pounds would pay that rent for twenty years to come."

"But then," said Ellen, "you will want to do a great many other things
with that thousand pounds. There's the coach you mentioned; and you said
we must keep a footboy, and must see a deal of company, and must not
grudge to buy clothes, and that we could not follow any trade, nor have
a farm, nor do any thing to make money; so we must live on upon what we
have. Now let us count, and see how we shall do it. You know, Maurice,
that William Deane inquired about what we could get for our five
thousand pounds, if we put it out to interest?"

"Ay; two hundred a-year, he said."

"Well, we pay fifty pounds a-year for the rent of the house, and a
hundred a-year we three and the boy must have to live upon, and there is
but fifty pounds a-year left."

Mrs. Dolly, with some reluctance, gave up the notion of the coach; and
Ellen proposed that five hundred pounds should be laid out in furnishing
a haberdasher's shop, and that the rest of their money should be put out
to interest, till it was wanted. "Maurice and I can take care of the
shop very well; and we can live well enough upon what we make by it,"
said Ellen.

Mrs. Dolly opposed the idea of keeping a shop; and observed that they
should not, in that case, be gentlefolks. Besides, she said, she was
sure the people of the house she had taken would never let it be turned
into a shop.

What Mrs. Dolly had said was indeed true. When they got to Paddington,
they found that the house was by no means fit for a shop; and as the
bargain was made for a year, and they could not get it off their hands
without considerable loss, Ellen was forced to put off her prudent
scheme. In the mean time she determined to learn how to keep accounts
properly.

There was a small garden belonging to the house, in which George set to
work; and though he could do little more than pull up the weeds, yet
this kept him out of mischief and idleness; and she sent him to a
day-school, where he would learn to read, write, and cast accounts. When
he came home in the evenings, he used to show her his copy-book, and
read his lesson, and say his spelling to her, while she was at work. His
master said it was a pleasure to teach him, he was so eager to learn;
and Ellen was glad that she had money enough to pay for having her
boy well taught. Mrs. Dolly, all this time, was sitting and gossiping
amongst her acquaintance in Paddington. These acquaintance were people
whom she had seen when they visited the housekeeper in the great family
where she was laundry-maid; and she was very proud to show them that she
was now a finer person than even the housekeeper, who was formerly the
object of her envy. She had tea-drinking parties, and sometimes dinner
parties, two or three in a week; and hired a footboy, and laughed at
Ellen for her low notions, and dissuaded Maurice from all industrious
schemes; still saying to him, "Oh, you'll have time enough to think of
going to work when you have spent all your money."

Maurice, who had been accustomed to be at work for several hours in the
day, at first thought it would be a fine thing to walk about, as Mrs.
Dolly said, like a gentleman, without having any thing to do; but when
he came to try it, he found himself more tired by this way of life than
he had ever felt himself in the cotton-mills at Derby. He gaped and
gaped, and lounged about every morning, and looked a hundred times at
his new watch, and put it to his ear to listen whether it was going, the
time seemed to him to pass so slowly. Sometimes he sauntered through
the town, came back again, and stood at his own door looking at dogs
fighting for a bone; at others, he went into the kitchen, to learn what
there was to be for dinner, and to watch the maid cooking, or the boy
cleaning knives. It was a great relief for him to go into the room where
his wife was at work: but he never would have been able to get through a
year in this way without the assistance of a pretty little black horse,
for which he paid thirty guineas. During a month he was very happy in
riding backwards and forwards on the Edgeware-road: but presently
the horse fell lame; it was discovered that he was spavined and
broken-winded; and the jockey from whom Maurice bought him was no where
to be found. Maurice sold the horse for five guineas, and bought a fine
bay for forty, which he was certain would turn out well, seeing he paid
such a good price for him; but the bay scarcely proved better than the
black. How he managed it we do not know, but it seems he was not so
skilful in horses as in cotton-weaving; for at the end of the year he
had no horse, and had lost fifty guineas by his bargains.

Another hundred guineas were gone, nobody in the family but himself knew
how: but he resolved to waste no more money and began the new year well,
by opening a haberdasher's shop in Paddington. The fitting up this shop
cost them five hundred pounds; it was tolerably stocked, and Ellen was
so active, and so attentive to all customers, that she brought numbers
to Maurice Robinson's new shop. They made full twelve per cent, upon all
they sold; and, in six months, had turned three hundred pounds twice,
and had gained the profit of seventy-two pounds. Maurice, however, had
got such a habit of lounging, during his year of idleness, that he could
not relish steady attendance in the shop: he was often out, frequently
came home late at night, and Ellen observed that he sometimes looked
extremely melancholy; but when she asked him whether he was ill, or what
ailed him, he always turned away, answering, "Nothing--nothing ails me.
Why do ye fancy any thing ails me?"

Alas! it was no fancy. Ellen saw too plainly, that something was going
wrong: but as her husband persisted in silence, she could not tell how
to assist or comfort him.

Mrs. Dolly in the mean time was going on spending her money in
junketing. She was, besides, no longer satisfied with taking
her spoonful of brandy in every dish of tea; she found herself
uncomfortable, she said, unless she took every morning fasting a full
glass of the good cordial recommended to her by her friend, Mrs.
Joddrell, the apothecary's wife. Now this good cordial, in plain
English, was a strong dram. Ellen, in the gentlest manner she could,
represented to Mrs. Dolly that she was hurting her health, and was
exposing herself, by this increasing habit of drinking; but she replied
with anger, that what she _took_ was for the good of her health; that
everybody knew best what agreed with them; that she should trust to her
own feelings; and that nobody need talk, when all she took came out of
the apothecary's shop, and was paid for honestly with her own money.

Besides what came out of the apothecary's shop, Mrs. Dolly found it
agreed with her constantly to drink a pot of porter at dinner, and
another at supper; and always when she had a cold, and she had often a
cold, she drank large basins full of white wine whey, "to throw off her
cold," as she said.

Then by degrees, she lost her appetite, and found she could eat nothing,
unless she had a glass of brandy at dinner. Small beer, she discovered,
did not agree with her; so at luncheon time she always had a tumbler
full of brandy and water. This she carefully mixed herself, and put less
and less water in every day, because brandy, she was convinced, was more
wholesome for some constitutions than water; and brandy and peppermint,
taken together, was an infallible remedy for all complaints, low spirits
included.




CHAPTER II.

Mrs. Dolly never found herself comfortable, moreover, unless she
dined abroad two or three days in the week, at a public-house, near
Paddington, where she said she was more at home than she was any where
else. There was a bowling-green at this public-house, and it was a place
to which tea-drinking parties resorted. Now Mrs. Dolly often wanted to
take little George out with her to these parties, and said, "It is a
pity and shame to keep the poor thing always mewed up at home, without
ever letting him have any pleasure! Would not you like to go with me,
George dear, in the one-horse chaise? and would not you be glad to have
cakes, and tea, and all the good things that are to be had?"

"I should like to go in the one-horse chaise, to be sure, and to have
cakes and tea; but I should not like to go with you, because mother does
not choose it," answered George, in his usual plain way of speaking.
Ellen, who had often seen Mrs. Dolly offer him wine and punch to
drink, by way of a treat, was afraid he might gradually learn to love
spirituous liquors; and that if he acquired a habit of drinking such
when he was a boy, he would become a drunkard when he should grow to be
a man. George was now almost nine years old; and he could understand
the reason why his mother desired that he would not drink spirituous
liquors. She once pointed out to him a drunken man, who was reeling
along the street, and bawling ridiculous nonsense: he had quite lost his
senses, and as he did not attend to the noise of a carriage coming
fast behind him, he could not get out of the way time enough, and the
coachman could not stop his horses; so the drunken man was thrown down,
and the wheel of the carriage went over his leg, and broke it in a
shocking manner. George saw him carried towards his home, writhing and
groaning with pain.

"See what comes of drunkenness!" said Ellen.

She stopped the people, who were carrying the hurt man past her door,
and had him brought in and laid upon a bed, whilst a surgeon was sent
for. George stood beside the bed in silence; and the words "See what
comes of drunkenness!" sounded in his ears.

Another time, his mother pointed out to him a man with terribly swollen
legs, and a red face blotched all over, lifted out of a fine coach by
two footmen in fine liveries. The man leaned upon a gold-headed cane,
after he was lifted from his carriage, and tried with his other hand to
take off his hat to a lady, who asked him how he did; but his hand shook
so much that, when he had got his hat off, he could not put it rightly
upon his head, and his footman put it on for him. The boys in the street
laughed at him. "Poor man!" said Ellen; "that is Squire L----, who, as
you heard the apothecary say, has drunk harder in his day than any
man that ever he knew; and this is what he has brought himself to by
drinking! All the physic in the apothecary's shop cannot make him well
again! No; nor can his fine coach and fine footmen any more make him
easy or happy, poor man!"

George exclaimed, "I wonder how people can be such fools as to be
drunkards! I will never be a drunkard, mother; and now I know the reason
why you desired me not to drink the wine, when Mrs. Dolly used to say to
me, 'Down with it, George dear, it will do ye no harm.'"

These circumstances made such an impression upon George that there was
no further occasion to watch him; he always pushed away the glass when
Mrs. Dolly filled it for him.

One day his mother said to him, "Now I can trust you to take care of
yourself, George, I shall not watch you. Mrs. Dolly is going to a
bowling-green tea-party this evening, and has asked you to go with her;
and I have told her you shall."

George accordingly went with Mrs. Dolly to the bowling-green. The
company drank tea out of doors, in summer-houses. After tea, Mrs. Dolly
bid George go and look at the bowling-green; and George was very well
entertained with seeing the people playing at bowls; but when it grew
late in the evening, and when the company began to go away, George
looked about for Mrs. Dolly. She was not in the summer-house, where
they had drunk tea, nor was she any where upon the terrace round the
bowling-green; so he went to the public-house in search of her, and at
last found her standing at the bar with the landlady. Her face was very
red, and she had a large glass of brandy in her hand, into which the
landlady was pouring some drops, which she said were excellent for the
stomach.

Mrs. Dolly started so when she saw George, that she threw down half
her glass of brandy. "Bless us, child! I thought you were safe at the
bowling-green," said she.

"I saw every body going away," answered George; "so I thought it was
time to look for you, and to go home."

"But before you go, my dear little gentleman," said the landlady, "you
must eat one of these tarts, for my sake." As she spoke, she gave George
a little tart: "and here," added she, "you must drink my health too in
something good. Don't be afraid, love; it's nothing that will hurt you:
it's very sweet and nice."

"It is wine, or spirits of some sort or other, I know by the smell,"
said George; "and I will not drink it, thank you, ma'am."

"The boy's a fool!" said Mrs. Dolly; "but it's his mother's fault. She
won't let him taste any thing stronger than water. But now your mother's
not by, you know," said Mrs. Dolly, winking at the landlady; "now your
mother's not by--"

"Yes, and nobody will tell of you," added the landlady; "so do what you
like: drink it down, love."

"No!" cried George, pushing away the glass which Mrs. Dolly held to his
lips. "No! no! no! I say. I will not do any thing now my mother's not
by, that I would not do if she was here in this room."

"Well; hush, hush; and don't bawl so loud though," said Mrs. Dolly, who
saw, what George did not see, a gentleman that was standing at the door
of the parlour opposite to them, and who could hear every thing that was
saying at the bar.

"I say," continued George, in a loud voice, "mother told me she could
trust me to take care of myself; and so I will take care of myself; and
I am not a fool, no more is mother, I know; for she told me the reasons
why it is not good to drink spirituous--." Mrs. Dolly pushed him away,
without giving him time to finish his sentence, bidding him go and see
whether the gig was ready; for it was time to be going home.

As George was standing in the yard, looking at the mechanism of the
one-horse chaise and observing how the horse was put to, somebody tapped
him upon the shoulder, and looking up, he saw a gentleman with a very
good-natured countenance, who smiled upon him, and asked him whether he
was the little boy who had just been talking so loud in the bar?

"Yes, sir," says George. "You seem to be a good little boy," added he;
"and I liked what I heard you say very much. So you will not do any
thing when your mother is not by, that you would not do if she was
here--was not that what you said?"

"Yes, sir; as well as I remember."

"And who is your mother?" continued the gentleman. "Where does she
live?"

George told him his mother's name, and where she lived; and the
gentleman said, "I will call at your mother's house as I go home, and
tell her what I heard you say; and I will ask her to let you come to my
house, where you will see a little boy of your own age, whom I should be
very glad to have seen behave as well as you did just now."

Mr. Belton, for that was the name of the gentleman who took notice of
George, was a rich carpet manufacturer. He had a country-house near
Paddington; and the acquaintance which was thus begun became a source
of great happiness to George. Mr. Belton lent him several entertaining
books, and took him to see many curious things in London. Ellen was
rejoiced to hear from him the praises of her son. All the pleasure of
Ellen's life had, for some months past, depended upon this boy; for
her husband was seldom at home, and the gloom that was spread over his
countenance alarmed her, whenever she saw him. As for Mrs. Dolly, she
was no companion for Ellen: her love of drinking had increased to such
a degree that she could love nothing else; and when she was not half
intoxicated, she was in such low spirits that she sat (either on the
side of her bed, or in her arm-chair, wrapped in a shawl) sighing and
crying, and see-sawing herself; and sometimes she complained to Maurice
that Ellen did not care whether she was dead or alive; and at others
that George had always something or other to do, and never liked to
sit in her room and keep her company. Besides all this, she got into
a hundred petty quarrels with the neighbours, who had a knack of
remembering what she said when she was drunk, and appealing to her for
satisfaction when she was sober. Mrs. Dolly regularly expected that
Ellen should, as she called it, stand her friend in these altercations;
to which Ellen could not always in justice consent. Ah! said Ellen to
herself one night, as she was sitting up late waiting for her husband's
return home, it is not the having five thousand pounds that makes people
happy! When Maurice loved to come home after his day's work to our
little cottage, and when our George was his delight, as he is mine, then
I was light of heart; but now it is quite otherwise. However, there is
no use in complaining, nor in sitting down to think upon melancholy
things; and Ellen started up and went to work, to mend one of her
husband's waistcoats.

Whilst she was at this employment, she listened continually for the
return of Maurice. The clock struck twelve, and one, and no husband
came! She heard no noise in the street when she opened her window, for
every body but herself was in bed and asleep. At last she heard the
sound of footsteps; but it was so dark that she could not see who
the person was, who continued walking backwards and forwards, just
underneath the window.

"Is it you, Maurice? Are you there, Maurice?" said Ellen. The noise of
the footsteps ceased, and Ellen again said, "Is it you, Maurice? Are you
there?"

"Yes," answered Maurice; "it is I. Why are you not abed and asleep, at
this time of night?"

"I am waiting for you," replied Ellen. "You need not wait for me; I have
the key of the house door in my pocket, and can let myself in whenever I
choose it."

"And don't you choose it now?" said Ellen.

"No. Shut down the window."

Ellen shut the window, and went and sat down upon the side of her boy's
bed. He was sleeping. Ellen, who could not sleep, took up her work
again, and resolved to wait till her husband should come in. At last,
the key turned in the house door, and presently she heard her husband's
steps coming softly towards the room where she was sitting. He opened
the door gently, as if he expected to find her asleep, and was afraid of
awakening her. He started when he saw her; and slouching his hat over
his face, threw himself into a chair without speaking a single word.
Something terrible has happened to him, surely! thought Ellen; and her
hand trembled so that she could scarcely hold her needle, when she tried
to go on working.

"What are you doing there, Ellen?" said he, suddenly pushing back his
hat.

"I'm only mending your waistcoat, love," said Ellen, in a faltering
voice.

"I am a wretch! a fool! a miserable wretch!" exclaimed Maurice, starting
up and striking his forehead with violence as he walked up and down the
room.

"What can be the matter?" said Ellen. "It is worse to me to see you in
this way, than to hear whatever misfortune has befallen you. Don't turn
away from me, husband! Who in the world loves you so well as I do?"

"Oh, Ellen," said he, letting her take his hand, but still turning away,
"you will hate me when you know what I have done."

"I cannot hate you, I believe," said Ellen.

"We have not sixpence left in the world!" continued Maurice, vehemently.
"We must leave this house to-morrow; we must sell all we have; I must go
to jail, Ellen! You must work all the rest of your days harder than ever
you did; and so must that poor boy, who lies sleeping yonder. He little
thinks that his father has made a beggar of him; and that, whilst his
mother was the best of mothers to him, his father was ruining him, her,
and himself, with a pack of rascals at the gaming-table. Ellen, I have
lost every shilling of our money!"

"Is that all?" said Ellen. "That's bad; but I am glad that you have done
nothing wicked. We can work hard, and be happy again. Only promise me
now, dear husband, that you will never game any more."

Maurice threw himself upon his knees, and swore that he never, to the
last hour of his life, would go to any gaming-table again, or play at
any game of chance. Ellen then said all she could to soothe and console
him; she persuaded him to take some rest, of which he was much in need,
for his looks were haggard, and he seemed quite exhausted. He declared
that he had not had a night's good sleep for many months, since he had
got into these difficulties by gaming. His mind had been kept in a
continual flurry, and he seemed as if he had been living in a fever.
"The worst of it was, Ellen," said he, "I could not bear to see you or
the boy when I had been losing; so I went on, gaming deeper and deeper,
in hopes of winning back what I had lost; and I now and then won, and
they coaxed me and told me I was getting a run of luck, and it would be
a sin to turn my back on good fortune. This way I was 'ticed to go on
playing, till, when I betted higher and higher, my luck left me; or, as
I shrewdly suspect, the rascals did not play fair, and they won stake
after stake, till they made me half mad, and I risked all I had left
upon one throw, and lost it! And when I found I had lost all, and
thought of coming home to you and our boy, I was ready to hang myself.
Oh, Ellen, if you knew all I have felt! I would not live over again the
last two years for this room full of gold!"

Such are the miserable feelings, and such the life, of a gamester!

Maurice slept for a few hours, or rather dozed, starting now and then,
and talking of cards and dice, and sometimes grinding his teeth and
clenching his hand, till he wakened himself by the violence with which
he struck the side of the bed.

"I have had a terrible dream, wife," said he, when he opened his eyes,
and saw Ellen sitting beside him on the bed. At first he did not
recollect what had really happened; but as Ellen looked at him with
sorrow and compassion in her countenance, he gradually remembered all
the truth; and, hiding his head under the bed-clothes, he said he wished
he could sleep again, if it could be without dreaming such dreadful
things.

It was in vain that he tried to sleep; so he got up, resolving to try
whether he could borrow twenty guineas from any of his friends, to pay
the most pressing of his gaming companions. The first person he asked
was Mrs. Dolly: she fell into an hysteric fit when she heard of his
losses; and it was not till after she had swallowed a double dram of
brandy that she was able to speak, and to tell him that she was the
worst person in the world he could have applied to; for that she was in
the greatest distress herself, and all her dependance in this world was
upon him.

Maurice stood in silent astonishment. "Why, cousin," said he, "I
thought, and always believed, that you had a power of money! You know,
when you came to live with us, you told me so."

"No matter what I told you," said Mrs. Dolly. "Folks can't live upon
air. Yesterday the landlady of the public-house at the bowling-green,
whom I'm sure I looked upon as my friend,--but there's no knowing one's
friends,--sent me in a bill as long as my arm; and the apothecary here
has another against me worse again; and the man at the livery-stables,
for one-horse chays, and jobs that I'm sure I forgot ever having, comes
and charges me the Lord knows what! and then the grocer for tea and
sugar, which I have been giving to folks from whom I have got no thanks.
And then I have an account with the linen-draper of I don't know how
much! hut he has over-charged me, I know, scandalously, for my last
three shawls. And then I have never paid for my set of tea china; and
half of the cups are broke, and the silver spoons, and I can't tell what
besides."

In short, Mrs. Dolly, who had never kept any account of what she spent,
had no idea how far she was getting into a tradesman's debt till his
bill was brought home: and was in great astonishment to find, when all
her bills were sent in, that she had spent four hundred and fifty pounds
in her private expenses, drinking included, in the course of three years
and eight months. She had now nothing left to live upon but one hundred
pounds, so that she was more likely to be a burden to Maurice than any
assistance. He, however, was determined to go to a friend, who had
frequently offered to lend him any sum of money he might want, and who
had often been his partner at the gaming-table.

In his absence, Ellen and George began to take a list of all the
furniture in the house, that it might be ready for a sale, and Mrs.
Dolly sat in her arm-chair, weeping and wailing.

"Oh! laud! laud! that I should live to see all this!" cried she. "Ah,
lack-a-daisy! lack-a-daisy! lack-a-day! what will become of me? Oh, la!
la! la! la!" Her lamentations were interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Hark! a knock, a double knock at the door," cried Mrs. Dolly. "Who is
it? Ah, lack-a-day, when people come to know what has happened, it will
be long enough before we have any more visitors; long enough before we
hear any more double knocks at the door. Oh, laud! laud! See who it is,
George."

It was Mr. Belton, who was come to ask George to go with him and his
little nephew to see some wild beasts at Exeter-'change: he was much
surprised at the sorrowful faces of George and Ellen, whom he had always
been used to see so cheerful, and inquired what misfortune had befallen
them? Mrs. Dolly thought she could tell the story best, so she detailed
the whole, with many piteous ejaculations; but the silent resignation of
Ellen's countenance had much more effect upon Mr. Belton. "George," said
he, "must stay to finish the inventory he is writing for his mother."

Mr. Belton was inquiring more particularly into the amount of Maurice's
debts, and the names of the persons to whom he had lost his money at
the gaming-table, when the unfortunate man himself came home. "No hope,
Ellen!" cried he. "No hope from any of those rascals that I thought my
friends. No hope!"

He stopped short, seeing a stranger in the room, for Mr. Belton was a
stranger to him. "My husband can tell you the names of all the people,"
said Ellen, "who have been the ruin of us." Mr. Belton then wrote them
down from Maurice's information; and learned from him that he had lost
to these sharpers upwards of three thousand eight hundred pounds in the
course of three years; that the last night he played, he had staked the
goods in his shop, valued at 350_l_, and lost them; that afterwards he
staked the furniture of his house, valued at 160_l_.; this also he lost;
and so left the gaming-table without a farthing in the world.

"It is not my intention," said Mr. Belton, "to add to your present
suffering, Mr. Robinson, by pointing out that it has arisen entirely
from your own imprudence. Nor yet can I say that I feel much compassion
for you; for I have always considered a gamester as a most selfish
being, who should be suffered to feel the terrible consequences of his
own avaricious folly, as a warning to others."

"Oh, sir! Oh, Mr. Belton!" cried Ellen, bursting now, for the first
time, into tears, "do not speak so harshly to Maurice."

"To you I shall not speak harshly," said Mr. Belton, his voice and looks
changing; "for I have the greatest compassion for such an excellent wife
and mother. And I shall take care that neither you nor your son, whom
you have taken such successful pains to educate, shall suffer by the
folly and imprudence in which you had no share. As to the ready money
which your husband has lost and paid to these sharpers, it is, I fear,
irrecoverable; but the goods in your shop, and the furniture in your
house, I will take care shall not be touched. I will go immediately to
my attorney, and direct him to inquire into the truth of all I have been
told, and to prosecute these villains for keeping a gaming-table, and
playing at unlawful games. Finish that inventory which you are making
out, George, and give it to me; I will have the furniture in your house,
Ellen, valued by an appraiser, and will advance you money to the amount,
on which you may continue to live in comfort and credit, trusting to
your industry and integrity to repay me in small sums, as you find it
convenient, out of the profits of your shop."

"Oh, sir!" cried Maurice, clasping his hands with a strong expression
of joy, "thank you! thank you from the bottom of my soul! Save her from
misery, save the boy, and let me suffer as I ought for my folly."

Mr. Belton, in spite of his contempt for gamesters, was touched by
Maurice's repentance; but, keeping a steady countenance, replied in a
firm tone, "Suffering for folly does nobody any good, unless it makes
them wiser in future."




CHAPTER III.


Mrs. Dolly, who had been unaccountably awed to silence by Mr. Belton's
manner of speaking and looking, broke forth the moment he had left the
house. "Very genteel, indeed; though he might have taken more notice
of me. See what, it is, George, to have the luck of meeting with good
friends."

"See what it is to deserve good friends, George," said Ellen.

"You'll all remember, I hope," said Mrs. Dolly, raising her voice, "that
it was I who was the first and foremost cause of all this, by taking
George along with me to the tea-drinking at the bowling-green, where he
first got acquainted with Mr. Belton."

"Mr. Belton would never have troubled his head about such a little boy
as George," said Ellen, "if it had not been for--you know what I mean,
Mrs. Dolly. All I wish to say is, that George's own good behaviour was
the cause of our getting acquainted with this good friend."

"And I am sure you were the cause, mother," said George, "of what you
call my good behaviour."

Mrs. Dolly, somewhat vexed at this turn, changed the conversation
saying, "Well, 'tis no matter how we made such a good acquaintance; let
us make the most of him, and drink his health, as becomes us, after
dinner. And now, I suppose, all will go on as usual: none of our
acquaintance in Paddington need know any thing of what has happened."

Ellen, who was very little solicitous about what Mrs. Dolly's
acquaintance in Paddington might think, observed that, so far from going
on as usual, now they were living on borrowed money, it was fit they
should retrench all their expenses, and give up the drawing-room and
parlour of the house to lodgers.

"So, then, we are to live like shabby wretches for the rest of our
days!" cried Mrs. Dolly. "Better live like what we are, poor but
industrious people," replied Ellen, "and then we shall never be forced
to do any thing shabby."

"Ay, Ellen, you are, as you always are, in the right; and all I desire
now, in this world, is to make up for the past, and to fall to work
in some way or other; for idleness was what first led me to the
gaming-table."

Mrs. Dolly opposed these good resolutions, and urged Maurice to send
George to Mr. Belton, to beg him to lend them some more money. "Since he
is in the humour to be generous, and since he has taken a fancy to us,"
said she, "why not take him at his word, and make punch whilst the
water's hot?"

But all that Mrs. Dolly said was lost upon Ellen, who declared that she
would never be so mean as to encroach upon such a generous friend; and
Maurice protested that nothing that man, woman, or devil, could say,
should persuade him to live in idleness another year. He sent George
the next morning to Mr. Belton with a letter, requesting that he would
procure employment for him, and stating what he thought himself fit for.
Amongst other things, he mentioned that he could keep accounts. That he
could write a good hand was evident, from his letter. Mr. Belton, at
this time, wanted a clerk in his manufactory; and, upon Maurice's
repeating his promise never more to frequent the gaming-table, Mr.
Belton, after a trial, engaged him as his clerk, at a salary of 50_1_.
per annum.

Every thing now went on well for some months. Maurice, on whom his
wife's kindness had made a deep impression, became thoroughly intent
upon his business, and anxious to make her some amends for his past
follies. His heart was now at ease: he came home, after his day's work
at the counting-house, with an open, cheerful countenance; and Ellen was
perfectly happy. They sold all the furniture that was too fine for their
present way of life to the new lodgers, who took the drawing-room and
front parlour of their house; and lived on the profits of their shop,
which, being well attended, was never in want of customers.

One night, at about ten o'clock, as little George was sitting, reading
the history of Sandford and Merton, in which he was much interested, he
was roused by a loud knocking at the house door. He ran to open it: but
how much was he shocked at the sight he beheld! It was Mrs. Dolly! her
leg broken, and her skull fractured!

Ellen had her brought in, and laid upon a bed, and a surgeon was
immediately sent for. When Maurice inquired how this terrible accident
befel Mrs. Dolly, the account he received was, that she was riding home
from the bowling-green public-house, much intoxicated; that she insisted
upon stopping to get a glass of peppermint and brandy for her stomach;
that, seeing she had drunk too much already, every thing possible was
done to prevent her from taking any more; but she would not be advised:
she said she knew best what agreed with her constitution; so she
alighted and took the brandy and peppermint; and when she was to get
upon her horse again, not being in her right senses, she insisted upon
climbing up by a gate that was on the road-side, instead of going, as
she was advised, to a bank that was a little further on. The gate was
not steady, the horse being pushed moved, she fell, broke her leg, and
fractured her skull.

She was a most shocking spectacle when she was brought home. At first
she was in great agony; but she afterwards fell into a sort of stupor,
and lay speechless.

The surgeon arrived: he set her leg; and during this operation, she came
to her senses, but it was only the sensibility of pain. She was then
trepanned; but all was to no purpose--she died that night; and of
all the friends, as she called them, who used to partake in her
tea-drinkings and merry-makings, not one said more when they heard
of her death than "Ah, poor Mrs. Dolly! she was always fond of a
comfortable glass: 'twas a pity it was the death of her at last."

Several tradesmen, to whom she died in debt, were very loud in their
complaints; and the landlady at the bowling-green did not spare her
memory. She went so far as to say, that _it was a shame such a drunken
quean should have a Christian burial._ What little clothes Mrs. Dolly
left at her death were given up to her creditors. She had owed Maurice
ten guineas ever since the first month of their coming to Paddington;
and when she was on her death-bed, during one of the intervals that she
was in her senses, she beckoned to Maurice, and told him, in a voice
scarcely intelligible, he would find in her left-hand pocket what she
hoped would pay him the ten guineas he had lent to her. However, upon
searching this pocket, no money was to be found, except sixpence in
halfpence; nor was there any thing of value about her. They turned the
pocket inside out, and shook it; they opened every paper that came out
of it, but these were all old bills. Ellen at last examined a new shawl
which had been thrust into this pocket, and which was all crumpled up:
she observed that one of the corners was doubled down, and pinned; and
upon taking out the yellow crooked pin, she discovered, under the corner
of the shawl, a bit of paper, much soiled with snuff, and stained with
liquor. "How it smells of brandy!" said Ellen, as she opened it. "What
is it, Maurice?"

"It is not a bank note. It is a lottery ticket, I do believe!" cried
Maurice. "Ay, that it is! She put into the lottery without letting us
know any thing of the matter. Well, as she said, perhaps this may pay me
my ten guineas, and overpay me, who knows? We were lucky with our last
ticket; and why should not we be as lucky with this, or luckier, hey,
Ellen? We might have ten thousand pounds or twenty thousand pounds this
time, instead of five, why not, hey, Ellen?" But Maurice observing that
Ellen looked grave, and was not much charmed with the lottery ticket,
suddenly changed his tone, and said, "Now don't you, Ellen, go to think
that my head will run on nothing but this here lottery ticket. It will
make no difference on earth in me: I shall mind my business just as well
as if there was no such thing, I promise you. If it come up a prize,
well and good: and if it come up a blank, why well and good too. So do
you keep the ticket, and I shall never think more about it, Ellen. Only,
before you put it by, just let me look at the number. What makes you
smile?"

"I smiled only because I think I know you better than you, know
yourself. But, perhaps, that should not make me smile," said Ellen: and
she gave a deep sigh.

"Now, wife, why will you sigh? I can't bear to hear you sigh," said
Maurice, angrily. "I tell you I know myself, and have a right to know
myself, I say, a great deal better than you do; and so none of your
sighs, wife."

Ellen rejoiced to see that his pride worked upon him in this manner; and
mildly told him she was very glad to find he thought so much about her
sighs. "Why," said Maurice, "you are not one of those wives that are
always taunting and scolding their husbands; and that's the reason, I
take it, why a look or a word from you goes so far with me." He paused
for a few moments, keeping his eyes fixed upon the lottery ticket; then,
snatching it up, he continued: "This lottery ticket may tempt me to game
again: for, as William Deane said, putting into the lottery is gaming,
and the worst sort of gaming. So, Ellen, I'll show you that though I
was a fool once, I'll never be a fool again. All your goodness was not
thrown away upon me. I'll go and sell this lottery ticket immediately at
the office, for whatever it is worth: and you'll give me a kiss when I
come home again, I know, Ellen."

Maurice, pleased with his own resolution, went directly to the lottery
office to sell his ticket. He was obliged to wait some time, for the
place was crowded with persons who came to inquire after tickets which
they had insured.

Many of these ignorant imprudent poor people had hazarded guinea after
guinea, till they found themselves overwhelmed with debt; and their
liberty, character, and existence, depending on the turning of the
wheel. What anxious faces did Maurice behold! How many he heard, as
they went out of the office, curse their folly for having put into the
lottery!

He pressed forward to sell his ticket. How rejoiced he was when he
had parted with this dangerous temptation, and when he had received
seventeen guineas in hand, instead of anxious hopes! How different were
his feelings at this instant from those of many that were near him! He
stood to contemplate the scene. Here he saw a poor maid-servant, with
scarcely clothes to cover her, who was stretching her thin neck across
the counter, and asking the clerk, in a voice of agony, whether _her_
ticket, number 45, was come up yet.

"Number 45?" answered the clerk, with the most careless air imaginable.
"Yes" (turning over the leaves of his book): "Number 45, you say--Yes:
it was drawn yesterday--a blank." The wretched woman clasped her hands,
and burst into tears, exclaiming, "Then I'm undone!"

Nobody seemed to have time to attend to her. A man servant, in livery,
pushed her away, saying, "You have your answer, and have no more
business here, stopping the way. Pray, sir, is number 336, the ticket
I've insured [Footnote: This was written before the act of parliament
against insuring in lotteries.] so high, come up to-day?"

"Yes, sir--blank." At the word blank, the disappointed footman poured
forth a volley of oaths, declaring that he should be in jail before
night; to all which the lottery-office keeper only answered, "I can't
help it, sir; I can't help it. It is not my fault. Nobody is forced to
put into the lottery, sir. Nobody's obliged to insure, sir. 'Twas your
own choice, sir. Don't blame me."

Meanwhile, a person behind the footman, repeating the words he had
addressed to the poor woman, cried, "You have your answer, sir; don't
stop the way."

Maurice was particularly struck with the agitated countenance of one
man, who seemed as if the suspense of his mind had entirely bereaved him
of all recollection. When he was pressed forward by the crowd, and
found himself opposite to the clerk, he was asked twice, "What's your
business, sir?" before he could speak; and then could only utter the
words--number 7? "Still in the wheel," was the answer. "Our messenger is
not yet returned from Guildhall, with news of what has been drawn this
last hour. If you will call again at three, we can answer you." The man
seemed to feel this as a reprieve; but as he was retiring, there came
one with a slip of paper in his hand. This was the messenger from
Guildhall, who handed the paper to the clerk. He read aloud, "Number 7.
Were you not inquiring for 7, sir?"

"Yes," said the pale trembling man.

"Number 7 is just come up, sir,--a blank."

At the fatal word blank, the man fell flat upon his face in a swoon.
Those near him lifted him out into the street, for air.

"Here, sir; you are going without your change, after waiting for it so
long," cried the clerk to Maurice; who, touched with compassion for the
man who had just fallen, was following those who were carrying him out.
When he got into the street, Maurice saw the poor creature sitting on
a stone, supported by a hackney-coachman, who held some vinegar to his
nose, at the same time asking him if he did not want a coach?

"A coach! Oh, no," said the man, as he opened his eyes. "I have not a
farthing of money in the world." The hackney-coachman swore that was a
sad case, and ran across the street to offer his services where they
could he paid for: "A coach, if you want one, sir. Heavy rain coming
on," said he, looking at the silver which he saw through the half-closed
fingers of Maurice's hand.

"Yes, I want a coach," said Maurice: and bade the coachman draw up to
the stone, where the poor man who had swooned was sitting. Maurice was
really a good-natured fellow; and he had peculiar pity for the anguish
this man seemed to feel, because he recollected what he had suffered
himself, when he had been ruined at the gaming-table.

"You are not able to walk: here is a coach; I will go your way and set
you down, sir," said Maurice.

The unfortunate man accepted this offer. As they went along he sighed
bitterly, and once said, with great vehemence, "Curse these lotteries!
Curse these lotteries!" Maurice now rejoiced, more than ever, at having
conquered his propensity to gaming, and at having sold his ticket.

When they came opposite to a hosier's shop, in Oxford-street, the
stranger thanked him, and desired to be set down. "This is my home,"
said he; "or this was my home, I ought to say," pointing to his shop
as he let down the coach-glass. "A sad warning example I am! But I am
troubling you, sir, with what no way concerns you. I thank you, sir, for
your civility," added he, turning away from Maurice, to hide the tears
which stood in his eyes: "good day to you."

He then prepared to get out of the coach; but whilst the coachman was
letting down the step, a gentleman came out of the hosier's shop to the
door, and cried, "Mr. Fulham, I am glad you are come at last. I have
been waiting for you this half-hour, and was just going away." Maurice
pulled aside the flap of the hosier's coat, as he was getting out, that
he might peep at the gentleman who spoke; the voice was so like William
Deane's, that he was quite astonished.--"It is--it is William Deane,"
cried Maurice, jumping out of the coach and shaking hands with his
friend.

William Deane, though now higher in the world than Robinson, was
heartily glad to see him again, and to renew their old intimacy. "Mr.
Fulham," said he, turning to the hosier, "excuse me to-day; I'll come
and settle accounts with you to-morrow."

On their way to Paddington, Maurice related to his friend all that had
passed since they parted; how his good luck in the lottery tempted him
to try his fortune at the gaming-table; how he was cheated by sharpers,
and reduced to the brink of utter ruin; how kind Ellen was towards him
in this distress; how he was relieved by Mr. Belton, who was induced to
assist him from regard to Ellen and little George; how Mrs. Dolly drank
herself into ill health, which would soon have killed her if she had
not, in a drunken fit, shortened the business by fracturing her skull;
and, lastly, how she left him a lottery ticket, which he had just sold,
lest it should be the cause of fresh imprudence. "You see," added
Maurice, "I do not forget all you said to me about lotteries.--Better
take good advice late than never. But now, tell me your history."

"No," replied William Deane; "that I shall keep till we are all at
dinner; Ellen and you, I and my friend George, who, I hope, has not
forgotten me." He was soon convinced that George had not forgotten him,
by the joy he showed at seeing him again.

At dinner, William Deane informed them that he was become a rich man, by
having made an improvement in the machinery of the cotton-mills, which,
after a great deal of perseverance, he had brought to succeed in
practice. "When I say that I am a rich man," continued he, "I mean
richer than ever I expected to be. I have a share in the cotton-mill,
and am worth about two thousand pounds."

"Ay," said Maurice, "you have trusted to your own sense and industry,
and not to gaming and lotteries."

"I am heartily rejoiced you have nothing more to do with them," said
William Deane: "but all this time you forget that I am your debtor. You
lent me five guineas at a season when I had nothing. The books I bought
with your money helped me to knowledge, without which I should never
have got forward. Now I have a scheme for my little friend George, that
will, I hope, turn out to your liking. You say he is an intelligent,
honest, industrious lad; and that he understands book-keeping, and
writes a good hand: I am sure he is much obliged to you for giving him a
good education."

"To his mother, there, he's obliged for it all," said Maurice.

"Without it," continued William Deane, "I might wish him very well; but
I could do little or nothing for him. But, as I was going to tell
you, that unfortunate man whom you brought to his own door in the
hackney-coach to-day, Maurice, is a hosier, who had as good a business
as most in the city; but he has ruined himself entirely by gaming. He is
considerably in our debt for cotton, and I am to settle accounts with
him to-morrow, when he is to give up all his concerns into my hands, in
behalf of his brother, who has commissioned me to manage the business,
and dissolve the partnership; as he cannot hazard himself, even out of
friendship for a brother, with one that has taken to gaming. Now my
friend, the elder Fulham, is a steady man, and is in want of a good lad
for an apprentice. With your leave, I will speak to him, and get him to
take George; and as to the fee, I will take care and settle that for
you. I am glad I have found you all out at last. No thanks, pray.
Recollect, I am only paying my old debts."

As William Deane desired to have no thanks, we shall omit the recital of
those which he received, both in words and looks. We have only to inform
our readers, further, that George was bound apprentice to the hosier;
that he behaved as well as might be expected from his excellent
education; that Maurice continued, in Mr. Belton's service, to conduct
himself so as to secure the confidence and esteem of his master; and
that he grew fonder and fonder of home, and of Ellen, who enjoyed the
delightful reflection that she had effected the happiness of her husband
and her son.

May equal happiness attend every such good wife and mother! And may
every man, who, like Maurice, is tempted to be a gamester, reflect that
a good character, and domestic happiness, which cannot be won in any
lottery, are worth more than the five thousand, or even the ten thousand
pounds prize, let any Mrs. Dolly in Christendom say what she will to the
contrary.

_Sept. 1799._ ROSANNA.

CHAPTER I.

There are two sorts of content: one is connected with exertion, the
other with habits of indolence; the first is a virtue, the second a
vice. Examples of both may be found in abundance in Ireland. There you
may sometimes see a man in sound health submitting day after day to
evils which a few hours' labour would remedy; and you are provoked to
hear him say, "It will do well enough for me. Didn't it do for my father
before me? I can make a shift with things for my time: any how, I'm
content."

This kind of content is indeed the bane of industry. But instances of a
different sort may be found, in various of the Irish peasantry. Amongst
them we may behold men struggling with adversity with all the strongest
powers of mind and body; and supporting irremediable evils with a degree
of cheerful fortitude which must excite at once our pity and admiration.

In a pleasant village in the province of Leinster there lives a family
of the name of Gray. Whether or not they are any way related to Old
Robin Gray, history does not determine; but it is very possible that
they are, because they came, it is said, originally from the north of
Ireland, and one of the sons is actually called Robin. Leaving this
point, however, in the obscurity which involves the early history of the
most ancient and illustrious families, we proceed to less disputable
and perhaps more useful facts. It is well known, that is, by all his
neighbours, that farmer Gray began life with no very encouraging
prospects: he was the youngest of a large family, and the portion of
his father's property that fell to his share was but just sufficient to
maintain his wife and three children. At his father's death, he had but
100_l_. in ready money, and he was obliged to go into a poor mud-walled
cabin, facing the door of which there was a green pool of stagnant
water; and before the window, of one pane, a dunghill that, reaching to
the thatch of the roof, shut out the light, and filled the house with
the most noisome smell. The ground sloped towards the house door;
so that in rainy weather, when the pond was full, the kitchen was
overflowed; and at all times the floor was so damp and soft, that the
print of the nails of brogues was left in it wherever the wearer set
down his foot. To be sure these nail-marks could scarcely be seen,
except just near the door or where the light of the fire immediately
shone; because, elsewhere, the smoke was so thick, that the pig might
have been within a foot of you without your seeing him. The former
inhabitants of this mansion had, it seems, been content without a
chimney: and, indeed, almost without a roof; the couples and purlins of
the roof having once given way, had never been repaired, and swagged
down by the weight of the thatch, so that the ends threatened the wigs
of the unwary.

The prospect without doors was scarcely more encouraging to our hero
than the scene within: the farm consisted of about forty acres; and the
fences of the grazing-land were so bad, that the neighbours' cattle
took possession of it frequently by day, and always by night. The
tillage-ground had been so ill managed by his predecessor, that the land
was what is called quite out of heart.

If farmer Gray had also been out of heart, he and his family might at
this hour have been beggars. His situation was thought desperate by many
of his neighbours; and a few days after his father's decease, many came
to condole with him. Amongst the rest was "easy Simon;" or, as some
called him, "soft Simon," on account of his unresisting disposition, and
contented, or, as we should rather name it, reckless temper. He was a
sort of a half or a half quarter gentleman, had a small patrimony of
a hundred or a hundred and fifty pounds a year, a place in the excise
worth fifty more, and a mill, which might have been worth another
hundred annually, had it not been suffered to stand still for many a
year.

"Wheugh! Wheugh! What a bustle we are in! and what a world of trouble is
here!" cried Simon, when he came to Gray's house, and found him on the
ladder taking off the decayed thatch; whilst one of his sons, a lad of
about fourteen, was hard at work filling a cart from the dunghill, which
blockaded the window. His youngest son, a boy of twelve, with a face and
neck red with heat, was making a drain to carry off the water from
the green pond; and Rose, the sister, a girl of ten years old, was
collecting the ducks, which her mother was going to carry to her
landlord's to sell.

"Wheugh! Wheugh! Wheugh! Why what a world of bustle and trouble is here!
Troth, Jemmy Gray, you're in a bad way, sure enough! Poor cratur! Poor
cratur!"

"No man," replied Gray, "deserves to be called poor, that has his
health, and the use of his limbs. Besides," continued he, "have not I a
good wife and good children: and, with those blessings, has not a man
sufficient reason to be content?"

"Ay, to be sure: that's the only way to get through this world," said
Simon; "whatever comes, just to take it easy, and be content. Content
and a warm chimney corner is all in all, according to my notion."

"Yes, Simon," said Gray, laughing; "but your kind of content would never
do for me. Content, that sits down in the chimney corner, and does
nothing but smoke his pipe, will soon have the house about his ears; and
then what will become of Content?"

"Time enough to think of that when it comes," said Simon: "fretting
never propped a house yet; and if it did, I would rather see it fall
than fret."

"But could not you prop the house," said Gray, "without fretting?"

"Is it by putting my shoulders to it?" said Simon. "My shoulders have
never been used to hard work, and don't like it any way. As long as I
can eat, drink, and sleep, and have a coat to my back, what matter for
the rest? Let the world go as it will, I'm content. Shoo! Shoo! The
button is off the neck of this great coat of mine, and how _will_ I keep
it on? A pin sure will do as well as a button, and better. Mrs. Gray, or
Miss Rose, I'll thank you kindly for a pin."

He stuck the pin in the place of the button, to fasten the great coat
round his throat, and walked off: it pricked his chin about a dozen
times before the day was over; but he forgot the next day, and the next,
and the next, to have the button sewed on. He was content to make shift,
as he called it, with the pin. This is precisely the species of content
which leads to beggary.

Not such the temper of our friend Gray. Not an inconvenience that he
could remedy, by industry or ingenuity, was he content to endure; but
necessary evils he bore with unshaken patience and fortitude. His house
was soon new roofed and new thatched; the dunghill was removed, and
spread over that part of his land which most wanted manure; the
putrescent water of the standing pool was drained off, and fertilized
a meadow; and the kitchen was never again overflowed in rainy weather,
because the labour of half a day made a narrow trench which carried off
the water. The prints of the shoe-nails were no longer visible in the
floor; for the two boys trod dry mill seeds into the clay, and beat the
floor well, till they rendered it quite hard and even. The rooms also
were cleared of smoke, for Gray built a chimney; and the kitchen window,
which had formerly been stuffed up, when the wind blew too hard, with an
old or new hat, was glazed. There was now light in the house. Light! the
great friend of cleanliness and order. The pig could now no longer walk
in and out, unseen and unreproved; he ceased to be an inmate of the
kitchen.

The kitchen was indeed so altered from what it had been during the reign
of the last master, that he did not know it again. It was not in the
least like a pig-sty. The walls were whitewashed; and shelves were put
up, on which clean wooden and pewter utensils were ranged. There were
no heaps of forlorn rubbish in the corners of the room; nor even an old
basket, or a blanket, or a cloak, or a great coat thrown down, just for
a minute, out of the girl's way. No: Rose was a girl who always put
every thing in its place; and she found it almost as easy to hang a
coat, or a cloak, upon a peg, as to throw it down on the floor. She
thought it as convenient to put the basket and turf-kish out of her way,
when her brothers had brought in the potatoes and fuel, as to let them
lie in the middle of the kitchen, to be stumbled over by herself and
her mother, or to be gnawed and clawed by a cat and dog. These may seem
trifles unworthy the notice of the historian; but trifles such as these
contribute much to the comfort of a poor family, and therefore deserve a
place in their simple annals.

It was a matter of surprise and censure to some of farmer Gray's
neighbours, that he began by laying out it could not be less than ten
pounds (a great sum for him!) on his house and garden at the first
setting out; when, to be sure, the land would have paid him better if
the money had been laid out there. And why could not he make a shift to
live on in the old cabin, for a while, as others had done before his
time well enough? A poor man should be _contented_ with a poor house.
Where was the use, said they, of laying out the good ready penny in a
way that would bring nothing in?

Farmer Gray calculated that he could not have laid out his money to
better advantage; for by these ten pounds he had probably saved his
wife, his children, and himself, from a putrid fever, or from the
rheumatism. The former inhabitants of this house, who had been content
to live with the dunghill close to the window, and the green pool
overflowing the kitchen, and the sharp wind blowing in through the
broken panes, had in the course of a few years lost their health. The
father of the family had been crippled by the rheumatism, two children
died of the fever, and the mother had such an inflammation in her eyes
that she could not see to work, spin, or do anything. Now the whole that
was lost by the family sickness, the doctor's bill, and the burying of
the two children, all together, came in three years to nearly three
times ten pounds. Therefore Mr. Gray was, if we only consider money, a
very prudent man. What could he or any body do without health? Money is
not the first thing to be thought of in this world; for there are many
things that money cannot buy, and health is one of them. "Health can
make money, but money cannot make health," said our wise farmer. "And
then, for the value of a few shillings, say pounds, we have light to see
what we are doing, and shelves, and a press to hold our clothes in. Why
now, this will be all so much saved to us, by and by; for the clothes
will last the longer, and the things about us will not go to wreck; and
when I and the boys can come home after our day's work to a house like
this, we may be content."

Having thus ensured, as far as it was in his power, health, cleanliness,
and comfort in his house, our hero and his sons turned their attention
to the farm. They set about to repair all the fences; for the boys,
though they were young, were able to help their father in the farm: they
were willing to work, and happy to work with him. John, the eldest lad,
could set potatoes, and Robin was able to hold the plough: so that Gray
did not hire any servant-boy to help him; nor did Mrs. Gray hire a maid.
"Rose and I," said she, "can manage very well to look after the two
cows, and milk them, and make the butter, and get something too by our
spinning. We must do without servants, and may be happy and content to
serve ourselves."

"Times will grow better; that is, we shall make them better every year:
we must have the roughest first," said Gray.

The first year, to be sure, it was rough enough; and, do what they
could, they could not do more than make the rent of the farm, which rent
amounted to forty pounds. The landlord was a Mr. Hopkins, agent to a
gentleman who resided in England. Mr. Hopkins insisted upon having
the rent paid up to the day, and so it was. Gray contented himself by
thinking that this was perhaps for the best. "When the rent is once
paid," said he, "it cannot be called for again, and I am in no man's
power; that's a great comfort. To be sure, if the half year's rent was
left in my hands for a few months, it might have been of service: but it
is better not to be under an obligation to such a man as Mr. Hopkins,
who would make us pay for it in some shape or other, when we least
expected it."

Mr. Hopkins was what is called in Ireland a middle-man; one that takes
land from great proprietors, to set it again at an advanced, and often
an exorbitant, price, to the poor. Gray had his land at a fair rent,
because it was not from Mr. Hopkins his father had taken the lease, but
from the gentleman to whom this man was agent. Mr, Hopkins designed
to buy the land which Gray farmed, and he therefore wished to make it
appear as unprofitable as possible to his landlord, who, living in
England, knew but little of his own estate. "If these Grays don't pay
the rent," said he to his _driver_, "pound their cattle, and sell at the
end of eight days. If they break and run away, I shall have the land
clear, and may make a compliment of it to tenants and friends of my own,
after it comes into my hands." He was rather disappointed, when the rent
was paid to the day. "But," said he, "it won't be so next year; the man
is laying out his money on the ground, on draining and fencing, and that
won't pay suddenly. We'll leave the rent in his hands for a year or so,
and bring down an ejectment upon him, if he once gets into our power, as
he surely will. Then, all that he has done to the house will be so much
in my way. What a fool he was to lay out his money so!"

It happened, however, that the money which Gray had laid out in making
his house comfortable and neat was of the greatest advantage to him, and
at a time and in a way which he least expected. His cottage was within
sight of the high road, that led to a town from which it was about a
mile distant. A regiment of English arrived, to be quartered in the
town; and the wives of some of the soldiers came a few hours after their
husbands. One of these women, a sergeant's wife, was taken suddenly in
labour, before they reached the town; and the soldier who conducted the
baggage-cart in which she was, drew up to the first amongst a row of
miserable cabins that were by the road-side, to ask the people if they
would give her lodging: but the sick woman was shocked at the sight of
the smoke and dirt of this cabin, and begged to be carried on to the
neat whitewashed cottage that she saw at a little distance. This was
Gray's house.

His wife received the stranger with the greatest kindness and
hospitality; she was able to offer her a neat bed, and a room that was
perfectly dry and clean. The sergeant's wife was brought to bed soon
after her arrival, and remained with Mrs. Gray till she recovered her
strength. She was grateful for the kindness that was shown to her by
Mrs. Gray; and so was her husband, the sergeant. He came one evening to
the cottage, and in his blunt English fashion said, "Mr. Gray, you know
I, or my wife, which is the same thing, have cause to be obliged to you,
or your wife, which comes also to the same thing: now one good turn
deserves another. Our colonel has ordered me, I being quarter-master, to
sell off by auction some of the cast horses belonging to the regiment:
now I have bought in the best for a trifle, and have brought him here,
with me, to beg you'll accept of him, by way some sort of a return for
the civilities you and your wife, that being, as I said, the same thing,
showed me and mine."

Gray replied he was obliged to him for this offer of the horse, but that
he could not think of accepting it; that he was very glad his wife had
been able to show any kindness or hospitality to a stranger; but that,
as they did not keep a public-house, they could not take any thing in
the way of payment.

The sergeant was more and more pleased by farmer Gray's generosity.
"Well," said he, "I heard, before I came to Ireland, that the Irish were
the most hospitable people on the face of the earth; and so I find it
come true, and I shall always say so, wherever I'm quartered hereafter.
And now do pray answer me, is there any the least thing I can ever do to
oblige you? for, if the truth must be told of me, I don't like to lie.
under an obligation, any more than another, where I can help it."

"To show you that I do not want to lay you under one," said Gray, "I'll
tell you how you can do as much for me, and ten times as much, as I
have done for you; and this without hurting yourself or any of your
employers a penny."

"Say how, and it shall be done."

"By letting me have the dung of the barracks, which will make my land
and me rich, without making you poorer; for I'll give you the fair
price, whatever it is. I don't ask you to wrong your employers of a
farthing."

The sergeant promised this should be done, and rejoiced that he had
found some means of serving his friend. Gray covered ten acres with the
manure brought from the barracks; and the next year these acres were in
excellent heart. This was sufficient for the grazing of ten cows: he had
three, and he bought seven more; and with what remained of his hundred
pounds, after paying for the cows, he built a shed and a cow-house. His
wife, and daughter Rose, who was now about fourteen, were excellent
managers of the dairy. They made, by butter and butter-milk, about four
pounds each cow within the year. The butter they salted and took to
market, at the neighbouring town; the butter-milk they sold to the
country people, who, according to the custom of the neighbourhood, came
to the house for it. Besides this, they reared five calves, which, at a
year old, they sold for fifteen guineas and a half. The dairy did not,
however, employ all the time of this industrious mother and daughter;
they had time for spinning, and by this cleared six guineas. They also
made some little matter by poultry; but that was only during the first
year: afterwards Mr. Hopkins sent notice that they must pay all the
_duty-fowl_, and _duty-geese_, and _turkeys_, [Footnote: See a very
curious anecdote in the Statistical Survey of the Queen's County.]
charged in the lease, or compound with him by paying two guineas a year.
This gentleman had many methods of squeezing money out of poor tenants;
and he was not inclined to spare the Grays, whose farm he now more
than ever wished to possess, because its value had been considerably
increased, by the judicious industry of the farmer and his sons.

Young as they were, both farmer Gray's sons had a share in these
improvements. The eldest had drained a small field, which used to be
called the rushy field, from its having been quite covered with rushes.
Now there was not a rush to be found upon it, and his father gave him
the profits of the field, and said that it should be called by his name.
Robin, the youngest son, had, by his father's advice, tried a little
experiment, which many of his neighbours ridiculed at first, and admired
at last. The spring, which used to supply the duck-pond, that often
flooded the house, was at the head of a meadow, that sloped with a fall
sufficient to let the water run off. Robin flooded the meadow at the
proper season of the year, and it produced afterwards a crop such as
never had been seen there before. His father called this meadow Robin's
meadow, and gave him the value of the hay that was made upon it.

"Now, my dear boys," said this good father, "you have made a few guineas
for yourselves; and here are a few more for you, all that I can spare:
let us see what you can do with this money. I shall take a pride in
seeing you get forward by your own industry and cleverness; I don't want
you to slave for me all your best days; but shall always be ready, as a
father should be, to give you a helping hand."

The sons had scarcely a word in answer to this, for their hearts were
full; but that night, when they were by themselves, one said to the
other, "Brother, did you see Jack Reel's letter to his father? They say
he has sent home ten guineas to him. Is there any truth in it, think
you?"

"Yes; I saw the letter, and a kinder never was written from son to
father. [Footnote: This is fact.] The ten guineas I saw paid into the
old man's hand; and, at that same minute, I wished it was I that was
doing the same by my own father."

"That was just what I was thinking of, when I asked you if you saw the
letter. Why, Jack Reel had nothing, when he went abroad with the army to
Egypt, last year. Well, I never had a liking myself to follow the drum:
but it's almost enough to tempt one to it. If I thought I could send
home ten guineas to my father, I would 'list to-morrow."

"That would not be well done of you, Robin," said John; "for my father
would rather have _you_, a great deal, than the ten guineas, I am sure:
to say nothing of my poor mother, and Rose, and myself, who would be
sorry enough to hear of your being knocked on the head, as is the fate,
sooner or later, of them that follow the army. I would rather be any of
the trades that hurt nobody, and do good to a many along with myself, as
father said t'other day. Then, what a man makes so, he makes with a safe
conscience, and he can enjoy it."

"You are right, John, and I was wrong to talk of _'listing_," said
Robin; "but it was only Jack Reel's letter, and the ten guineas sent to
his father, that put it into my head. I may make as much for my father
by staying at home, and minding my business. So now, good night to you;
I'll go to sleep, and we can talk more about it all to-morrow."

The next morning, as these two youths were setting potatoes for the
family, and considering to what they should turn their hands when the
potatoes were all set, they were interrupted by a little _gossoon_, who
came running up as hard as he could, crying, "Murder! murder! Simon
O'Dougherty wants you. For the love of God, cross the bog in all haste,
to help pull out his: horse, that has tumbled into the old tan-pit,
there beyond, in the night!"

The two brothers immediately followed the boy, carrying with them a rope
and a halter, as they guessed that _soft Simon_ would not have either.
They found him wringing his hands beside the tan-pit, in which his horse
lay smothering. A little ragged boy was tugging at the horse's head,
with a short bit of hay-rope. "Oh, murder! murder! What _will_ I do for
a halter? Sure the horse will be lost, for want of a halter; and where
in the wide world _will_ I look for one?" cried Simon, without stirring
one inch from the spot. "Oh, the blessing of Heaven be with you, lads,"
continued he, turning at the sight of the Grays; "you've brought us a
halter. But see! it's just over with the poor beast. All the world put
together will not get him alive out of that. I must put up with the
loss, and be content. He cost me fifteen good guineas, and he could leap
better than any horse in the county. Oh, what a pity on him! what a
pity! But, take it easy; that's all we have for it! _Poor cratur! Poor
cratur!_"

Without listening to Simon's lamentations, the active lads, by the help
of Simon and the two boys, pulled the horse out of the pit. The poor
animal was nearly exhausted by struggling: but, after some time, he
stretched himself, and, by degrees, recovered sufficiently to stand. One
of his legs, however, was so much hurt that he could scarcely walk; and
Simon said he would surely go lame for life.

"Who now would ever have thought of his straying into such an ugly place
of all others?" continued he. "I know, for my share, the spot is so
overgrown with grass and rubbish, of one kind or other, and it's so
long since any of the tanning business was going on here, in my uncle
O'Haggarty's time, that I quite forgot there were such things as
tan-pits, or any manner of pits, in my possession; and I wish these had
been far enough off before my own little famous Sir Hyacinth O'Brien had
strayed into them, laming himself for life, like a blockhead. For the
case was this: I came home late last night, not as sober as a judge,
and, finding no one up but the girl, I gave her the horse to put into
the stable, and she forgot the door after her, which wants a lock; and
there being but a scanty feed of oats, owing to the boy's negligence,
and no halter to secure the beast, my poor Sir Hyacinth strayed out
here, as ill luck would have it, into the tan-pit. Bad luck to my uncle
O'Haggarty, that had the tan-yard here at all! He might have lived
as became him, without dirtying his hands with the tanning of dirty
hides."

"I was just going," said John Gray, "to comfort you, Simon, for the
laming of your horse, by observing that, if you had your tan-yard in
order again, you could soon make up the price of another horse."

"Ohoo! I would not be bothered with anything of the kind. There's the
mill of Rosanna there, beyond, was the plague of my life, till it
stopped; and I was glad to have fairly done with it. Them that come
after me may set it a-going again, and welcome. I have enough just to
serve my time, and am content any way."

"But, if you could get a fair rent for the tan-yard, would you let it?"
said John.

"To that I should make no objection in life; provided I had no trouble
with it," replied Simon.

"And if you could get somebody to keep the mill of Rosanna going,
without giving you any trouble, you would not object to that, would
you?" said Robin.

"Not I, to be sure," replied Simon, laughing. "Whatever God sends, be it
more or less, I am content. But I would not have you think me a fool,
for all I talk so easy about the matter; I know very well what I might
have got for the mill some years ago, when first it stopped, if I would
have let it to the man that proposed for it; but though he was as
substantial a tenant as you could see, yet he affronted me once, at the
last election, by calling a freeholder of mine over the coals; and so I
was proud of an opportunity to show him I did not forget. So I refused
to let him the mill on any terms; and I made him a speech for his pride
to digest at the same time. 'Mr. Hopkins,' said I, 'the lands of Rosanna
have been in my family these two hundred years and upwards; and though,
now-a-days, many men think that every thing is to be done for money, and
though you, Mr. Hopkins, have made as much money as most men could in
the same time,--all which I don't envy you,--yet I must make bold to
tell you, that the lands of Rosanna, or any part or parcel thereof,
is what you'll never have whilst I'm alive, Mr. Hopkins, for love or
money.' The spirit of the O'Doughertys was up within me; and though all
the world calls me easy Simon, I have my own share of proper spirit.
These mushroom money-makers, that start up from the very dirt under
one's feet, I can't for my part swallow them. Now I should be happy to
give you a lease of the mill of Rosanna, after refusing Hopkins; for you
and your father before you, lads, have been always very civil to me.
My tan-pits and all I am ready to talk to you about, and thank you for
pulling my horse out for me this morning. Will you walk up and look at
the mill? I would attend you myself, but must go to the farrier about
Sir Hyacinth's leg, instead of standing talking here any longer. Good
morning to you kindly. The girl will give you the key of the mill, and
show you everything, the same as myself."

Simon gathered his great coat about him, and walked away to the farrier,
whilst the two brothers rejoiced that they should see the mill without
hearing him talk the whole time. Simon, having nothing to do all day
long but to talk, was an indefatigable gossip. When the lands of Rosanna
were in question, or when his pride was touched, he was terribly fluent.

       *       *       *       *       *



CHAPTER II.


Upon examining the mill, which was a common oat-mill, John Gray found
that the upper mill-stone was lodged upon the lower; and that this was
all which prevented the mill from going. No other part of it was damaged
or out of repair. As to the tan-yard, it was in great disorder; but it
was very conveniently situated; was abundantly supplied with water on
one side, and had an oak copse at the back, so that tan could readily be
procured. It is true that the bark of these oak trees, which had been
planted by his careful uncle O'Haggarty, had been much damaged since
Simon came into possession; for he had, with his customary negligence,
suffered cattle to get amongst them. He had also, to supply himself
with ready money, occasionally cut down a great deal of the best timber
before it arrived at its full growth; and at this time the Grays found
every tree of tolerable size marked for destruction with the initials of
Simon O'Dougherty's name.

Before they said anything more about the mill or the tan-yard to Simon,
these prudent brothers consulted their father: he advised them to begin
cautiously, by offering to manage the mill and the tan-yard, during the
ensuing season, for Simon, for a certain share in the profits; and then,
if they should find the business likely to succeed, they might take a
lease of the whole. Simon willingly made this agreement; and there was
no danger in dealing with him, because, though careless and indolent, he
was honest, and would keep his engagements. It was settled that John and
Robin should have the power, at the end of the year, either to hold or
give up all concern in the mill and tan-yard; and, in the mean time,
they were to manage the business for Simon, and to have such a share in
the profits as would pay them reasonably for their time and labour.

They succeeded beyond their expectations in the management of the mill
and tan-yard during their year of probation; and Simon, at the end of
that time, was extremely glad to give them a long lease of the premises,
upon their paying him down, by way of fine, the sum of 150l. This sum
their father, who had good credit, and who could give excellent security
upon his farm, which was now in a flourishing condition, raised for
them; and they determined to repay him the money by regular yearly
portions out of their profits.

Success did not render these young men presumptuous or negligent: they
went on steadily with business, were contented to live frugally and work
hard for some years. Many of the sons of neighbouring tradesmen and
farmers, who were able perhaps to buy a horse or two, or three good
coats in a year, and who set up for gentlemen, and spent their days
in hunting, shooting, or cock-fighting, thought that the Grays were
poor-spirited fellows for sticking so close to business. They prophesied
that, even when these brothers should have made a fortune, they would
not have the liberality to spend or enjoy it; but this prediction was
not verified. The Grays had not been brought up to place their happiness
merely in the scraping together pounds, shillings, and pence; they
valued money for money's worth, not for money's sake; and, amongst the
pleasures it could purchase, they thought that of contributing to the
happiness of their parents and friends the greatest. When they had paid
their father the hundred and fifty pounds he had advanced, their next
object was to build a neat cottage for him, near the wood and mill of
Rosanna, on a beautiful spot, upon which they had once heard him say
that he should like to have a house.

We mentioned that Mr. Hopkins, the agent, had a view to this farm; and
that he was desirous of getting rid of the Grays: but this he found no
easy matter to accomplish, because the rent was always punctually paid.
There was no pretence for _driving_, even for the duty-fowls; Mrs.
Gray always had them ready at the proper time. Mr. Hopkins was farther
provoked by seeing the rich improvements which our farmer made every
year on his land: his envy, which could be moved by the meanest objects
of gain, was continually excited by his neighbour's successful industry.
To-day he envied him his green meadows, and to-morrow the crocks of
butter, packed on the car for Dublin. Farmer Gray's ten cows, which
regularly passed by Mr. Hopkins's window morning and evening, were
a sight that often spoiled his breakfast and supper: but that which
grieved this envious man the most was the barrack manure; he would stand
at his window, and, with a heavy heart, count the car loads that went by
to Gray's farm.

Once he made an attempt to ruin Gray's friend, the sergeant, by accusing
him secretly of being bribed to sell the barrack manure to Gray for less
than he had been offered for it by others: but the officer to whom Mr.
Hopkins made this complaint was fortunately a man who did not like
secret informations: he publicly inquired into the truth of the matter,
and the sergeant's honesty and Mr. Hopkins's meanness were clearly
proved and contrasted. The consequence of this malicious interference
was beneficial to Gray; for the officer told the story to the colonel of
the regiment which was next quartered in the town, and he to the officer
who succeeded him; so that year after year Mr. Hopkins applied in vain
for the barrack manure. Farmer Gray had always the preference, and the
hatred of Mr. Hopkins knew no bounds; that is, no bounds but the
letter of the law, of which he was ever mindful, because lawsuits are
expensive.

At length, however, he devised a legal mode of _annoying_ his enemy.
Some land belonging to Mr. Hopkins lay between Gray's farm and the only
bog in the neighbourhood: now he would not permit Mr. Gray, or any body
belonging to him, to draw turf upon his bog-road; and he absolutely
forbade his own wretched tenants to sell turf to the object of his envy.
By these means, he flattered himself he should literally starve the
enemy out of house and home.

Things were in this situation when John and Robin Gray determined to
build a house for their father at Rosanna. They made no secret to him of
their intentions; for they did not want to surprise but to please him,
and to do every thing in the manner that would be most convenient to him
and their mother. Their sister, Rose, was in all their counsels; and it
had been for the last three years one of her chief delights to go, after
her day's work was done, to the mill at Rosanna, to see how her brothers
were going on. How happy are those families where there is no envy
or jealousy; but in which each individual takes an interest in the
prosperity of the whole! Farmer Gray was heartily pleased with the
gratitude and generosity of his boys, as he still continued to call
them; though, by-the-bye, John was now three-and-twenty, and his brother
only two years younger.

"My dear boys," said he, "nothing could be more agreeable to me and your
mother than to have a snug cottage near you both, on the very spot which
you say I pitched upon two years ago. This cabin that we now live in,
after all I have tried to do to prop it up, and notwithstanding all Rose
does to keep it neat and clean withinside, is but a crazy sort of a
place. We are able now to have a better house, and I shall be glad to
be out of the reach of Mr. Hopkins's persecution. Therefore, let us set
about and build the new house. You shall contribute your share, my boys;
but only a share: mind, I say only a share. And I hope next year to
contribute my share towards building a house for each of you: it is time
you should think of marrying, and settling: it is no bad thing to have a
house ready for a bride. We shall have quite a little colony of our own
at Rosanna. Who knows but I may live to see my grand-children, ay, and
my great-grand-children, settled there all round me, industrious and
contented?"

Good-will is almost as expeditious and effectual as Aladdin's lamp:--the
new cottage for farmer Gray was built at Rosanna, and he took possession
of it the ensuing spring. They next made a garden, and furnished it with
all sorts of useful vegetables and some pretty flowers. Rose had great
pleasure in taking care of this garden. Her brothers also laid out
a small green lawn before the door; and planted the boundaries with
white-thorn, crab-trees, lilacs, and laburnums. The lawn sloped down
to the water-side; and the mill and copse behind it were seen from the
parlour windows. A prettier cottage, indeed so pretty a one, was never
before seen in this county.

But what was better far than the pretty cottage, or the neat garden, or
the green lawn, or the white-thorn, the crab-trees, the lilacs, and the
laburnums, was the content that smiled amongst them.

Many who have hundreds and thousands are miserable, because they still
desire more; or rather because they know not what they would have. For
instance, Mr. Hopkins, the rich Mr. Hopkins, who had scraped together
in about fifteen years above twenty thousand, some said thirty thousand
pounds, had never been happy for a single day, either whilst he was
making this fortune or when he had made it; for he was of an avaricious,
discontented temper. The more he had, the more he desired. He could
not bear the prosperity of his neighbours; and if his envy made him
industrious, yet it at the same time rendered him miserable. Though he
was what the world calls a remarkably fortunate man, yet the feelings of
his own mind prevented him from enjoying his success. He had no wife,
no children, to share his wealth. He would not marry, because a wife
is expensive; and children are worse than taxes. His whole soul was
absorbed in the love of gain. He denied himself not only the comforts
but the common necessaries of life. He was alone in the world. He was
conscious that no human being loved him. He read his history in the eyes
of all his neighbours.

It was known that he had risen upon the ruin of others; and the higher
he had risen, the more conspicuous became the faults of his character.
Whenever any man grew negligent of his affairs, or by misfortune was
reduced to distress, Hopkins was at hand to take advantage of his
necessities. His first approaches were always made under the semblance
of friendship; but his victims soon repented their imprudent confidence
when they felt themselves in his power. Unrestrained by a sense of
honour or the feelings of humanity, he felt no scruple in pursuing his
interest to the very verge of what the law would call fraud. Even his
own relations complained that he duped them without scruple; and none
but strangers to his character, or persons compelled by necessity, would
have any dealings with this man. Of what advantage to him, or to any one
else, were the thousands he had accumulated?

It may be said that such beings are necessary in society; that their
industry is productive; and that, therefore, they ought to be preferred
to the idle, unproductive members of the community: but wealth and
happiness are not the same things. Perhaps, at some future period,
enlightened politicians may think the happiness of nations more
important than their wealth. In this point of view, they would consider
all the members of society, who are productive of happiness, as neither
useless nor despicable; and, on the contrary, they would contemn and
discourage those who merely accumulate money, without enjoying or
dispensing happiness. But some centuries must probably elapse before
such a philosophic race of politicians can arise. In the mean time, let
us go on with our story.





CHAPTER III.


Mr. Hopkins was enraged when he found that his expected victim escaped
his snares. He saw the pretty cottage rise, and the mill of Rosanna
work, in despite of his malevolence. He long brooded over his malice
in silence. As he stood one day on the top of a high mount on his own
estate, from which he had a view of the surrounding country, his eyes
fixed upon the little paradise in the possession of his enemies. He
always called those his enemies of whom he was the enemy: this is no
uncommon mistake, in the language of the passions.

"The Rosanna mill shall be stopped before this day twelvemonth, or
my name is not Hopkins," said he to himself. "I have sworn vengeance
against those Grays; but I will humble them to the dust, before I have
done with them. I shall never sleep in peace till I have driven those
people from the country."

It was, however, no easy matter to drive from the country such
inoffensive inhabitants. The first thing Mr. Hopkins resolved upon was
to purchase from Simon O'Dougherty the field adjoining to that in which
the mill stood. The brook flowed through this field, and Mr. Hopkins
saw, with malicious satisfaction, that he could at a small expense turn
the course of the stream, and cut off the water from the mill.

Poor Simon by this time had reduced himself to a situation in which his
pride was compelled to yield to pecuniary considerations. Within the
last three years, his circumstances had been materially changed. Whilst
he was a bachelor, his income had been sufficient to maintain him in
idleness. Soft Simon, however, at last, took it into his head to marry;
or rather a cunning damsel, who had been his mistress for some years,
took it into her head to make him marry. She was skilled in the arts
both of wheedling and scolding: to resist these united powers was too
much to be expected from a man of Simon's easy temper.

He argued thus with himself:--"She has cost me more as she is than if
she had been my wife twice over; for she has no interest in looking
after any thing belonging to me, but only just living on from day to
day, and making the most for herself and her children. And the children,
too, all in the same way, snatching what they could make sure of for
themselves. Now, if I make her my lawful wife, as she desires, the
property will be hers, as well as mine; and it will be her interest to
look after all. She is a stirring, notable woman, and will save me a
world of trouble, and make the best of every thing for her children's
sake; and they, being then all acknowledged by me, will make my interest
their own, as she says; and, besides, this is the only way left me to
have peace."

To avoid the cares and plagues of matrimony, and that worst of plagues
a wife's tongue, Simon first was induced to keep a mistress, and now to
silence his mistress, he made her his wife. She assured him, that, till
she was his lawful lady, she never should have peace or quietness; nor
could she, in conscience, suffer him to have a moment's rest.

Simon married her, to use his own phrase, out of hand: hut the marriage
was only the beginning of new troubles. The bride had hordes and clans
of relations, who came pouring in from all quarters to pay their
respects to Mrs. O'Dougherty. Her good easy man could not shut his doors
against any one: the O'Doughertys were above a hundred years, ay, two
hundred years ago, famous for hospitality; and it was incumbent upon
Simon O'Dougherty to keep up the honour of the family. His four children
were now to be maintained in idleness; for they, like their father, had
an insurmountable aversion to business. The public opinion of Simon
suddenly changed. Those who were any way related to the O'Doughertys,
and who dreaded that he and his children should apply to them for
pecuniary assistance, began the cry against him of, "What a shame it is
[Footnote: Essay on Charity Schools.] that the man does not do something
for himself and his family! How can those expect to be helped who won't
help themselves? He is contented, indeed! Yes, and he must soon be
contented to sell the lands that have been in the family so long; and
then, by and by, he must be content, if he does not bestir himself, to
be carried to jail. It is a sin for any one to be content to eat the
bread of idleness!"

These and similar reproaches were uttered often, in our idle hero's
presence. They would perhaps have excited him to some sort of exertion,
if his friend, Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, had not, in consequence of certain
electioneering services, and in consideration of his being one of the
best sportsmen in the county, and of Simon's having named a horse after
him, procured for him a place of about fifty pounds a year in the
revenue. Upon the profits of this place Simon contrived to live, in a
shambling sort of way.

How long he might have shuffled on is a problem which must now for ever
remain unsolved; for his indolence was not permitted to take its natural
course; his ruin was accelerated by the secret operation of an active
and malignant power. Mr. Hopkins, who had determined to get that field
which joined to Gray's mill, and who well knew that the pride of the
O'Doughertys would resist the idea of selling to him any part or parcel
of the lands of Rosanna, devised a scheme to reduce Simon to immediate
and inextricable distress. Simon was, as it might have been foreseen,
negligent in discharging the duties of his office, which was that of a
supervisor.

He either did not know, or connived at the practices, of sundry illegal
distillers in his neighbourhood. Malicious tongues did not scruple to
say that he took money, upon some occasions, from the delinquents; but
this he positively denied. Possibly his wife and sons knew more of
this matter than he did. They sold certain scraps of paper, called
protections, to several petty distillers, whose safest protection would
have been Simon's indolence. One of the scraps of paper, to which there
was O'Dougherty's signature, fell into the hands of Mr. Hopkins.

That nothing might be omitted to ensure his disgrace, Hopkins sent a
person, on whom he could depend, to give Simon notice that there was an
illegal still at such a house, naming the house for which the protection
was granted. Soft Simon received the information with his customary
carelessness, said it was too late to think of going to seize the still
that evening, and declared he would have it seized the next day: but the
next day he put it off, and the day afterwards he forgot it, and the day
after that, he received a letter from the collector of excise, summoning
him to answer to an information which had been laid against him for
misconduct. In this emergency, he resolved to have recourse to his
friend Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, who, he thought, could make interest
to screen him from justice. Sir Hyacinth gave him a letter to the
collector, who happened to be in the country. Away he went with the
letter: he was met on the road by a friend, who advised him to ride as
hard after the collector as he could, to overtake him before he should
reach Counsellor Quin's, where he was engaged to dine. Counsellor Quin
was candidate for the county in opposition to Sir Hyacinth O'Brien; and
it was well understood that whomsoever the one favoured the other hated.
It behoved Simon, therefore, to overtake the collector before he should
be within the enemy's gates. Simon whipped and spurred, and puffed and
fretted, but all in vain, for he was mounted upon the horse which, as
the reader may remember, fell into the tan-pit. The collector reached
Counsellor Quin's long before Simon arrived; and, when he presented Sir
Hyacinth's letter, it was received in a manner that showed it came too
late. Simon lost his place and his fifty pounds a year: but what he
found most trying to his temper were the reproaches of his wife, which
were loud, bitter, and unceasing. He knew, from experience, that nothing
could silence her but letting her "have all the plea;" so he suffered
her to rail till she was quite out of breath, and he very nearly asleep,
and then said, "What you have been observing is all very just, no
doubt; but since a thing past can't be recalled, and those that are
upon the ground, as our proverb says, can go no lower, that's a great
comfort; so we may be content."

"Content, in troth! Is it content to live upon potatoes and salt? I,
that am your lawful wife! And you, that are an O'Dougherty too, to let
your lady be demeaned and looked down upon, as she will be now, even by
them that are sprung up from nothing since yesterday. There's Mrs. Gray,
over yonder at Rosanna, living on your own land: look at her and look at
me! and see what a difference there is!"

"Some difference there surely is," said Simon.

"Some difference there surely is," repeated Mrs. O'Dougherty, raising
her voice to the shrillest note of objurgation; for she was provoked by
a sigh that escaped Simon, as he pronounced his reply, or rather his
acceding sentence. Nothing, in some cases, provokes a female so much as
agreeing with her.

"And if there is some difference betwixt me and Mrs. Gray, should be
glad to know whose fault that is?"

"So should I, Mrs. O'Dougherty."

"Then I'll tell you, instantly, whose fault it is, Mr. O'Dougherty:
the fault is your own, Mr. O'Dougherty. No, the fault is mine, Mr.
O'Dougherty, for marrying you, or consorting with you at all. If I had
been matched to an active, industrious man, like Mr. Gray, I might have
been as well in the world and better than Mrs. Gray; for I should become
a fortune better than she, or any of her seed, breed, or generation; and
it's a scandal in the face of the world, and all the world says so, it's
a scandal to see them Grays flourishing and settling a colony, there at
Rosanna, at our expense!"

"Not at our expense, my dear, for you know we made nothing of either
tan-yard or mill; and now they pay us 30_l_. a year, and that punctually
too. What should we do without it, now we have lost the place in the
revenue? I am sure, I think we were very lucky to get such tenants as
the Grays."

"In truth, I think no such thing; for if you had been blessed with the
sense of a midge, you might have done all they have done yourself: and
then what a different way your lawful wife and family would have been
in! I am sure I wish it had pleased the saints above to have married me,
when they were about it, to such a man as farmer Gray or his sons."

"As for the sons," said Simon, "they are a little out of the way in
point of age, but to farmer Gray I see no objection in life: and if he
sees none, and will change wives, I'm sure, Ally, I shall be content."

The sort of composure and dry humour with which Simon made this last
speech overcame the small remains of Mrs. O'Dougherty's patience: she
burst into a passion of tears; and from this hour, it being now past
eleven o'clock at night, from this hour till six in the morning she
never ceased weeping, wailing, and upbraiding.

Simon rose from his sleepless bed, saying, "The saints above, as you
call them, must take care of you now, Ally, any how; for I'm fairly
tired out: so I must go a-hunting or a-shooting with my friend, Sir
Hyacinth O'Brien, to recruit my spirits."

The unfortunate Simon found, to his mortification, that his horse was so
lame he could scarcely walk. Whilst he was considering where he could
borrow a horse, just for the day's hunt, Mr. Hopkins rode into his
yard, mounted upon a fine hunter. Though naturally supercilious, this
gentleman could stoop to conquer: he was well aware of Simon's dislike
to him, but he also knew that Simon was in distress for money. Even
the strongest passions of those who involve themselves in pecuniary
difficulties must yield to the exigencies of the moment. Easy Simon's
indolence had now reduced him to a situation in which his pride was
obliged to bend to his interest. Mr. Hopkins had once been repulsed with
haughtiness by the representative of the O'Dougherty family, when he
offered to purchase some of the family estate; but his proposal was now
better timed, and was made with all the address of which he was master.
He began by begging Simon to give him his opinion of the horse on which
he was mounted, as he knew Mr. O'Dougherty was a particularly good judge
of a hunter; and he would not buy it, from Counsellor Quin's groom,
without having a skilful friend's advice. Then he asked whether it was
true that Simon and the collector had quarrelled, exclaimed against
the malice and officiousness of the informer, whoever he might be, and
finished by observing that, if the loss of his place put Simon to any
inconvenience, there was a ready way of supplying himself with money, by
the sale of any of the lands of Rosanna. The immediate want of a horse,
and the comparison he made, at this moment, between the lame animal on
which he was leaning and the fine hunter upon which Hopkins was mounted,
had more effect upon Simon than all the rest. Before they parted, Mr.
Hopkins concluded a bargain for the field on which he had set his heart:
he obtained it for less than its value by three years' purchase. The
hunter was part of the valuable consideration he gave to Simon.

The moment that Hopkins was in possession of this field adjoining to
Gray's mill, he began to execute a malignant project which he had long
been contriving.

We shall leave him to his operations; matters of higher import claim our
attention. One morning, as Rose was on the little lawn before the house
door, gathering the first snowdrops of the year, a servant in a handsome
livery rode up, and asked if Mr. Gray or any of the family were at home.
Her father and brothers were out in the fields, at some distance; but
she said she would run and call them. "There is no occasion, Miss," said
the servant; "for the business is only to leave these cards for the
ladies of the family."

He put two cards into Rose's hand, and galloped off with the air of a
man who had a vast deal of business of importance to transact. The cards
contained an invitation to an election ball, which Sir Hyacinth O'Brien
was going to give to the secondary class of gentry in the county. Rose
took the cards to her mother; and whilst they were reading them over for
the second time, in came farmer Gray to breakfast. "What have we here,
child?" said he, taking up one of the cards. He looked at his wife and
daughter with some anxiety for a moment; and then, as if he did not
wish to restrain them, turned the conversation to another subject, and
nothing was said of the ball till breakfast was over.

Mrs. Gray then bade Rose go and put her flowers into water; and as soon
as she was out of the room, said, "My dear, I see you don't like that we
should go to this ball; so I am glad I did not say what I thought of it
to Rose before you came in: for you must know, I had a mother's foolish
vanity about me; and the minute I saw the card, I pictured to myself our
Rose dressed like any of the best of the ladies, and looking handsomer
than most of them, and every body admiring her! But perhaps the girl is
better as she is, having not been bred to be a lady. And yet, now we
are as well in the world as many that set up for and are reckoned
gentlefolks, why should not our girl take this opportunity of rising a
step in life?"

Mrs. Gray spoke with some confusion and hesitation. "My dear," replied
farmer Gray, in a gentle yet firm tone, "it is very natural that you,
being the mother of such a girl as our Rose, should be proud of her, and
eager to show her to the best advantage; but the main point is to make
her happy, not to do just what will please our own vanity for the
minute. Now I am not at all sure that raising her a step in life,
even if we could do it by sending her to this ball, would be for her
happiness. Are not we happy as we are--Come in, Rose, love; come in;
I should be glad for you to hear what we are saying, and judge for
yourself; you are old enough, and wise enough, I am sure. I was going to
ask, are not we all happy in the way we live together now?"

"Yes! Oh yes! That we are, indeed," said both the wife and daughter.

"Then should not we be content, and not wish to alter our condition?"

"But to go to only one ball, father, would not alter our condition,
would it?" said Rose, timidly.

"If we begin once to set up for gentry, we shall not like to go back
again to be what we are now: so, before we begin, we had best consider
what we have to gain by a change. We have meat, drink, clothes, and
fire: what more could we have, if we were gentry? We have enough to do,
and not too much; we are all well pleased with ourselves, and with one
another; we have health and good consciences: what more could we have,
if we were to set up to be gentry? Or rather, to put the question
closer, could we in that case have all these comforts? No, I think not:
for, in the first place, we should be straitened for want of money;
because a world of baubles, that we don't feel the want of now, would
become as necessary to us as our daily bread. We should be ashamed not
to have all the things that gentlefolks have; though these don't signify
a straw, nor half a straw, in point of any real pleasure they give,
still they must be had. Then we should be ashamed of the work by which
we must make money to pay for all these nicknacks. John and Robin would
blush up to the eyes, then, if they were to be caught by the genteel
folks in their mill, heaving up sacks of flour, and covered all over
with meal; or if they were to be found, with their arms bare beyond the
elbows, in the tan-yard. And you, Rose, would hurry your spinning-wheel
out of sight, and be afraid to be caught cooking my dinner. Yet there
is no shame in any of these things, and now we are all proud of doing
them."

"And long may we be so!" cried Mrs. Gray. "You are right, and I spoke
like a foolish woman. Rose, my child, throw these cards into the fire.
We are happy, and contented: and if we change, we shall be discontented
and unhappy, as so many of what they call our betters are. There! the
cards are burnt; now let us think no more about them."

"Rose, I hope, is not disappointed about this ball; are you, my little
Rose?" said her father, drawing her towards him, and seating her on his
knee.

"There was one reason, father," said Rose, blushing, "there was one
reason, and only one, why I wished to have gone to this ball."

"Well, let us hear it. You shall do as you please, I promise you
beforehand. But tell us the reason. I believe you have found it
somewhere at the bottom of that snow-drop, which you have been examining
this last quarter of an hour. Come, let me have a peep," added he,
laughing.

"The only reason, papa, _is--was_, I mean," said Rose.--"But look!
Oh, I can't tell you now. See who is coming."

It was Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, in his gig; and with him his English
servant, Stafford, whose staid and sober demeanour was a perfect
contrast to the dash and bustle of his master's appearance. This was an
electioneering visit. Sir Hyacinth was canvassing the county--a business
in which he took great delight, and in which he was said to excel. He
possessed all the requisite qualifications, and was certainly excited by
a sufficiently strong motive; for he knew that, if he should lose his
election, he should at the same time lose his liberty, as the privilege
of a member of parliament was necessary to protect him from being
arrested. He had a large estate, yet he was one of the poorest men in
the county; for no matter what a person's fortune may be, if he spend
more than his income, he must be poor. Sir Hyacinth O'Brien not only
spent more than his income, but desired that his rent-roll should be
thought to be at least double what it really was: of course he was
obliged to live up to the fortune which he affected to possess; and this
idle vanity early in life entangled him in difficulties from which he
had never sufficient strength of mind to extricate himself. He was
ambitious to be the leading man in his county, studied all the arts of
popularity, and found them extremely expensive, and stood a contested
election. He succeeded; but his success cost him several thousands. All
was to be set to rights by his talents as a public speaker, and these
were considerable. He had eloquence, wit, humour, and sufficient
assurance to place them all in the fullest light. His speeches in
parliament were much admired, and the passion of ambition was now
kindled in his mind: he determined to be a leading man in the senate;
and whilst he pursued this object with enthusiasm, his private affairs
were entirely neglected. Ambition and economy never can agree. Sir
Hyacinth, however, found it necessary to the happiness, that is, to the
splendour, of his existence, to supply, by some means or other, the want
of what he called the paltry, selfish, counterfeit virtue--economy.
Nothing less would do than the sacrifice of that which had been once in
his estimation the most noble and generous of human virtues,--
patriotism. The sacrifice was painful, but he could not avoid making it;
because, after living upon five thousand a-year, he could not live upon
five hundred. So, from a flaming patriot, he sunk into a pensioned
placeman.

He then employed all his powers of wit and sophistry to ridicule the
principles which he had abandoned. In short, he affected to glory in
a species of political profligacy; and laughed or sneered at public
virtue, as if it could only be the madness of enthusiasm, or the
meanness of hypocrisy. By the brilliancy of his conversation, and the
gaiety of his manners, Sir Hyacinth sometimes succeeded in persuading
others that he was in the right; but, alas! there was one person whom
he could never deceive, and that was himself. He despised himself, and
nothing could make him amends for the self-complacency that he had lost.
Without self-approbation, all the luxuries of life are tasteless.

Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, however, was for some years thought, by those who
could see only the outward man, to be happy; and it was not till the
derangement of his affairs became public that the world began at once
to pity and blame him. He had a lucrative place, but he was, or thought
himself, obliged to live in a style suited to it; and he was not
one shilling the richer for his place. He endeavoured to repair his
shattered fortunes by marrying a rich heiress, but the heiress was, or
thought herself, obliged to live up to her fortune; and, of course,
her husband was not one shilling the richer for his marriage. When Sir
Hyacinth was occasionally distressed for money, his agent, who managed
all affairs in his absence, borrowed money with as much expedition as
possible; and expedition, in matters of business, must, as every body
knows, be paid for exorbitantly. There are men who, upon such terms,
will be as expeditious in lending money as extravagance and ambition
united can desire. Mr. Hopkins was one of these: and he was the
money-lender who supplied the baronet's real and imaginary wants. Sir
Hyacinth did not know the extreme disorder of his own affairs, till a
sudden dissolution of parliament obliged him to prepare for the expense
of a new election. When he went into the country, he was at once beset
with duns and constituents who claimed from him favours and promises.
Miserable is the man who courts popularity, if he be not rich enough to
purchase what he covets.

Our baronet endeavoured to laugh off with a good grace his apostasy from
the popular party; and whilst he could laugh at the head of a plentiful
table, he could not fail to find many who would laugh with him; but
there was a strong party formed against him in the county. Two other
candidates were his competitors; one of them was Counsellor Quin, a man
of vulgar manners and mean abilities, but yet one who could drink and
cajole electors full as well as Sir Hyacinth, with all his wit and
elegance. The other candidate, Mr. Molyneux, was still more formidable;
not as an electioneerer, but as a man of talents and unimpeached
integrity, which had been successfully exerted in the service of his
country. He was no demagogue, but the friend of justice and of the
poor, whom he would not suffer to be oppressed by the hand of power, or
persecuted by the malice of party spirit. A large number of grateful
independent constituents united to support this gentleman. Sir Hyacinth
O'Brien had reason to tremble for his fate; it was to him a desperate
game. He canvassed the county with the most keen activity; and took
care to engage in his interest all those _underlings_ who delight in
galloping round the country to electioneer, and who think themselves
paid by the momentary consequence they enjoy, and the bustle they
create.

Amongst these busy-bodies was Simon O'Dougherty: indolent in all his own
concerns, he was remarkably active in managing the affairs of others.
His home being now insufferable to him, he was glad to stroll about the
country; and to him Sir Hyacinth O'Brien left all the dirty work of
the canvass. Soft Simon had reduced himself to the lowest class of
_stalkoes_ or _walking gentlemen_, as they are termed; men who have
nothing to do, and no fortune to support them, but who style themselves
esquire; and who, to use their own mode of expression, are jealous
of that title, and of their claims to family antiquity. Sir Hyacinth
O'Brien knew at once how to flatter Simon's pride, and to lure him on
by promises. Soft Simon believed that the baronet, if he gained his
election, would procure him some place equivalent to that of which he
had been lately deprived. Upon the faith of this promise, Simon worked
harder for his patron than he ever was known to do upon any previous
occasion; and he was not deficient in that essential characteristic of
an electioneerer, boasting. He carried this habit sometimes rather too
far, for he not only boasted so as to bully the opposite party, but
so as to deceive his friends: over his bottle, he often persuaded his
patron that he could command voters, with whom he had no manner of
influence. For instance: he told Sir Hyacinth O'Brien that he was
certain all the Grays would vote for him; and it was in consequence of
this assurance that the cards of invitation to the ball had been sent to
Rose and her mother, and that the baronet was now come in person to pay
his respects at Rosanna.

We have kept him waiting an unconscionable time at the cottage door; we
must now show him in.




CHAPTER IV.


The beauty of Rose was the first thing that struck him upon his
entrance. The impression was so sudden, and so lively, that, for a few
minutes, the election, and all that belonged to it, vanished from his
memory. The politeness of a county candidate made him appear, in other
houses, charmed with father, mother, son, and daughter; but in this
cottage there was no occasion for dissimulation; he was really pleased
with each individual of the family. The natural feelings of the heart
were touched. The ambitious man forgot all his schemes, and all his
cares, in the contemplation of this humble picture of happiness and
content; and the baronet conversed a full quarter of an hour with farmer
Gray, before he relapsed into himself.

"How much happier," thought he, "are these people than I am, or than I
ever have been! They are contented in obscurity; I was discontented even
in the full blaze of celebrity. But my fate is fixed. I embarked on
the sea of politics as thoughtlessly as if it were only on a party of
pleasure: now I am chained to the oar, and a galley-slave cannot be more
wretched."

Perhaps the beauty of Rose had some share in exciting Sir Hyacinth's
sudden taste for rural felicity. It is certain he at first expressed
more disappointment at hearing she would not go to the ball, than at
being told her father and brothers could not vote for him. Farmer Gray,
who was as independent in his principles as in his circumstances,
honestly answered the baronet, that he thought Mr. Molyneux the fittest
man to represent the county; and that it was for him he should therefore
vote. Sir Hyacinth tried all his powers of persuasion in vain, and he
left the cottage mortified and melancholy.

He met Simon O'Dougherty when he had driven a few miles from the door;
and, in a tone of much pique and displeasure, reproached him for having
deceived him into a belief that the Grays were his friends. Simon
was rather embarrassed; but the genius of gossiping had luckily just
supplied him with a hint, by which he could extricate himself from this
difficulty.

"The fault is all your own, if I may make so free as to tell you so. Sir
Hyacinth O'Brien," said he, "as capital an electioneerer as you are,
I'll engage I'll find one that shall outdo you here. Send me and
Stafford back again this minute to Rosanna, and we'll bring you the
three votes as dead as crows in an hour's time, or my name is not
O'Dougherty now."

"I protest, Mr. O'Dougherty, I do not understand you."

"Then let me whisper half a word in your ear, Sir Hyacinth, and I'll
make you sensible I'm right." Simon winked most significantly, and
looked wondrous wise; then stretching himself half off his horse into
the gig to gain Sir Hyacinth's ear, he whispered that he knew, from the
best authority, Stafford was in love with Gray's pretty daughter, Rose,
and that Rose had no dislike to him; that she was all in all to her
father and brothers, and of course could and would secure their votes,
if properly spoken to.

This intelligence did not immediately produce the pleasing change of
countenance which might have been expected. Sir Hyacinth coldly replied,
he could not spare Stafford at present, and drove on. The genius of
gossiping, according to her usual custom, had exaggerated considerably
in her report. Stafford was attached to Rose, but had never yet told her
so; and as to Rose, we might perhaps have known all her mind, if Sir
Hyacinth's gig had not appeared just as she was seated on her father's
knee, and going to tell him her reasons for wishing to go to the ball.

Stafford acted in the capacity of house-steward to the baronet; and had
the management of all his master's unmanageable servants. He had brought
with him, from England, ideas of order and punctuality, which
were somewhat new, and extremely troublesome to the domestics at
Hyacinth-hall: consequently he was much disliked by them; and not only
by them but by most of the country people in the neighbourhood, who
imagined he had a strong predilection in favour of every thing that
was English, and an undisguised contempt for all that was Irish. They,
however, perceived that this prejudice against the Irish admitted of
exceptions: the family of the Grays, Stafford acknowledged, were almost
as orderly, punctual, industrious, and agreeable, as if they had been
born in England. This was matter of so much surprise to him, that he
could not forbear going at every leisure hour to the mill or the cottage
of Rosanna, to convince himself that such things could actually be in
Ireland. He bought all the flour for the hall at Rosanna-mill; and Rose
supplied the housekeeper constantly with poultry; so that his master's
business continually obliged Stafford to repeat his visits; and every
time he went to Gray's cottage, he thought it more and more like an
English farm-house, and imagined Rose every day looked more like an
Englishwoman than any thing else. What a pity she was not born the other
side of the water; for then his mother and friends, in Warwickshire,
could never have made any objection to her. But, she being an
Irishwoman, they would for certain never fancy her. He had oftentimes
heard them as good as say, that it would break their hearts if he was to
marry and settle amongst the bogs and the wild Irish.

This recollection of his friends' prejudices at first deterred Stafford
from thinking of marrying Rose; but it sometimes happens that reflection
upon the prejudices of others shows us the folly of our own, and so it
was in the present instance. Stafford wrote frequently to his friends
in Warwickshire, to assure them that they had quite wrong notions
of Ireland; that all Ireland was not a bog; that there were several
well-grown trees in the parts he had visited; that there were some as
pretty villages as you could wish to see any where, only that they
called them towns; that the men, though some of them still wear brogues,
were more hospitable to strangers than the English; and that the
women, when not smoke-dried, were some of the handsomest he had seen,
especially one Rose or Rosamond Gray, who was also the best and most
agreeable girl he had ever known; though it was almost a sin to say so
much of one who was not an Englishwoman born.

Much more in the same strain Stafford wrote to his mother; who, in reply
to these letters, "besought him to consider well what he was about,
before he suffered himself to begin falling desperately in love with
this Rose or Rosamond Gray, or any Irishwoman whatsoever; who, having
been bred in a mud-walled cabin, could never be expected to turn out at
the long run equal to a true-born Englishwoman, bred in a slated house."

Stafford's notions had been so much enlarged by his travel, that he
could not avoid smiling at some passages in his mother's epistle; yet he
so far agreed with her in opinion as to think it prudent not to begin
falling desperately in love with any woman, whether Irish or English,
till he was thoroughly acquainted with her temper and disposition.
He therefore prudently forbore, that is to say, as much as he could
forbear, to show any signs of his attachment to Rose, till he had full
opportunity of forming a decisive judgment of her character.

This he had now in his power. He saw that his master was struck with the
fair Rosamond's charms; and he knew that Sir Hyacinth would pursue his
purpose with no common perseverance. His heart beat with joy, when the
card which brought her refusal arrived. He read it over and over again;
and at last put it into his bosom, close to his heart. "Rose is a good
daughter," said he to himself; "and that is a sign that she will make a
good wife. She is too innocent to see or suspect that master has taken a
fancy to her, but she is right to do as her prudent, affectionate father
advises. I never loved that farmer Gray so well, in all my whole life,
as at this instant."

Stafford was interrupted in his reverie by his master; who, in an angry
voice, called for him to inquire why he had not, according to his
orders, served out some oats for his horses the preceding day. The truth
was, that anxiety about Rose and the ball had made him totally forget
the oats. Stafford coloured a good deal, confessed that he had done
very wrong to forget the oats, but that he would go to the granary
immediately, and serve them out to the groom. Perhaps Stafford's usual
exactness might have rendered his omission pardonable to any less
irritable and peremptory master than Sir H. O'Brien.

When Sterne once heard a master severely reprimanding a servant for some
trifling fault, he said to the gentleman, "My dear sir, we should not
expect to have every virtue under the sun for 20_l_. a-year."

Sir Hyacinth O'Brien expected to have them for merely the promise of
20_l_. a-year. Though he never punctually paid his servants' wages,
he abused them most insolently whenever he was in a passion. Upon the
present occasion, his ill-humour was heightened by jealousy.

"I wish, sir," cried he to Stafford, after pouring forth a volley of
oaths, "you would mind your business, and not run after objects that
are not fit for you. You are become good for nothing of late; careless,
insolent, and not fit to be trusted."

Stafford bore all that his master said till he came to the words not fit
to be trusted; but the moment those were uttered, he could no longer
command himself; he threw down the great key of the granary, which he
held in his hand, and exclaimed, "Not fit to be trusted! Is this the
reward of all my services? Not fit to be trusted! Then I have no
business here."

"The sooner you go the better, sir," cried the angry baronet, who, at
this instant, desired nothing more than to get him out of his way. "You
had best set off for England directly: I have no farther occasion for
your services."

Stafford said not a word more, but retired from his master's presence to
conceal his emotion; and, when he was alone, burst into tears, repeating
to himself, "So this is the reward of all my services!"

When Sir Hyacinth's passion cooled, he reflected that seven years'
wages were due to Stafford; and as it was not convenient to him at
this election time to part with so much ready money, he resolved to
compromise. It was not from any sense of justice; therefore it must be
said he had the meanness to apologize to his steward, and to hint that
he was welcome to remain, if he pleased, in his service.

Satisfied by this explanation, and by the condescension with which it
was given, Stafford's affection for his master returned with all its
wonted force: and he resumed his former occupations about the house with
redoubled activity. He waited only till he could be spared for a day to
go to Rosanna, and make his proposal for Rose. Her behaviour concerning
the ball convinced him that his mother's prejudices against Irishwomen
were ill-founded. Whilst his mind was in this state, his master one
morning sent for him, and told him that it was absolutely necessary
he should go to a neighbouring county, to some persons who were
freeholders, and whose votes might turn the election. The business
would only occupy a few days, Sir Hyacinth said; and Stafford willingly
undertook it.

The gentlemen to whom Stafford had letters were not at home, and he was
detained above a fortnight. When he returned, he took a road which led
by Rosanna, that he might at least have the pleasure of seeing Rose for
a few minutes; but when he called at the cottage, to his utter surprise,
he was refused admittance. Being naturally of a warm temper, and not
deficient in pride, his first impulse was to turn his horse's head, and
gallop off: but, checking his emotion, he determined not to leave the
place till he should discover the cause of this change of conduct.
He considered that none of this family had formerly treated him with
caprice or duplicity; it was therefore improbable they should suddenly
alter their conduct towards him, unless they had reason to believe that
they had some sufficient cause. He rode immediately to a field where he
saw some labourers at work. Farmer Gray was with them. Stafford leaped
from his horse, and, with an air of friendly honesty, held out his hand,
saying, "I can't believe you mean to affront me: tell me what is the
reason I am not to be let into your house, my good friend?"

Gray leaned upon his stick, and, after looking at him for a moment,
replied, "We have been too hasty, I see: we have had no cause of
quarrel with you, Stafford: you could never look at me with that honest
countenance, if you had any hand in this business."

"What business?" cried Stafford.

"Walk home with me, out of the hearing of these people, and you shall
know."

As they walked towards his cottage, Gray took out his great leather
pocket-book, and searched for a letter. "Pray, Stafford," said he, "did
you, about ten days ago, send my girl a melon?"

"Yes; one of my own raising. I left it with the gardener, to be sent to
her with my best respects and services; and a message intimating to say
that I was sorry my master's business required I should take a journey,
and could not see her for a few days, or something that way."

"No such message came; only your services, the melon, and this note. I
declare," continued Gray, looking at Stafford whilst he read the letter,
"he turns as pale as my wife herself did when I showed it to her!"

Stafford, indeed, grew pale with anger. It was a billet-doux from his
master to Rose, which Sir Hyacinth entreated might be kept secret,
promising to make her fortune and marry her well, if she would only have
compassion upon a man who adored and was dying for her, &c.

"I will never see my master again," exclaimed Stafford. "I could not
see him without the danger of doing something that I might not forgive
myself. He a gentleman! He a gentleman! I'll gallop off and leave his
letters, and his horse, with some of his people. I'll never see him
again. If he does not pay me a farthing of my seven years' wages,
I don't care; I will not sleep in his house another night. He a
gentleman!"

Farmer Gray was delighted by Stafford's generous indignation; which
appeared the more striking, as his manner was usually sober, and
remarkably civil.

All this happened at two o'clock in the afternoon; and the evening of
the same day he returned to Rosanna. Rose was sitting at work, in the
seat of the cottage window. When she saw him at the little white gate,
her colour gave notice to her brothers who was coming, and they ran out
to meet him.

"You ought to shut your doors against me now, instead of running out to
meet me," said he; "for I am not clear that I have a farthing in the
world, except what is in this portmanteau. I have been fool enough to
leave all I have earned in the hands of _a gentleman_, who can give me
only his bond for my wages. But I am glad I am out of his house, at any
rate."

"And I am glad you are in mine," said farmer Gray, receiving him with a
warmth of hospitality which brought tears of gratitude into Stafford's
eyes. Rose smiled upon her father, and said nothing; but set him his
arm-chair, and was very busy arranging the tea-table. Mrs. Gray beckoned
to her guest, and made him sit down beside her; telling him he should
have as good tea at Rosanna as ever he had in Warwickshire; "and out of
Staffordshire ware, too," said she, taking her best Wedgwood teacups and
saucers out of a cupboard.

Robin, who was naturally gay and fond of rallying his friends, could not
forbear affecting to express his surprise at Stafford's preferring an
Irishwoman, of all women in the world. "Are you quite sure, Stafford,"
said he, "that you are not mistaken? Are you sure my sister has not
wings on her shoulders?"

"Have you done now, Robin?" said his mother; who saw that Stafford was
a good deal abashed, and had no answer ready. "If Mr. Stafford had a
prejudice against us Irish, so much the more honourable for my Rose to
have conquered it; and, as to wings, they would have been no shame to
us natives, supposing we had them; and of course it was no affront to
attribute them to us. Have not the angels themselves wings?"

A timely joke is sometimes a real blessing; and so Stafford felt it at
this instant: his bashfulness vanished by degrees, and Robin rallied him
no more. "I had no idea," said he, "how easy it is to put an Englishman
out of countenance in the company of his mistress."

This was a most happy evening at Rosanna. After Rose retired, which she
soon did, to see after the household affairs, her father spoke in the
kindest manner to Stafford. "Mr. Stafford," said he, "if you tell me
that you are able to maintain my girl in the way of life she is in now,
you shall have her: this, in my opinion and in hers, is the happiest
life for those who have been bred to it. I would rather see Rose matched
to an honest, industrious, good-humoured man, like yourself, whom she
can love, than see her the wife of a man as grand as Sir Hyacinth
O'Brien. For, to the best of my opinion, it is not the being born to a
great estate that can make a man content or even rich: I think myself a
richer man this minute than Sir Hyacinth; for I owe no man any thing, am
my own master, and can give a little matter both to child and stranger.
But your head is very naturally running upon Rose, and not upon my
moralizing. All I have to say is, win her and wear her; and, as to the
rest, even if Sir Hyacinth never pays you your own, that shall not stop
your wedding. My sons are good lads, and you and Rose shall never want,
whilst the mill of Rosanna is going."

This generosity quite overpowered Stafford. Generosity is one of the
characteristics of the Irish. It not only touched but surprised the
Englishman; who, amongst the same rank of his own countrymen, had been
accustomed to strict honesty in their dealings, but seldom to this
warmth of friendship and forgetfulness of all selfish considerations.
It was some minutes before he could articulate a syllable; but, after
shaking his intended father-in-law's hand with that violence which
expresses so much to English feelings, he said, "I thank you heartily;
and, if I live to the age of Methusalem, shall never forget this. A
friend in need is a friend indeed. But I will not live upon yours or
your good sons' earnings; that would not be fair dealing, or like what
I've been bred up to think handsome. It is a sad thing for me that this
master of mine can give me nothing, for my seven years' service, but
this scrap of paper (taking out of his pocket-book a bond of Sir
Hyacinth's). But my mother, though she has her prejudices, and is
very stiff about them, being an elderly woman, and never going out of
England, or even beyond the parish in which she was born, yet she is
kind-hearted; and I cannot think will refuse to help me, or that she
will cross me in marriage, when she knows the thing is determined; so I
shall write to her before I sleep, and wish I could but enclose in the
cover of my letter the picture of Rose, which would be better than all
I could say. But no picture would do her justice. I don't mean a
compliment, like those Sir Hyacinth paid to her face, but only the plain
truth. I mean that a picture could never make my mother understand how
good, and sweet-tempered, and modest, Rose is. Mother has a world of
prejudices; but she is a good woman, and will prove herself so to me, I
make no doubt."

Stafford wrote to his mother a long letter, and received, in a fortnight
afterwards, this short answer:

"Son George, I warned you not to fall in love with an Irishwoman, to
which I told you I could never give my consent.

"As you bake, so you must brew. Your sister Dolly is marrying too, and
setting up a shop in Warwick, by my advice and consent: all the money I
can spare I must give, as in reason, to her who is a dutiful child; and
mean, with her and grand-children, if God please, to pass my latter
days, as fitting, in this parish of Little Sonchy, in Old England, where
I was born and bred. Wishing you may not repent, or starve, or so forth,
which please to let me know,

"I am your affectionate mother,

"DOROTHY STAFFORD."


All Stafford's hopes were confounded by this letter: he put it into
farmer Gray's hands, without saying a word; then drew his chair away
from Rose, hid his face in his hands, and never spoke or heard one word
that was saying round about him for full half an hour; till, at last,
he was roused by his friend Robin, who, clapping him on his back, said,
"Come, Stafford, English pride won't do with us; this is all to punish
you for refusing to share and share alike with us in the mill of
Rosanna, which is what you must and shall do now, for Rose's sake, if
not for ours or your own. Come, say done."

Stafford could not help being moved. All the family, except Rose, joined
in these generous entreaties; and her silence said even more than their
words. Dinner was on the table before this amicable contest was settled,
and Robin insisted upon his drinking a toast with him, in Irish ale;
which was, "Rose Gray, and Rosanna-mill."

The glass was just filled and the toast pronounced, when in came one of
Gray's workmen, in an indescribable perspiration and rage.

"Master Robin, master John! Master," cried he, "we are all ruined! The
mill and all--"

"The mill!" exclaimed every body starting up.

"Ay, the mill: it's all over with it, and with us: not a turn more will
Rosanna-mill ever take for me or you; not a turn," continued he, wiping
his forehead with his arm, and hiding by the same motion his eyes, which
ran over with tears.

"It's all that thief Hopkins's doing. May every guinea he touches, and
every shilling, and tester, and penny itself, blister his fingers, from
this day forward and for evermore!"

"But what has he done to the mill?"

"May every guinea, shilling, tester, and penny he looks upon, from this
day forth for evermore, be a blight to his eyes, and a canker to his
heart! But I can't wish him a worse canker than what he has there
already. Yes, he has a canker at heart! Is not he eaten up with envy? as
all who look at him may read in that evil eye. Bad luck to the hour when
it fixed on the mill of Rosanna!"

"But what has he done to the mill? Take it patiently, and tell us
quietly," said farmer Gray, "and do not curse the man any more."

"Not curse the man! Take it quietly, master! Is it the time to take it
quietly, when he is at the present minute carrying off every drop of
water from our mill-course? so he is the villain!"

At these words, Stafford seized his oak stick, and sprang towards the
door. Robin and John eagerly followed: but, as they passed their father,
he laid a hand on each, and called to Stafford to stop. At his respected
voice they all paused. "My children," said he, "what are you going to
do? No violence. No violence. You shall have justice, boys, depend upon
it; we will not let ourselves be oppressed. If Mr. Hopkins were ten
times as great, and twenty times as tyrannical as he is, we shall have
justice; the law will reach him: but we must take care and do nothing
in anger. Therefore, I charge you, let me speak to him, and do you
keep your tempers whatever passes. May be, all this is only 8 mistake:
perhaps Mr. Hopkins is only making drains for his own meadow; or, may
be, is going to flood it, and does not know, till we tell him, that he
is emptying our water-course."

"He can't but know it! He can't but know it! He's'cute enough, and too
'cute," muttered Paddy, as he led the way to the mill. Stafford and
the two brothers followed their father respectfully; admiring his
moderation, and resolving to imitate it if they possibly could.

Mr. Hopkins was stationed cautiously on the boundary of his own land.
"There he is, mounted on the back of the ditch, enjoying the mischief
all he can!" cried Paddy. "And hark! He is whistling, whilst our stream
is running away from us. May I never cross myself again, if I would not,
rather than the best shirt ever I had to my back, push him into the mud,
as he deserves, this very minute! And, if it wasn't for my master here,
it's what I'd do, before I drew breath again."

Farmer Gray restrained Paddy's indignation with some difficulty; and
advancing calmly towards Mr. Hopkins, he remonstrated with him in a mild
tone. "Surely, Mr. Hopkins," said he, "you cannot mean to do us such an
injury as to stop our mill?"

"I have not laid a finger on your mill," replied Hopkins, with a
malicious smile. "If your man there," pointing to Paddy, "could prove my
having laid a finger upon it, you might have your action of trespass;
but I am no trespasser; I stand on my own land, and have a right to
water my own meadow; and moreover have witnesses to prove that, for ten
years last past, while the mill of Rosanna was in Simon O'Dougherty's
hands, the water-course was never full, and the mill was in disuse. The
stream runs against you now, and so does the law, gentlemen. I have the
best counsel's opinion in Ireland to back me. Take your remedy, when and
where you can find it. Good morning to you."

Without listening to one word more, Mr. Hopkins hastily withdrew: for he
had no small apprehensions that Paddy, whose threats he had overheard,
and whose eyes sparkled with rage, might execute upon him that species
of prompt justice which no quibbling can evade.

"Do not be disheartened, my dear boys," said farmer Gray to his sons,
who were watching with mournful earnestness the slackened motion of
their water-wheel. "Saddle my horse for me, John; and get yourselves
ready, both of you, to come with me to Counsellor Molyneux."

"Oh! father," said John, "there is no use in going to him; for he is one
of the candidates, you know, and Mr. Hopkins has a great many votes."

"No matter for that," said Gray: "Mr. Molyneux will do justice; that is
my opinion of him. If he was another sort of man, I would not trouble
myself to go near him, nor stoop to ask his advice: but my opinion of
him is, that he is above doing a dirty action, for votes or any thing
else; and I am convinced his own interest will not weigh a grain of dust
in the balance against justice. Saddle the horses, boy."

His sons saddled the horses; and all the way the farmer was riding he
continued trying to keep up the spirits of his sons, by assurances that
if Counsellor Molyneux would take their affair in hand, there would be
an end of all difficulty.

"He is not one of those justices of the peace," continued he, "who will
huddle half a dozen poor fellows into jail without law or equity. He is
not a man who goes into parliament, saying one thing, and who comes out
saying another. He is not, like, our friend Sir Hyacinth O'Brien, forced
to sell tongue, and brains, and conscience, to keep his head above
water. In short, he is a man who dares to be the same, and can moreover
afford to be the same, at election time as at any other time; for which
reason, I dare to go to him now in this our distress, although, I have
to complain of a man who has forty-six votes, which is the number, they
say, Mr. Hopkins can command."

Whilst farmer Gray was thus pronouncing a panegyric on Counsellor
Molyneux, for the comfort of John and Robin, Stafford was trying to
console Rose and her mother, who were struck with sorrow and dismay, at
the news of the mill's being stopped. Stafford had himself almost as
much need of consolation as they; for he foresaw it was impossible he
should at present be united to his dear Rose. All that her generous
brothers had to offer was a share in the mill. The father had his farm,
but this must serve for the support of the whole family; and how could
Stafford become a burden to them, now that they would be poor, when he
could not bring himself to be dependent upon them, even when they were,
comparatively speaking, rich?




CHAPTER V.


With anxious hearts the little party at the cottage expected the return
of the father and his sons. Rose sat at the window watching for them:
her mother laid down her knitting, and sighed: and Stafford was silent,
for he had exhausted all his consolatory eloquence, and saw and felt it
had no effect.

"Here they come! But they ride so slow, that I am sure they bring us no
good news."

No: there was not any good news. Counsellor Molyneux had indeed behaved
as well as man could do: he had declared that he would undertake to
manage and plead their cause in any court of justice on earth; and had
expressed the strongest indignation against the villany of Hopkins; but,
at the same time, he had fairly told the Grays that this litigious man,
if they commenced a suit, might ruin them, by law, before they could
recover their rights.

"So we may go to bed this night melancholy enough," said Robin; "with
the certainty that our mill is stopped, and that we have a long lawsuit
to go through, before we can see it going again--if ever we do."

Rose and Stafford looked at one another, and sighed.

"We had better not go to law, to lose the little we have left, at any
rate," said Mrs. Gray.

"Wife, I am determined my boys shall have justice," said the father,
firmly. "_I_ am not fond of law, God knows! I never had a lawsuit in my
life; nobody dreads such things more than I do; but I dread nothing in
defence of my sons and justice. Whilst I have a penny left in the world,
I'll spend it to obtain them justice. The labour of their lives shall
not be in vain; they shall not be robbed of all they have: they shall
not be trampled upon by any one living, let him be ever so rich, or ever
so litigious. I fear neither his money nor his quirks of law. Plain
sense is the same for him and for me; and justice my boys shall have.
Mr. Molyneux will plead our cause himself--desire no more. If we fail
and are ruined, our ruin be upon the head of him who works it! I shall
die content, when I have done all I can to obtain justice for my
children."

As soon as these facts were known, every body in the neighbourhood felt
extreme indignation against Hopkins; and all joined in pitying the two
brothers, and applauding the spirit of their father. There was not an
individual who did not wish that Hopkins might be punished; but he
had been engaged in so many lawsuits, and ha